FILL IN THE BLANK

Pop it goes! Pop it blows! Pop it runs! Pop it's gone!

That it was like this, we were never told.

IDEA.

Inside a coffee shop.

GIRL: I hope it rains on your wedding day.
BOY: Whoever said I’m getting married.
GIRL: (Throws an invitation card at the boy) Well, it says here a jerk named Lucas Mauricio is.
BOY: (checking the invitation) So you received it. (smiles)
GIRL: Funny thing is, you forgot to write the name of the bride. Aren’t you planning to invite her?
BOY: (sips coffee) Who’s her?
GIRL: Who’s her? Good thing you ask. I honestly won’t believe if any of the female species considers you for a husband.
BOY: So I left a space, then. Hmmnn??? You can fill in the blank with your name, under my permission.
GIRL: Excuse me. (Sneering) What you should put here are choices! A. The bitch I took at last year’s class reunion. B. My brainless secretary C. The girl I kissed at the club yesterday D. None of the above
BOY: How can you be that smart?
GIRL: (Exasperated) Whatever.
BOY: (Writes something on the invitation using a red pen)
GIRL: Can I ask you something? Do you believe it takes years to bake a slice of chocolate mousse cake?
BOY: I have no idea. But I think they’re done milking the cow. (lifts his cup) Care for a cup?
GIRL: Insomniac here. So, what do you want for a wedding gift?
BOY: Your books. Each with a signature on page 27.
GIRL: You mean, you haven’t read any of the books I wrote? You are disappointing Sophie Kinsella!
BOY: Who’s Sophie Kinsella? (sees her infuriation) Of course, Sophie Kinsella. I never thought you have a thing for vampires with stylists.
GIRL: What do you mean?
BOY: Sophie Kinsella. Twilight. Eclipse. What’s the last one? Breaking Down?
GIRL: If you like being a literary snob, you should at least review your lessons. And we’re talking pop lit here. In the name of Sophie Kinsella, I forgive you and Stephenie Meyer.
BOY: Who’s Tiffany Bayer?
GIRL: Go to hell and meet her.

Silence.

BOY: (talking with someone on the phone) Secretary Reyes, arrange me a date with Tiffany Bayer. I don’t know her number, I don’t even know who she is. Maybe she has Face book, go facebook her! Now!
GIRL: I am leaving. Perhaps the chickens are taking too long to lay their eggs. (grabs her purse)
BOY: No, wait. It’s here.
GIRL: The chickens or the eggs?
BOY: Funny.
GIRL: (gets seated while the waiter puts down the platter)
(to the waiter) What’s special about this?
WAITER : It’s made of Belgian chocolates, Madam.
GIRL: I know. (sarcastic tone here) Does that mean you imported chocolates just to offer me a slice?
BOY: They did. And he has no business here so let him leave.

The waiter leaves the two.

GIRL: You were saying? (Begins eating the slice.)
BOY: What? No, nothing. (pearls of sweat on forehead)
GIRL: (Chokes while eating the cake. Spits some of the mouthful. Boy hands her a goblet of water.)
(Shouts) Waaaaiiitttteeeerrrr!!!!

The waiter rushes towards them looking unapologetic.

GIRL: There’s something on my chocolate mousse. Something that’s hard like some sort of a pebble. And it tastes weird.
BOY: (Sighs. Grabs her spit with the table napkin.)
WAITER: (Shakes his head)
GIRL: What? I want the manager now or I will have both of you sued.
WAITER: (To the boy.) I told you, sir. Indecent proposals have 20% success rate as per this cafe is concerned. Especially at high noon.
BOY: (Rubbing the thing with the table napkin.)
(To the girl.) Exactly how did I fall in love with you?

The boy hands her the ring and the invitation card with her name written in red ink. The girl finishes her cake.

l.l.

Behind the Chalkboard

It is an understatement to say that Filipinos are certified basketball fanatics.

Many basketball enthusiasts and plain spectators flock to the Mecca of Philippine entertainment, the Araneta Coliseum and several other venues, willing to spend a portion of their hard-earned bucks to satisfy the craving for hardcourt action and a healthy dose of adrenaline rush.

College spirit has never flamed any greater than when the gang green battles the blue battalion. And the power of the crowd cannot be underestimated every time the Big Dome runs out of tickets, members of the “barangay” scrambling for that last voucher worth a general patronage.

The Philippine Basketball Association boasts off a lot of great names in the history of Asian Basketball, perhaps backing this reputation as the continent’s finest.
But behind the loud cheers of zealous basketball aficionados are transactions done in silent whispers. The “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” drama is on. Is the “deal or no deal? trade” the new name of the game?

