I have waited for today's tryout. These past few weekends, I had been practicing from sunrise to sunset or until my arms would get limp and my legs would be like spaghetti noodles. I know that was suicide, but being in the university's basketball team is a three-point shot for me. It's my dream.
With my new personalized red jersey, I hop to my pickup and turn the stereo. Maroon V blares from the speakers. I get more pumped up in an instance.
After turning a curb, the school's gymnasium looms over me. The gym itself spawns immensely, adjacent to the parking area. This is the only gym I know that has a gallery of trophies of its basketball team since 1960. Somehow, it is one of the biggest.
Moments later, throngs of aspiring players start to gather in the gym's entrance. Some are talking to each other, some are ball dribbling. Head down, I slowly walk through the crowd making my way inside.
Heavy is the atmosphere inside. At first glance, I have thought the tryout is some sort of military exercise. Players are in queue, and it seems every mouth is shut except an inside-the-box voice shouting from afar.
"Hey! You can't stand in the center of this court all day. We will be having our tryout here. If you aren't a player, sit your ass on the bleachers!" A six-foot sturdy guy, who I suppose is the team captain, howls. At me?!
I look at my right, then to the other side. No one. My face mimics the color of my jersey. After gathering all the exact words to response, I manage to say, "Me?!"
The guy narrows his eyes.
"I a-am Alex Fajardo. I a-actually g-get myself here f-for the tryout. I-i-isn't it obvious?" I stutter while showing my new jersey to him.
He closes his eyes. Then he blares, "The line starts here, dumb skull. Move!"
This will be a great tryout, I whisper to myself in between sighs.
The first phase of the tryout is a one-time opportunity. Each is given one chance to shoot the ball. If he misses, it's a disqualification. This is going to be tough, I know. The team never really plans to stain its name anyway because of a substandard player.
Series of “outs” and “get losts” echo inside. Aside from the intimidation and rudity of the team captain named Bruno which I have overheard from other players, the possibility to shoot the ball is as slim as a pole especially without focus.
Now, my turn has come. I make my way to the free-throw circle, and wait for the cue. I position the ball on my hands and prepare to shoot. Like what I had practiced, I hold the ball like a fragile trophy; and with sufficient force, I release it.
Every atom goes in slow motion. The ball propels in midair. When it touches the ring, it circles around like forever. But it pauses. And I hold my breath.
"Yes!" I burst when the ball invades through the net. I finally breathe out the air in my lungs.
Followed by the second and third phases, I have able to top the ball passing and conquer walls and blocks of players respectively. The tryout has gone well, opposite to what I have expected.
"I would like to commend all of you who have gone this far. Some are good, some are...." Coach Rody hums his words. Even this coach has snide remarks like Bruno has. "After all, we will only be catering six new players, they are..."
The small crowd behind me start to make noise. There are only six slots.
One by one, the names are called. And my chances to be picked get thinner like how my aunt trims her eyebrows in a secret schedule. I know I did my best, so I keep a tight grasp on the little hope I have.
"And the sixth slot is for," Coach Rody focuses his view. "Fajardo, Alex. Welcome to Blue Sailors."
I release a long sigh. Turning my face on the left side, I catch Bruno smirking at me. The smirk is unusual, some combination of insult and praise, but more in insult. No, pure insult. I wonder why.
Exhausted with curiosity, I gather my things and go home. I feel like I'm a ball bouncing in happiness. I'm excited on what lies ahead.
***
Waking up in the morning is a piece of cake for me. I quickly fix myself and hurriedly head to school. I shouldn't be late since it's my first practice as a player of Blue Sailors.
"You're late. Give me 120 push-ups," Bruno welcomes my entrance in the gym.
I look at my phone. "Seriously? It's only 07:02."
"Exactly. You're two minutes late. Each second that you're not here before the intended time means one push up. Now, move, dumb skull."
"Great." I drop on the floor and start counting.
A copper-haired guy named Copper approach the both of us. "Hey Bruno. Don't be so mean to... Alex, right?"
I nod.
When Coach Rody arrives, my penalty ceases and the practice begins.
