Wasted Letters on Broken Floors
Monday, December 18th, 2006Cloudy skies
Open courts
Perfect
The tranquil afternoon is broken with the sound of a metal ring jammed hard with the ball… I feel the cold air blowing around my body. It used to be like this back in the good old days. Practicing every angle, every move in the playgrounds, injecting my own unique identity to every shot added to the repertoire. But not all shots had to be monotonously repeated, some demanded pure creativity and genius, a shot created amidst situations trying to limit your opportunity to score but as the level of difficulty increases, the satisfaction given with each conversion is enhanced. When a beautiful shot is made, it does not go unappreciated, even the opponents nod in approval. Gifted with natural ability honed through years of playing dakopdakop (tag),japanese, tubigtubig, majority of the motor skills the sport demanded was well developed. But this game was not just a showcase of purely physical talent, it involved something far deeper…
Unfathomable by individuals ignorant of the experience.
Teamwork. The adhesive that keeps the team in place. Win together, lose together…
I look at the skies once again…
There was that time, in the not-so-distant past, when we ruled the courts and euphoria was amongst us.
Can we do it again?
