The Height Issue

It's a bit ironic, and somewhat par for the course, that the Philippines selected a national sport in which it has little chance in succeeding internationally, (1954 world championship bronze aside). In basketball, it's good to be quick, agile, and practiced at the skills of shooting, dribbling, and passing. Which many Filipinos are. However it's better to be tall, and quick, agile, and practiced at the skills of shooting, dribbling, and passing. Which most Filipinos aren't.

A columnist for the Philipine Inquirer discovered this height issue, and declared that "basketball is not for Filipinos." He suggests the government should support development of "sports" like chess, bowling, and billiards. This makes Filipinos seem like the small, sickly children of Asia.

And not that I want to disrespect all the bowlers out there, but it's a bit sad when a country's government declares a bowler to be the "Greatest National Athlete of All Time" The guy was skilled, sure, but not exactly Jim Thorpe material.

How 'bout boxing as a national sport? Manny Pacquiao, the "Pac Man" is a national sensationan and the latest in a long line of world champions from the Philippines. Which means Filipinos may not be able to out-jump you on the court, but they can probably kick your ass.

Among the best in the world

I always tell people if Olympic basketball was played on a 15-foot tall rim, and all the players had to wear flip-flops, the Philippines would win the gold medal every time.

Across the country I would regularly see extraordinary performances by little barefoot kids on concrete courts who would run circles around my plodding efforts to keep hold of the basketball.

As a side note, the Philippines did win the bronze medal for basketball at the 1954 world championships. I can't confirm footwear.

Romance in a nation of extremes

The Philippines is a country of extremes. You have the ultra-rich living in walled compounds, while the poor survive in the filth of shanty towns. The country has the beauty of white sand beaches, but also the toxic rivers and open sewage of Manila.

As a clueless American guy just out of college, women in the Philippnes represented the same set of extremes to me. They were either the prostitutes of the red light districts that I didn't want to have anything to do with (see left), or they were the ultra-conservative Catholic University girls who didn't want to have anything to do with me.

So imagine my surprise when the cutest girl at a college welcoming party invited me to her house one night, telling me her parents wouldn’t be home. In the U.S, this would have been a clear sign that there was going to be some romance. I should have been delighted. But this was the Philippines, and as usual, I had no idea what was going on.

-- to see how this turned out (think airball not dunk) click on this link to see a sample chapter from Dunked in Manila

basketball & basketbrawls

When I played in a basketball league in Manila, it seemed like every game I was elbowed, pushed and shoved without the referees calling a foul. When I complained, the refs basically said "it's ok, you're bigger than them, deal with it."

One day I lost my temper, flipped some guy on the floor, and a big shoving match broke out, with people screaming at me in Tagalog and Chinese. I didn't think it was a big deal until a week later, when some street kid I had never seen before pointed me out to his friends as "the American who fights everyone."

I realized then I wasn't just another player in the league, but willing or not, I was a representative for my country.

But at least my international sports brawl didn't turn out like this one in Japan.

The more things change...

I've had a couple questions about publishing a non-fiction book set in 1990-1991. Do the issues and storylines of my story still matter? Haven't the Philippines and the world situation completely changed since then? Who cares about what happened to some dude 17 years ago?

Although downtown Makati is almost unrecognizable from back in the day, with new skyscrapers, restaurants, and malls, other items in the daily news make you wonder if anything has changed at all.

In the weeks prior to my original arrival in the Philippines in 1990, Peace Corps volunteers were kidnapped, and Americans were killed, prompting extensive warnings against travelling to the country. Unfortunately, it just happened again.

And the story I wrote in a prior post about hundreds of people living in a massive Manila trash dump? Well, the dump has moved, but as an article in last December's Harpers Magazine described, the people just followed the trash.

Politics are still crazy, with the same Jokers involved. The the overthrow of the government after the EDSA protests of '86 were followed by the sequel of EDSA2 in 2001 . I experienced martial law a few times in 90-91, last year they just called it a "state of emergency." And Anti-American protests, continue to be part of Philippine news.

And so the question remains--how does a person travel and live abroad in a place like the Philippines during these troubled times? How does the reality on the ground contrast to the nightly drama featured on CNN? And how did a clueless American like myself bridge the gap between cultures and come out of all this turmoil not only surviving, but thriving in the experience. For that story, you'll have to read Dunked in Manila (just as soon as I stop screwing around on a blog and actually finish writing the book)

Sports as a window to cultures

The running theme in my Dunked in Manila book is the use of sports as a window into a foreign culture. I found the more I immersed myself in basketball in the Philippines, the better I understood life off the court.

