By Pennie Azarcon dela Cruz
Executive Editor, Sunday Inquirer Magazine

WATCHING wrestling was how we bonded with my father when we were growing up. I remember how on Saturday nights, he’d pull up an armchair directly in front of our black and white set, turn the channel to wrestling and loudly egg on the contenders like he were in a cockpit, which was in fact where he was on Sunday afternoons.

Released from our house chores, us girls eagerly watched from the sidelines, taking our cue from the paterfamilias and rooting for this guy with feathers on his head and Apache markings on his face. Meek and poker-faced, the native American character definitely provided the perfect foil against his blustery Yankee foe. Bullied, bamboozled and bent every which way, the Apache took all the punishment quietly until the very last round. It was then that he would suddenly regain his mojos and with a few well-executed throws, have the muscled Kano lying face down on the canvas and howling with pain as his legs were being twisted into fancy shapes. As the referee tapped the requisite three counts, the Apache would execute this rain dance we often saw on cartoons, complete with the mouth-tapping woh-woh-woh victory whoop.

Sometimes we’d even mime the dance and the war whoop, and would erupt in cheers when the referee raised the Apache’s arm to declare him winner. It didn’t matter that we were practically watching the same routine on weekends, only with slight variations on the wrestling techniques or the get-up of the contenders. It didn’t matter either when, many many years later, we would learn that the brash antics, the suicidal leaps on the enemy’s chest, the heart-thumping kicks to the groin, the pretzel twists to the legs and the blue-face inducing headlock were all staged.

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By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

OF all the different incarnations of basketball players, it is the scorer that captures the fancy of fans the easiest. Now, some fans have a soft spot for hardcore hustlers–those who dive for every loose ball–also known as energy guys while others like stoppers–lockdown defenders usually assigned to a team’s best shooter–but everybody likes someone who leads the box scores. The most interesting place to see scorers in action in Philippine basketball is in the college leagues, because scorers are encouraged to score more and more in the hopes of outscoring the other team in an all-out arms race. They will learn to defend much later on, preferably when they turn pro. It is thus when they’re in the UAAP or the NCAA when we see these players waxing brightest. Yet even among these ultimate weapons on the collegiate hardcourt, there are various classifications:

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By Pennie Azarcon dela Cruz, Executive Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

NO, it’s not just those doomsday scenarios that got me thinking this isn’t going to be a good year all around. People, it seems, don’t even want to keep track of the days and weeks and months ahead.

How do I know this? Well, I didn’t receive a single wall calendar this year. And neither have most of my friends, assorted relatives, and I bet the whole barangay. Yup, for the better part of this month, the usual, “Huyy!” (hurled with a brisk upward tilt of the chin) or “Good morning po” has been replaced by the ingratiating, “Kumusta po? May kalendaryo ba?”

Indeed, in our tiny flood-prone community, we used to dispense calendars like an Ecstasy addict blowing kisses. Our household would be swimming in calendars days before Christmas, as would the SIM office. As my associate ed Ruey used to say, you couldn’t swing a cat by its tail without hitting a frigging rolled up calendar around here. But now, zero. As in nil. Nada. Zilch!

Not one of those giant calendars from Star Paper Mills whose detailed record of the daily tides spells salvation for us sea creatures in Malabon. None of those homely calendars from Mercury Drug that has monthly discount coupons for all sorts of medication, nor those glossy calendars of pristine beaches and tufted castles that PAL used to give away, complete with a desk calendar of the same romantic destinations.

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By Ruel S. De Vera, Associate Editor
Sunday Inquirer Magazine

MALCOLM Gladwell redefined the discussion about radical change in his first book, “The Tipping Point,” a massively enjoyable and enlightening read. What that book also reminded me of was a long-standing debate I’ve had with myself regarding the nature of change inherent in the life of a person.

You see, there are people whose lives change subtly and steadily over a period of time, so steadily that most other people don’t even notice anything has changed. This of course gives the impression that a particular individual has a very stable, seemingly immutable life, or that the person exerts a powerful hold on his or her life. It makes for a very stable and somewhat boring year.

Others have an explosive quality to their lives. These are people whose lives change suddenly, violently. It lends a very chaotic quality to their lives, which leads to very eventful but also somewhat traumatic years.

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