Memoir
of a Retiring Basketball Wife
an [open] letter to my husband
an [open] letter to my husband
By Clarisse Tiu
November
3, 2018
As I look through the clips of messages
from past coaches and teammates, videos of game winning shots, pictures of
wonderful memories made, I’m suddenly getting cold feet. Many times we scoffed
at Christmas day games and grueling practices taking precedence over family
events. But in this moment, I asked myself, “Is this the right time to retire?
Will you have regrets, leaving at the top of your game? Are we ready for this
career change, financially? Emotionally?” I was afraid for you to stay but anxious
to leave at the same time.
I look back on the past 20 years I’ve known
you, and basketball is all you’ve known. You’ve been playing competitively
since you were 10. Being in a long relationship, I had the benefit and burden of
seeing you through almost all your playing years. I guess you could say that
the only other thing that has outlived our relationship, save for your family,
is basketball. The sport was your first love, and your longest running love
story to date. It’s given you your share of heartbreaks and joys, just like any
other love story. Allow me to recount a few…
I sometimes imagine you as a small and
skinny boy, running out of a room full of players, to pray the rosary, so as
not to commit sin. It made me cry when you mentioned it during your
commencement speech at Xavier because I silently hoped we would have a son like
you. Basketball gave you opportunities
to choose to be good, even at an early age.
You recently told me a story of how at 10
years old, your team was forced to ride a ferry boat back to Manila in a storm,
and how you were throwing up seasick the whole way home, having no one but your
older teammates to look after you. You also played a lot of out of town games
throughout your career, sometimes even sleeping on classroom floors, without
ever a single complaint. I think that
basketball taught you resilience. You never made a big deal of personal
comforts, despite growing up in a well to do family.
I remember how in your Ateneo years, you once
bore the humiliation missing a wide open layup against your school’s Arch
rivals to hand them the victory, and how you could not raise your head in
school the next day. Basketball taught
you humility – that even a most prized recruit could fall and fail badly.
The 2008 season your team won the Ateneo
championship, you were dubbed the “King Eagle” and it seemed the weight of the
world was on your shoulders. You would worry about the Ateneo community and how
you wanted so much to give them the championship they longed for and deserved.
I recall receiving calls from you at 3 or 4:00am after games, just wanting
someone to listen to your thoughts on the loss, or just be there on the other
line. Looking back, we often say how serendipitous it was that you skipped a
playing year to do your JTA, so that you could come back to play that one more
year under Coach Norman, and finally win the championship against La Salle. Basketball taught you not to crumble under
the weight of the world, and that if you stay strong and work patiently, great
things will happen.
In Wuhan, I had the privilege of supporting
you as a national athlete in the Olympic qualifier. And when your team fell
short vs Korea in the battle for 3rd, you described it to me as your heart
breaking “into a million pieces”. You took weeks or even months to get over
that loss. Basketball taught you that no
matter how much you want something, if it’s not meant for you, you accept, and
find the strength to move on.
In your PBA career, you weren’t the always
the top scorer or captain ball. You took to the statistics to motivate
yourself, “Plus-minus”, you said, “It’s how many points your team is winning or
losing by when you’re on the court. It’s the intangibles.” You prided yourself
in the fact that you could make a difference in the small things, even if no
one took notice. Basketball taught you
to be a role player, take a back seat, and keep working hard, even if it goes
unnoticed.
When you had struggles with your Coach, you
spoke passionately about it almost daily to me, dreading the mood at practice,
not needing the stress, and wanting to quit. In time, you both managed to turn
around the situation and built an even better relationship through trust. You
also saw many things happening on the sidelines, which sparked betrayal and made
us both frustrated and cynical about the sport. And when you went down hard on
the floor when Malcolm White got you clean, and you suffered one of the worst
injuries of your life, I told myself the PBA would not have been worth it if
the injury was any worse! But it taught
us both to be humble, adjust and keep on giving your best, regardless of the
odds and even if not everybody was honorable.
In your team, you would always share with
me stories of unsung heroes like your teammate Dexter, whose child was born
blind, but still commutes 3 hours each way from Pampanga to practice and was
equally hard working each day despite the sorrow and hardship. Another one was
your ball boy whose only son passed away suddenly from a bout of pneumonia, and
yet absented himself only to bury his son, and promptly appeared at practice
the next day. And then you humanized your imports who were sometimes commoditized,
being just as good as their last game. You told me their stories about their
families, their past, and how hard they worked despite being away from home and
their loved ones. I think basketball
taught you count your blessings, and helped you develop an understanding and
fondness of people who did not grow up like you.
As one of your past teammates, Jvee Casio,
said about you, you do things with much love, and that’s what sets you apart
from others. It is not your height, skill, or athleticism, but rather your love
and generosity in sharing yourself that does. They say, how one treats those
who have nothing to offer them, shows you how a person really is. If you wonder
why people care so much about you, it’s because you somehow show them you care.
You don’t choose who deserves your generosity, be it the event security at the
arena, to the ticketing ladies, to the fans, ball boys, your teammates,
coaching staff or management.
The sport opened doors for you unlike any
of your other contemporary players. You used basketball to your advantage, socially
and financially, but never abused its benefits. You only used it for good
things. I would like to believe that you carried yourself in a fashion
befitting of an instrument of God. In return, God was very good to you. You
asked and received, the most incredible final game that you could have asked
for. A Career high, 30 points. Best player and Amanda being able to sit on your
lap in the post game interview. All your fans and teammates were so supportive
of you, sincerely wanting you to succeed.
I don’t think there could be any better memory of your last game. My
only regret is that our children will not have seen what a great ball player
you are.
As you end your career, it is obvious that
your family and I are beyond proud of what you have achieved. I have so much
gratitude for the life we have, thanks to this sport. The game has seen you
through childhood, puberty, bachelorhood, marriage, and now fatherhood. It has
taught you valuable lessons that no person or academic degree can ever
replicate. It’s been one hell of a ride, alongside you in every sleepless
night, enduring your aches and pains, mourning your losses, fighting your battles,
and celebrating your sweetest victories with you. Our hearts ached when yours
ached and jumped for joy when yours did too. I will surely miss the pre-game
routine of you lifting at the gym 48 hours before, getting your steak protein
fix 24 hours before – always medium rare, Air Relax before bedtime, and only
pasta, “no-touch” policy on game day. But then again, I don’t think it will be
the end of your love affair with the game. I look forward to the ways that you
will continue to grow and give back, to the sport that has given us so much.
Congrats on a career well done and I love you very much!
