Fair Play: State of the Oval, addressed
WITH the hullabaloo that the Cebu City Sports Center oval was getting, I thought, the best way to get to the bottom of things was to get the side of the subject, as any sane journalist should.
So yesterday, off I went for a chat with the 14-year-old edifice. I asked permission from CCSC manager Ricky B, but he just stared at me and locked his door when I left.
Still, it didn’t stop me. Permission be damned—a sports editor can get away with lots of things you know—I introduced myself to the Eight Lanes.
And boy, did I get a mouthful from the Eight!
“The nerve…Idiot…We have nothing to say but thank you very much…Get your feet off me before I whup you…Crazy…No comment!!!”
I reasoned and cajoled, “Don’t you want to air your side?”
“You’re one to talk about maintenance,” said Lane One, “You don’t even pay when you use us.”
“Freeloader!”
To get their side, I knew I had to be honest. So I admitted flashing my press card the one time I ran at the oval.
“Just one time? How about badminton? You always ask for a discount or free use!” One was still adamant, “Who’s paying you to write this?”
“Crazy freeloading media guy!”
It went on. One kept his accusations, while Crazy Two kept haranguing.
Finally, after an hour, I got them to talk.
I said, “They are planning to replace you, they say you can’t hack it anymore and you don’t even look the part.”
“Duh!” Lane Three, who sounded a bit like Friends’ Chandler, said, “We’re public property! Who respects public properties?”
“Crazy freeloading stupid media guy!”
But what about misuse? I continued, “You weren’t built for hosting Sinulogs, Alay Lakad or concerts. You are a track oval.”
Lane Five answered, ”As long as they respect the rules. It’s all about the rules. See that dude over there. There’s a big sign that says only rubber shoes are allowed yet he’s wearing what? Every day, hundreds of illegal shoes stamp us. Smoking? Don’t get me started, sometimes I feel like an ashtray…”
“And one time,” Lane Six interjected, “There was this woman wearing heels. I really didn’t mind because of her legs…”
“For the last time, she got cajones and was a HE!” Four interrupted, “Like you said, we are a track oval, but look around. Who’s running? Who’s playing football, badminton, baseball, judo, karatedo or just sitting, idling?”
“Crazy freeloading stupid leggy media guy with no cajones!!!”
“Please, stop calling me crazy, I’m having a conversation,” I lashed at Two, but Four explained, “You have to excuse Two, he was never the same after Their Honors _____ and ____ walked on him during the Sea Games.”
“Ooh, I see,” then continued, “How do you feel about getting replaced? You got bulges and all and can’t even host a national meet.”
Then, Lane Seven said, “Mister, do you dig graves and wonder why skeletons have no faces? Our lifespan is 10 years, we are 14.”
Eight, who was silent since the start, said, “These are all talk. Weren’t you the one who wrote about our sad state in 2001?”
“Yes,” I said.
“And again in 2005?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing happened, while you, you stamped your cigarette butts with illegal shoes on us, weeks after writing about our sorry state, didn’t you?”
I said nothing.
“Look at us, we’re wrinkled, we’re supposed to be. We’ve served our purpose. People are healthier because of us. You cry foul for every sports center that becomes a white elephant and here you are, crying foul because we look this way? Puh-lease,” Eight (I couldn’t believe I was hearing this from a rubber oval!)—continued, “Talk is cheap. Replace us, if you must. Now if you can. But if you can’t, leave us be.”
I couldn’t let a freakin’ oval get the better of me so I said…
However, I was interrupted.
“Dude,” said Four, “Here comes Ricky B with guys from the mental ward, I think you better scram!”
“Crazy running scamming media guy!”
