June 19, 2003

     It is very flattering when you get comments like "..you really are a writer" or "man, can you write..." or "I am really enjoying your columns...". Unfortunately, most of these comments are from anonymous writers so who knows, they could've all come from my mother. (My wife doesn't read my columns. They don't get in the way of her favorite reading materials - the JC Penney and the Carson Pierre Scott catalogs. When a friend called her up one day screaming, "tell Rolour his column today is sooooo funny...", she forgot to tell me until a week later.)

     Not that I don't get non-flattering ones like "..you know what your problem is?" or "my 5 year-old son can write better than you...". They are anonymous comments too but I have very strong suspicions where they come from - my crush in College.

     I wrote that crush a lengthy letter once expressing, you know, whatever. She just had a very short response written in a very small piece of paper - "I hope you die!" Well, it did not make me feel really bad, in fact, the hate mail wasn't that scary since she put a little heart instead of a dot over the "i". I asked a psychic friend and he interpreted the response as "I hope you die, but, please, take me with you!"

"How do you know if your professor's behavior crosses the line from weird to abnormal? How do you know if your professor has lost his or her mind? This week's Top Ten may help.

     You know how women (all women, no exceptions) react when they receive a love-letter? They share it with the rest of the world like it's a newspaper at Starbucks. I think that's what happened to my letter since after about a week, I became associate editor of the very first issue of the College's paper, Vital Signs, without previous writing experience.

     I have never regarded myself as a writer although I attended the University of Sarcasm years ago and read such books as Writing for Dummies (I am not endorsing the book since I don't write for dummies. I write for intelligent people). I am also a fellow of the Self-Deprecating Humorological Society but it is not something I am proud of. Membership is not equivalent to anything prestigious like, say, if you are a member of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen or you happen to be one of the X-Men.

     Before somebody jumps on me and label me a liar, I'll admit that I was editor-in-chief of my high-school paper but it's not because I could write editorials that could bring down a government, or because I could write a feature story that could somehow take the smell away from our stinkin' Principal. I have always believed that I became editor because of my alleged talent in writing sports stories (more on this later). Also, there was this rumor that my English teacher was so impressed about my composition when I applied to be a staff at the school paper. She instructed us to write "about our dream". Not the Martin Luther King kind of dream but the one that we do while sleeping. I wrote the whole lyrics to "Hotel California" and the teacher never knew. Who would not be impressed with rhyming lines like "...There she stood in the doorway, I heard the mission bell. And I was thinking to myself, 'This could be Heaven or this could be Hell'. Then she lit up a candle and she showed me the way. There were voices down the corridor, I thought I heard them say...". The student who would become associate editor eventually admitted that for his composition he wrote the lyrics to "A Horse With No Name". ("...you see I've been through the desert on a horse with no name, it felt good to be out of the rain. In the desert you can remember your name, 'cause there ain't no one for to give you no pain...la la la la la...) Yes, he wrote the la la la, too.

     Now about this alleged sportswriting talent of mine. When I was in third year high school, I was already part of the staff as a reporter. Every year, the school sends staffers to Press Conferences at the regional level to attend lectures, learn and compete. If you win, you get to go to the Press Conference at the national level where top journalists of the country's leading dailies give lectures and act as judges. Student writers from all over Western Visayas competed in categories such as editorial writing, feature writing, headline writing and copy-reading, among others. The editor usually gets the editorial, the associate gets the feature, and so on. And there's this little category called sportswriting which is usually assigned to the dumbest member of the staff. In our case, that meant, tadah, me.

     I was cool with it. Imagine, I was in high school and I was already in a press junket. During these press conferences, I got to meet future schoolmates at the College of Medicine, especially those who graduated from public high schools like me. (This is not a knock on private schools. Maybe they just did not send any of their staff to conferences like this or they just did not win anything.)

     Here was my advantage - most of the high school students then who knew a lot about sports belonged to the last row of section 22, that means they could not even form a single freakin' English sentence. And most of the students who knew how to write did not know a damn thing about sports. Most schools sent contestants just for the sake of competing. "Hey kid, if you don't know anything, just write your name and get lost!" But I took that writing contest seriously. It's safe to say that I was the brightest among a bunch of dopes.

     And so I won and got some trophies. Nothing fancy, they are the ones you see on Army-Navy store near the Central Market. My mother loved the trophies so much (I guess all mothers do), she covered them with something like a colorless nailpolish so they won't fade (owww..). My teachers thought I could write and made me editor during my senior year. I still could not write editorials, but, hey, sportswriting can actually get you somewhere. I had articles published in the Philippine Star and Sportsweekly Magazine and although I still keep them in an album somewhere in the basement, I am too embarassed to show them now. They were not very good.

     Several weeks ago, my father sent me a copy of the very first issue of Vital Signs. As if to tell me, "hey son, you were an associate editor!", my name was highlighted with a neon yellow marker. Guess what my only contribution to that issue was. An article on sports, of course. Well, since a lot of people, including my editor, at Roxas Hall may have read the letter I alluded to above, it was a good thing that no article was attributed to me with this title - "A Love-Letter from a Silent Lover".

