Blue Babble, Gang Green

The Ateneo-La Salle Rivalry

RJ Ledesma

• Publisher: Anvil Publishing, Inc.
• eBook ISBN: 9789712730405
• Topic: Education
• Subtopic: Education General

This book on Ateneo and De La Salle—two of Manila's top universities—is, overall, a thoughtful and honest collection of insights about one of the most storied rivalries that goes beyond school basketball courts during college-ball season. In true form, author RJ ledesma tells of little stories (if not known facts) about what might have started and has continuously fueled the friendly fire between the two schools.

Remember the Animo

I still can’t bear to watch an Ateneo–La Salle game.

My pulse races to an anxious roar, uneasy sweat lances my eyes, and my bones liquefy to the consistency of taho.

And that’s even before the game starts.

Despite that, there are still alumni from both alma maters who will risk their health for over 40 excruciatingly long minutes. They don’t mind the adrenaline rush that leads to increased stress levels. They don’t mind the sudden bursts of testosterone that lead to hair loss. And they don’t mind testing the warranties on their pacemakers.

I am not one of those people.

I have unusually high cholesterol levels, several unpaid credit card bills, and I’m working seven jobs to pay for my wedding. I can use the additional stress like I could use an additional appendix.

Ah, forget about it.

I admit it, okay? I just don’t have the balls to watch the game.

I just don’t have the balls to watch the game.

And, as confirmed by our proctologist, my fiancée has a bigger set of balls than me when it comes to watching any Ateneo–La Salle game. She actually enjoys the prospect of potential hair loss. Whenever there’s an Ateneo–La Salle game on TV, she pulls out her moth-eaten cheerleader’s outfit from the closet, does a couple of cartwheels, and screams until she pops an artery.

Me, I like the testosterone-free way of enjoying the game. I will read the sports section the following day. And, depending on the outcome of the game, I will either treat everyone to a cappuccino, or I will pour piping hot coffee onto my genitals.

Depending on the outcome of the game, I will either treat everyone to a cappuccino, or I will pour piping hot coffee onto my genitals.

However, there are those who conspire to induce my hair loss and consequently make me lose any endorsements for hair care products that I have secured so far. Friends from both Loyola and Taft will find ways to give me a blow-by-blow account of the game via text or e-mail, or cloud signals. Thus, I make it a point to be unreachable during any game, like in a country where the latest technological innovation is a rotary phone. It is either I make myself scarce, or I rent out a generator to generate a short-wave electromagnetic pulse.

Whenever there is an Ateneo–La Salle game, statistics gain GMA-like credibility when players from both our teams start dribbling the ball. In the heat of the game, we both clutch our rosaries and invoke the names of our respective patron saints and pray to the good Lord to lead our teams to victory. And somewhere up there, St. Ignatius and St. La Salle are probably taking a poke at each other; unfortunately the good Lord fails to notice because he’s breaking up a round of fisticuffs between St. Benedictine and St. John Lateran. Finally, just as the announcer yodels to signal the last two minutes, quantum physics kicks in and two minutes can stretch out into an eternity. And in those two minutes, a seven-point lead can vanish as mysteriously as a dubious Comelec executive.

Whatever yogic aspirations I’ve had about detaching from my ego get flushed down the karmic toilet whenever my good ol’ alma mater’s name is at stake. These are the games that divide families, anger-slashelate bookies, and postpone Senate investigations. And this is a rivalry that is as mythic as that of the Boston Red Sox versus the New York Yankees. The Spartans versus the Persians. The Administration versus the Truth. It is the Blue versus the Green. The Eagle versus the Archer. The discretionary budget of PLDT-Smart versus the discretionary budget of ICTSI.

And for those of us who are on either side of the fence, getting swept into the electrically-charged atmosphere of the game is probably the purest and the most cardiac-arresting expression of school spirit we can muster. The games are actually integral to building school spirit, along with cutting class for barkada gimmicks, cramming for exams, and scrambling to pay horrendously spiraling tuition fees. And the great thing about the game is that you don’t even have to know a thing about basketball. All you need is to do is wear a blue or green shirt, know if you are supposed to cheer “One Big Fight” or “Rektikano,” and be willing to risk laryngitis.

The only thing you are required to do during the game itself, whether you are at home or in a bar or in an emergency room, is to cheer with your heart on your sleeve. After all, is there any other way to cheer for your team? And when team your wins, you feel your heart swell like an overpriced government contract. But when your team loses, you feel like somebody has taken your heart, stomped on it a couple of times, ran it through a meat grinder, stir-fried it in pork fat and MSG, devoured it, regurgitated it, and then threw it up all over the floor.

The only thing you are required to do during the game itself is to cheer with your heart on your sleeve.