I've enjoyed reading about the sports-travel-culture connection in a number of good books, including one on hoops (Big Game, Small World) one on soccer in Italy (The Miracle of Castel Di Sangro), and baseball in Japan (You Gotta have Wa - and in my recent SF Chronicle article).

Hopefully my book will get added to this small but growing pantheon of sportravelogues.

and for a sequel? How about loincloth volleyball in Burma?

Tip Off

I dug in my bag for my hat. A couple local college students were scheduled to meet me upon arrival at Manila airport. To be certain they’d recognize me, I had faxed ahead that I would be wearing a baseball cap from my hometown Chicago Bulls. Hat on head, brim bent to a sporty angle, I charged out the doors and into my new life.

It began with a blast of hot, humid air and a scene from Beatlemania news footage. Outside the baggage area, a waving, shouting crowd pushed against every angle of a sagging barrier, seemingly about to burst right on top of me. I felt like I was the last Balikbayan box on a small carousel. I had to fight the urge to flee. Entire sections of the crowd erupted screaming, pointing and shoving each time they saw a relation emerge from the doors. My calm began to erode as I scanned the crowd for my college student hosts.

Suddenly, to my left, I heard cries of "Hey Joe! Hey Joe! Americano! Oy! Ssssssssst." When I turned, the group became frantic, one man climbing the barrier, trying to get to me first. As a security guard yanked the first man back, I noticed the taxi sign in his hand, and understood my new popularity.

I hesitated behind the barriers a moment longer, dreading my departure from the protected area. Already, a group of the taxi drivers had triangulated my exit point, and were jostling for position. With my head down and suitcase forward, I fought my way through the taxi mob, through the scrums of extended families, and out to the street. Where for the first time in my life, I saw horizontal rain. And no welcoming committee.

for more of chapter one, click here

The Politics of Pickup in Manila

I was surprised to discover basketball was the national sport of the Philippines. It seemed like every telephone pole, every palm tree had a basketball backboard attached. Games were everywhere. As a clueless foreigner, it was my entry into their culture. How could I join?

While standing at the edge of a basketball court watching the game in progress, I pondered the politics of pickup in Manila. Did I need to bring my own team to a pickup game? Did I need a formal invite, a recommendation, a reference? Was it an exclusive neighborhood only event? A league? Did I have to win on another court before I qualified to play on this one? At a loss for what to do, I just stood there trying to look tall, hoping someone would see me and throw me the ball.

To see how this early effort turned out, read: http://www.geocities.com/billfink2004/PoliticsofPickupinManila.html

The Great Manila Trashcan Debacle

The Philippine capital of Manila was the infamous home of a massive steaming garbage dump nicknamed "Smoky Mountain." Until it closed several years ago, hundreds of families lived on and around the dump, surviving on food scraps, trying to make a few pesos repairing and reselling refuse.

During my yearlong stay in Manila, I joined the "Junior Rotarians," a student-run charitable offshoot of the local Rotary Club. When they announced a project to help the poor of Smoky Mountain, I volunteered.

While normal life at Smoky Mountain was miserable, some- times it crossed into the realm of the abysmally tragic. Three weeks before my arrival, an open cooking fire had spread, burning down a section of Tondo, the nearby shanty town, killing dozens. Without running water, no one could stop the flames.

In this setting the noble Junior Rotarians stepped up and a day of service was declared to help the hapless Smoky Mountaineers.

I joined the assembly in the parking lot of the Bel Air Country Club. Empty trash can-size oil drums filled the lot. About 25 volunteers painted some cans bright red and filled others with sand.

"What exactly are we doing here?" I asked Jojo, the group coordinator.

"The Junior Rotarians are donating this fire-prevention equipment to the poor in the Tondo neighborhood," he answered.

I looked for some sign of hoses, portable pumps, fire extinguishers, even a squirt gun, but saw nothing.

"What equipment?"

"All around you! We're filling these cans with sand the Tondoites can use to dump on fires. The sand won't attract mosquitoes like water would, which means we're saving them from malaria as well."

"So essentially, we're giving away trash cans?" I asked.

"Yes."

"To people who live in a trash dump?"

"Um, yes ... But we're painting them bright red! They'll stop fires!"

see how this turned out by clinking to the link of my story in the San Francisco Chronicle
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2006/03/19/CMGU9GJ0CF1.DTL