     It's funny how a College of Medicine newspaper could have so many poems in it. I think medical students are born poets or just plain romantic. I still wonder why poems take a lot of pages in a school paper. Layout editors would put them against a grayish background of a sunset and arrange them so that it would resemble the inside of a Hallmark card. I need to check those poems in the first issue of Vital Signs. They sound like they are lyrics to the songs of Bob Dylan and The Cascades.

     Several weeks ago, Dr. Perry Juridico ('93), based in Bacolod City, sent me an e-mail with a bunch of basketball questions and asking me if I can write about basketball "one of these days". I always try not to write about sports because that may not appeal to the majority of the readers but I can't afford to ignore a request. Besides, all these years, I only had one basketball column, and that was a long time ago, Demi Moore has had six boyfriends and Jennifer Lopez had re-married and divorced three times already. For non-basketball junkies, you can skip this section and scroll down to this week's top ten. And please don't send me "I hope you die!" e-mails. You may send them to Dr. Juridico instead.

     Fire away, Perry Boy.

     "What's your thoughts on Michael Jordan?"

     As basketball fans already know (if you don't know this, you're either dead or in a coma), Michael Jordan was unceremoniously fired by the NBA's Washington Wizards. The simple explanation to this is his boss didn't like what he was doing.

     It happens to the career of people all the time. You don't know what you are doing, you're out. But if you listen to the throng of Jordan's supporters (and I personally know a lot of them, especially surgeons!), it's not supposed to happen to Michael Jordan. Why? What exempts him from accountability and everyday setbacks? Because his name happens to be Michael Jordan? See what idolatry can do to you? It clouds your mind. Badly.

     More than a year and a half ago, October 11, 2001 to be exact, I wrote a column, From Air Jordan to Err Jordan, (my only other basketball article) after Jordan announced he would un-retire. My contention as a basketball fan was, Jordan had already left his playing career with a curtain call that other players could only dream about. He didn't need to risk a legacy and go out again, this time, a loser. Besides, he won't be able to help the hapless Washington Wizards anyway. Did I call it right or what? Didn't I tell you I'm a genius?

     I don't discount the fact that Jordan could be the greatest player ever. That could change 10 years from now because there's somebody out there playing under our noses who could wind up better that him. Still, you can argue about his greatness and I won't dispute it. But for now, let's call a spade a spade.

     The argument for hiring Jordan as an executive of the Wizards and later as a player was that he could make the team better, help them win. The Wizards would be nothing without him. But the painful truth was, they weren't much with him, either.

     Let's look at the facts, cold facts. Winning, in any language, means winning more that half of your games or at least making the playoffs. The Wizards' overall record during Jordan's tenure as an executive and as a player was 110-179, with no winning seasons. If you break it down, as a player, his record was 74-90. With Jordan in a suit, his woeful team was only 36-89. You won't call that winning, would you?

     Jordan sold tickets, sure. Every game was a sellout. But that's not how you run a team. You set up a foundation so a team can keep on winning, eventually putting fans on the stands for years to come. Everybody supports a winning team, whether Jordan is playing on it or not. The fans who trooped to the stadium to see him play, would they still watch now that their idol is gone? Here's another thing that Jordan diehards refuse to acknowledge - by playing for two seasons, Jordan actually slowed the growth of other players around him. "Jordan displayed truly worrisome judgment in his handling of players," writes Sally Jenkins of the Washington Post. "It was an inherently awkward situation, a boss sharing the court with his players, but Jordan's constant public blaming made it dysfunctional."

     To Jordan's supporters, friends and associates, it couldn't be the result of a personal failing in his part. It's everybody else's fault, everybody but Jordan's. Grow up, people, will you?

     "What did Jordan bring to the team?" asks Jenkins. "Charisma. He was sublime to watch, a charming conversationalist, and his comeback was an important contribution for all athletes, because it expanded ideas of the viable career-span. His name was an incalculable plus for the franchise in terms of fan goodwill, ticket sales and national attention. If Jordan's name value was good for the franchise, it came with a ton of baggage. He could display the personality and temperament of a spoiled actress. He apparently offended Pollin (Wizards' owner) with highhandedness and by insulating himself with go-betweens. He was a chronic headache for the team's promotional and media relations departments, flying solo as if the organization had no right to ask his plans."

     Simply put, the talents of Jordan the player don't translate to Jordan the executive.

     Sing no sad songs for Jordan, the player. But for Jordan, the executive? He needs a junior executive training seminar.

     "What now for your beloved Lakers?"

