Black and other colors
When he won the gold medal against his German adversary in the long jump category during the 1936 Berlin Olympics, not only did the great Jesse Owens shame Adolf Hitler and his vaunted claims of Aryan invincibility. His surprise victory also marked the surge of Black supremacy in athletics and other sports long dominated by whites – basketball, baseball, and American football.
Curiously, while little black girls are making strides in gymnastics, just like 13-year-old Romanian Nadia Comaneci did in the 1976 Montreal Olympics, no black of either gender has made a name in swimming and other water sports.
It can be safely said, however, that without its black athletes, the great United States may not even rank in the Olympics or in other world sports events.
In basketball alone, for example, only two whites are part of the team, the rest are blacks. And if you were to make a headcount of the U.S. Olympic contingent, a half and a half more of the remaining half are colored.
Track and field, particularly in the long-distance races, are a black domain. The same is true in the 100 and 200- meter dashes, including the 400-meter run and hurdle.
It may not have anything to do with color, but blacks are admittedly bigger and stronger than the whites, yellows, or browns.
But the current White House resident, Donald Trump, is white, in a missiles bluff with a yellow, Kim Jong-Il of North Korea, and because Arabs and Muslims are mostly brown, constantly or seemingly at war with others not of their color and belief, world peace is next to impossible.
What color was Jesus, by the way? Wasn’t Pontius Pilate white? The Jews, too, I imagine. Judas? He was said to be brownish.
It is said that great athletes develop their skills in their rise to the top; Serena Williams, for one, and the Black Mamba himself, Kobe Bryant for another, idolized by millions, given not only his catchy first name and an easy to remember last name, but more because he was exceptionally good at his craft.
A snob in his early NBA days, Kobe soon transformed himself into a diplomat, friendly with people, and even friendlier with children.
But I have long suspected that the likes of Kobe are gifted by the heavens – dunking the ball in the face of heftier opponents, snaring rebounds against much taller players; able to steal the ball from shifty point guards; whishing the nets from the perimeter or from the three-point arc.
Kobe had it all – eyes at the back of his head, passing the ball to an open teammate sans looking, spring in his legs, and wings on both feet.
And so, at the age of 41, having done it all, was called back by the Creator.
If you take a really close look at life, some of us live long but anonymous lives, others short and celebrated – Kobe, Jack Kennedy, James Dean, our own Jose Rizal.
That seems to be God’s way. But those who live long and celebrated lives may have made some kind of a pact with the devil, mortgaging their souls to Satan for a place in the sun.
Please, I neither said Trump or Putin. I will see you in hell, says Eli Wallach to Clint Eastwood in an old Western movie. You first, Django shoots back.
The black plague has come, but its color is yellow. China is the biggest exporter in the world – fake signature items, China-made products, even people, and now a dreaded disease. Its origin is from the snake, how apt indeed.
Even so, keep the Chinese coming, says the president of a hundred and 10 million Filipinos. Tourists bring money, you know. But every Chinese is a tourist, and like TNTs in the States, will stay here forever.
Coronavirus decreases the population, but no problem, replace them with more Chinese.
I have always known that the Chinese have control of politicians, the police and the military, only too happy to accept “gifts” from them (hindi ko nilalahat, ‘yan ang puslit ko) but Malacañang itself.
How big was the Chinese help in Duterte’s win in 2016? Huh, wala sa local? Exported from China, kamo?
Ah, I have faith in our leader. Hindi siya dinidengoy ni Xi, malamang si Xi ang nadidengoy.
Pero, mahirap isahan ang Instik. Kunwari naiisahan mo siya, pero mahirap ma-fathom ang Chinese brain.
Kasi, ang bulsa mo ang inyong utak.
Laban, Gilas Pilipinas, for the sake of the motherland.
The first aircraft disaster in Baguio happened in the ‘50s, when a Philippine Airlines plane, carrying a number of delegates who had just attended a Jaycee national convention in the city, while on its way back to Manila, crashed on a mountaintop, killing everyone on board.
I also remember another PAL plane flying to Baguio from Manila crashed on the side of a hill, killing a wealthy businesswoman and her friends who often come up to Baguio on weekends to play at the Hyatt casino.
The two airplane accidents, like in Kobe’s case, were due to the thick Baguio fog.
And there was this scion of a well-known Baguio family, who, while doing plane maneuvers a few feet above Manila Bay, crashed into the water, killing Doughboy Pecson (of the Pecsons of Happy Glen) instantly.
I wonder where Doughboy’s siblings, Linda and Toti, are now.
And what about all the other Baguio boys and girls?
Where are the Sta. Maria sisters of Session Theatre and the “haunted” white house along Leonard Wood Road? Also the Obials, Dimacalis, and Disinis. And the siblings of the late Ben Filler.
Sadly, the two valedictorians of my 1950 high school class, Franco Lagman of the regular class and Winston Flora of the classical class, have both moved on to the next world, and so too Fred Reyes, my classmate in our third and fourth years, with whom I had a class rivalry that saw us exchanging places in every periodical term on who would be first in religion and first in excellence and second in excellence. Fred was editor of the Panorama magazine when he passed away.
Hey, no way I am bidding farewell. Like I say, Rene Cortes first but he also says Erding Balajadia first.
A trio of bad grass, as others would say.