Trading

Flip the morning paper upside-down. The sports section banners “Yeo traded for Custodio.” The process of exchanging players or trading between teams in a particular league happens when a squad decides to give up a player in exchange of another whom they observe can give the services they are weak at. Sometimes the decision comes before the observation but often than not, trading is offered for better options aimed at increasing the possibility of winning the coveted title and increasing the level of competition.

While trading can be seen as a positive agenda, in the present scenarios within PBA grounds, there are lopsided transactions done benefitting a major (read: rich) squad.
Many players have had the chance of wearing two different jerseys in one season alone. The past months witnessed how team managements and coaching staffs struggled to keep their squads, intact.

PBA teams like the Red Bull Barako, Sta. Lucia Realtors, and Rain or Shine Elasto Painters are left with the choice of maintaining only one ace player from a gamut of talented others, in an effort to keep their heads above water in what must be the domino effect of a besieged economy as they have been involved in several trades reportedly due to space and salary capping.
On the other hand, San Miguel Corp.-owned teams-San Miguel Beermen, Purefoods Tender Giants, and Ginebra Kings- continue rebuilding their teams by hiring well-paid players which the underdogs gave up.

Rumors bugging the online world spilled that a team’s valuable sixth man has been pushed to step out of his team and arrange a deal with a “prominent” team, even if the choice will likely put the said player on the team’s injured list, just so the former team can miss his services because such squad is not within the ‘company.’

Basketball buffs will find this puzzle not enigmatic.

Sister-teams gained largely by exchanging players through pre-arranged deals, PBA officials unaware that such is happening under their noses. Or perhaps acting innocent along the process.
The result: priced players get buried in the major team’s deep bench while the deprived squads maximize, arguably strain, the efforts of their aces. The result: basketball games tend to favor the well-financed squads composed of shooting stars while the underdogs remain the second best that they are.

Business as usual

Basketball used to be a sport, now it is business: an enterprise aimed at gaining profit. In the long run, this process can be seen more of a business-like rather than a professional manner. What’s worse is that the PBA appears powerless in taking control over these players’ fates. The level of competition is likely to dwindle eventually.

Surely the coaches are aware of this possibility. But Big Brother is watching. At the end of the day, it is always the big boss’s decision that matters.

What kind of reputation is the association holding into? Do they have the guts to say that it is anybody’s ball game when they tolerate rule-bending acts and un-sportsmanlike attitudes?

Faithful

But as far as reality is concerned, and most fans are clueless about the truth from the reality, basketball will remain the very habit of household steaming boob tubes for hours of partly scripted, and directed basketball actions.

We deafen the underdog with the cries, condemn the referees for wrong calls, throw curses in the air, when in fact, behind the chalkboard, a different game-winning play is plotted.



Texts and Photo by Lovelyn M. Quintos

Incoherent

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Two sides of my brain farted; you’re reading the result. Or so I claim.

I want to write a story about words, but words sometimes write their own stories. The harder I try to search for the best synonym, the more I struggle to remain faithful in my theme.

I want to write. And write something relevant.

Everyone wants to talk about what’s hot or what’s new or popular. But I choose to believe otherwise. Just when you thought there’s something hot to talk about, imagination is always hotter.

I miss reading. I miss myself. In the context of this discourse, I would like to claim that I am myself whenever I read, reflect, chew or spit, digest or puke whatever I am willing to take in.

Now I am left in this room, UV rays from the computer hitting my eyes straight, and I somehow feel that this piece of crap I am trying to harmonize manifests not my mirror but a roulette spinning madly around my head.

The faster the spin, the better.

I watch the colors of each roulette pie mix into a shade of burgundy. I look closer and see that my eyes are sanpaku. Split second and it is gone. I am alone with myself thinking whether a dose of fantasy is good for one’s health.

I have a lot of dreams. To become a writer, a fashion designer, a basketball coach, a teacher, a mother, (did I just say that?), a film director. And it hurts to think that I can be no one because I am just a dream.

Believing is a talent; trusting is a skill. Or so I again claim.

I want to humble myself because whenever I feel respectable I see my sins in people, places and events, and I would therefore conclude that no one is as godly as Him. I urge others to do the same.

Sometimes I wish of a different life. And so the “what-if’s” eat out the “what-now’s.”

I watched TV, waited for the drama and was not satisfied. I checked the credits and aspired to be the director of the show. That should be this, this should be that. Little did I know that I was painting my own portrait.

I beg for a break but whenever peace hums in, a bigger trouble waits aside. Perhaps my best friend was right: it is better to be a pessimist who readies himself for the worst scenario than become the complacent optimist. Life offers many pop quizzes, and I have failed enough.

They used to say I am crazy. Now, I am proud of it.

(Coherence, where are you?)

This should be a goodnight speech. Well, it is.

Goodnight, everyone.