     I can go on and on with injuries to Rick Fox in the playoffs, and to Shaquille O' neal in the off-season as excuses but I'm not going to do that. The reason for the Lakers' failure last season was the team management's inability to sign up legitimate backups to Shaq and Kobe. Here's one reason they are not too bright over there - they used all the money allowed in the cap to re-sign forward Devean George. He doesn't deserve it. This guy couldn't hit the ocean, too erratic, and very inconsistent. The money could've been used to sign a decent power forward to back up Shaq (like Keon Clark, for example, who eventually signed up with the Kings for the same amount of money). Who was Shaq's backup? Samaki Walker. What/who is it/he? A Japanese soup or the Texas Ranger?

     Another reason is while the Lakers were sitting idle, other teams were shoring up their lineups and making plays hoping to derail the Lakers. They don't pay coaches just to wear suits, boys and girls. Whatever they haven't figured the last 3 Lakers championships, they have definitely figured out this year. If you've seen the Spurs/Lakers series at all, on offense, the Spurs ran a lot of high-post picks, purposely to lure Shaq away from the lane, for penetration and cuts by their quick guards. On defense, all 5 Spurs collapsed on Shaq and Kobe. The other 3 Lakers couldn't find the hoop anyway, so why bother?

     Take heart, Laker fans. The Lakers have coaches who do their homework too. Here's what they need: A big, decent, scoring power forward to back up Shaq, a point guard who can shoot long range and can defend, and a veteran small forward who can defend as well as shoot mid to long-range.

     Because of salary-cap restrictions, the Lakers can only hope to sign veteran free-agent players who have lots of money already and who are willing to play for a championship and earn a ring for less pay. In his weekly radio program, Lakers' coach Phil Jackson mentioned they will have at least 4 new players (teams are prohibited to negotiate with any player until July 1). All things considered, don't be surprised if you see this starting lineup at the start of the season: Center - Shaquille O'Neal; Forwards - Juwan Howard, Scottie Pippen; Guards - Kobe Bryant, Gary Payton.

     In an interview with Sporting News Radio last Monday, David Dupree, a veteran sportswriter who has covered the NBA the last 25 years for USA Today, mentioned the same lineup as a big possibility, so don't tell me I'm dreaming here.

     You won't be surprised though because you 've already read it here. First.

     Do you think Karl Malone will fit in with the Lakers? How about the Kings?

     As much as I consider Karl Malone the 4th most-hated man in the planet (after Hitler, Saddam and Osama, the fifth happens to be John Stockton), he would fit nicely with the Lakers but that's wishful thinking. I don't think Malone would ever consider playing for the veterans minimum of a million dollars alongside two established superstars with 3 rings. He won't fit with the Kings because Chris Webber is there. He won't fit with the Spurs because no matter how you look at it, Tim Duncan is a power forward. My guess is he will stay with Utah or if he is really after a chance, and I mean just a chance (and the chances are slim and none), for a championship ring, he might end up in Dallas.

     Who do you think will win it all in the NBA?

     This is a late answer but for the record, I picked the Spurs to win in seven.

     Your professor may act or look weird sometimes and it may still be normal. Your neuro-anatomy professor, for example, may pick up a piece of paper which may look like garbage to everyone else, reads what's in it and starts shaking his head and murmuring to himself. Weird? Yes, but it is still completely normal. So how do you know if your professor's behavior crosses the line from weird to abnormal? How do you know if your professor has lost his or her mind? This week's Top Ten may help.

     Top Ten Signs Your College Of Medicine Professor Has Lost It:

1. "In Pathology, she comes in an all-white mini-skirt, crosses her legs, and puffs a cigarette 'ala-Sharon Stone in 'Basic Instinct'."
2. "In Anatomy, he goes to class on a skateboard and always starts his lecture with "What's up, dudes and dudettes?""
3. "In Physiology, he brings his karaoke machine, tells you to read Chapter 10 while he sings 'Somewhere down the road'."
4. "In Surgery, he loves to make himself available for prostate examination practices."
5. "In Pediatrics, she leaves in the middle of a lecture just to catch her favorite soap and her idol, Juday."
6. "In Microbiology, everytime you give her the wrong answer, she gives you the finger and screams, "you gonna fail, dumb ass!""
7. "In Legal Medicine, always ends his lectures with a salute and shouts, "Lawyers should die!""
8. "In Community Medicine, she brings in her babysitter and introduces her as the substitute professor for the day."
9. "In Ob-Gyne, she gives her lecture while in a lithotomy position."
10. "In Biochemistry, he proudly tells you his favorite substance is methamphetamine hydrochloride."

     This week's FINAL WORD comes from Anonymous:

     "I don't agree when you said all professions are noble. What about politics? Do you think it's noble?"

     I don't even consider it a profession.

     The author welcomes your comments, good and bad. Please fill up the fields below and click Send to Author. Suggestions for future column topics are also encouraged.

     The author's e-mail address is at drgarcia@wvsumedaa.com

     Views expressed on this column and any other by-lined articles on this site are the authors' own and do not necessarily reflect the views of the organization or its members. For comments, please e-mail the author.