As if this heart-wrenching procedure wasn’t good enough, rabid blue babblers and gang greenies are forced to repeat this process year in and year out. And because God would have both Ateneans and La Sallians experience life-threatening experiences as it brings us closer to Him, we repeated this heart-stopping process five freaking times over this season. At this rate, I’d rather ask my cardiologist to induce a heart attack instead of waiting for one to happen.

This year was a particularly swell-worthy season for the De La Salle Green Archers Men’s Senior Basketball Team who went from suspension to vindication. But the road to the championship was a mad scramble with the Ateneo Blue Eagles. All of those games could have gone either way. I’d be careful not to gloat over this because Ateneo still has sweet-shooting “Iglesia ni Chris Tiu” (or Chris “The Master” Tiu, a familiar nickname for all those men with oil-rich producing faces) in their armory. But more than that, both our institutions have waged a fierce seesaw battle in the UAAP’s final four since 2001, and I feel like an un-lubricated fulcrum.

Sometimes winning and losing against “the other school” becomes the be-all and end-all for those of us who bleed Blue or Green. We couldn’t care less about coup rumblings or bribery scandals or who gets nominated for eviction from Pinoy Big Brother Celebrity Edition. But what we do care passionately about is the chance to relish sweet victory. And the pissing points that come with it.

Sometimes winning and losing against “the other school” becomes the be-all and end-all for those of us who bleed Blue or Green.

It seems that every time our players step into the courts during an Ateneo–La Salle game, they become more than human. They transform into archetypes of our pride in our respective institutions.

Every time our players step into the courts, they become more than human.

I remember many an Archer who has been responsible for my pride and my progressive hair loss since 1991—from Dickie Bachman, to Jun Limpot, to Noli Locsin, to Tony Boy Espinosa, to Jason Webb, to Dwight and Elmer Lago, to Dino Aldeguer, to Don Carlos Allado, to Mark Telan, to Renren Ritualo, to Mike Cortez, to BJ Manalo, to Mark Cardona, to Joseph Yeo, to TY Tang, to Rico Maierhofer. But just as much as I remember these Archers, I fondly remember the Eagles who gave me many a heartache—from Olsen Racela, to Richie Ticzon, to Vince Hizon, to Gabby Cui, to Sandy Arespacochaga, to John Verayo, to Rainier Sison, to Rich Alvarez, to Enrico Villanueva, to Wesley Gonzales, to Larry Fonacier, to Macky Escalona, to LA Tenorio, to JC Intal, to Doug Kramer, to Japeth Aguilar, to Chris Tiu.

And it is when our players are shooting it out for mythic glory on the hard court that our reactions turn so visceral that we often lose sense of ourselves. I mean, did those invectives really spew forth from my mouth? Did my fingers really involuntarily curl up into that gesture? Did I really expose my tattooed derriere with the logo of “the other school” on national television?

But hey, it happens to all of us. Except for maybe the exposed derriere. But that’s because we’re only human. And being human means that sometimes the pride that fuels our rivalry gets the better of us.

Today, they are our siblings, our spouses, our friends, our officemates, our badminton partners, and our three female readers. But come game time they are moving targets that deserve our contempt when “their side” wins and who deserve our insults when “their side” loses. The gloating and the name-calling. The grandstanding and the mudslinging. The one-upmanship and the grumbling. These are great attributes for one to display in Congress. But these behaviors are a disservice to those of us who have been “ruined” by our Jesuit or Christian Brother education.

We can’t assume that just because some of us are thick-skinned enough to take some “good-natured” ribbing that it grants us the wherewithal to dish it out as well. There are some who can take a couple of nasty putdowns, there are some who can stomach the occasional derogatory remark. And there are some who will want to rip apart your intestines to see if you really do bleed Blue or Green. I’m sure that there are those of us who do bleed Blue or Green, but if we repeatedly stab each other enough we’ll both end up slumped in a pool of red.

If we repeatedly stab each other enough we’ll both end up slumped in a pool of red.

But what’s even more stab-worthy is when we reduce “the other school” to negative stereotypes just so that we can keep our ranking in the pedestal of pissing points. In truth, neither school can claim a monopoly on being home to the smartest, the most academically gifted, the most successful, the most generous, and the most humble. Nor can either school claim a monopoly on being home to the most mayabang, the most snooty, the most boleros, the most number of poor spelers (oops, I mean spellers), and the most pro-administration congressmen (although we can do a head count for this one). Instead of “vilifying” each other, let us vilify those who deserve it: the cowardly perpetrators of the explosions at Glorietta, Makati, or the shameless maste...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Foreword
• Foreword
• PREFACE: The Greenhouse Effect
• Remember the Animo
• Fervor, Fever, Fury
• How the Ateneo-La Salle Rivalry Began
• Animo, Ateneo! One Big Fight, La Salle!
• Jaded
• Living the Animo