***
06:50 AM. Well, it means I'm not late. And I think I get in the court earlier than anyone else.
"Good boy. But I got here earlier," Bruno breaks my reverie. "Get the mop and start cleaning the floor."
I look around the area looking for any proof if he actually sleeps here. Nothing.
Other players start to appear and wonder what black magic makes my laborious aura comes alive. Charlie, a freshman like me, draws near to me with a mop.
"Do you know the history?" he asks.
I turn to face him. "What do you mean? What history?"
He says in near whisper, "About Bruno and the team. You know, the past few years for Blue Sailors had been so crucial. Previous players had turn their backs because of Bruno. And it won't be unusual for them if we back out. But we will stay whatever Bruno's blunt personality does."
"Why would Bruno be so rude and mean to us?" I fire back.
"I don't know. But keep your socks up. They won gold in the SEABUL last year. And we'll win it again after damn three years. And be strong, we observe that Bruno eyes you as his next prey."
"What? Seabull?"
Charlie rolls his eyes. "South East Asia Basketball University League."
***
"Ppprrrt!"
Coach's whistle reverberates in my ears. Signaling by his hands, he orders us to assemble before him. He shows his game plan on his board and throws us some strategies and advices once playing in the court.
He glances at Bruno. "You observe them while on practice. Alright, move now."
I run ahead and position myself. Charlie passes the ball to me. I grab the offer.
Dribbling, I motion from left to right and vice versa. Two of the other team's players circle around me. My Nike squeaks confidence against the floor.
From the corner of my eyes, I see Copper waving his hands. I ignore him. I can shoot a point in this near-impossible situation. I defy limits. I take a step back and throw the ball.
Bingo!
"What are you Fajardo? Crazy?" Bruno blares in fury. His face burns in fire.
"But I made it," I respond.
"I don't care," he seethes. "I saw your situation. Copper had the best spot to shoot, but you turned your cheek. We don't push limits alone because we are a team."
Bruno walks out of the gym. I look at Charlie. His eyes seems to say, "I told you."
***
It's been a month of practicing. And those previous practices were terrible. Bruno kept embarrassing me like I had scraped the worst wound to him. And he keeps doing it.
Last time, I was able to get through his block by faking the direction I was going to. He tried to chase me but he tripped over. I saw him just smirking at me.
Not to sound bragging, I had also have the chance to steal the ball from his security.
After all, if he is trying to drag me down, I will maintain my tight grip onto the ring. I won't give up.
***
At this moment, our team is on the game against its last opponent to qualify for a national league. I'm so brutally challenged to play with my seniors. As what Coach Rody said before the game, I may be new in my team, but I have grown old in basketball.
Energized, I motion across the court. I dribble the ball as I make my way through other players. But the bigger guy on the other team puts me to a quick stop. This guy seems tough. And the situation is like a jammed traffic. Without warning, I remember the same scene I had experienced in the practice where I accidentally made Bruno angry.
I scan the area. I take a back step and throw the ball. But it's fake. I intend to pass the ball to Bruno. We play as a team. We don't push limits alone.
Bruno receives the ball. Without much further ado, he shoots the ball. Three points! He smirks at me.
We are ahead of the opponent. Few more points and we will hook championship. The other team does everything they can, but the walls we have built put us unscathed.
Now, the ball is firmly secured again in Bruno's hands. He does the dribble and get past along other players. Bruno is swift, but like what happened to me, the bigger guy pauses his motion. Another comes over and blocks his way. He's locked. And the time on the screen displays the last ten seconds of the game. He glances at me and smirks.
I know Bruno can make his way.
I am about to change my position when Bruno releases the ball on his right side. The ball draws close to me. I grab it like it is my life. I ready myself, take one step back and shoot the ball. Three points again!
The next moment becomes blur. I just realize my teammates are tapping my shoulders, scratching my hair. Hearing bunch of congratulations, my mind settles in a notion that we won the game.
A hand appears before me. It's from Bruno. I shake his hand.
He says, "If you think I try to pull you down, you got it wrong."
I look at him with a shaking smile.
Then, he emphasizes, "I think you're prepared now to guide your team on SEABUL."