This is a fever that postpones Senate hearings, closes down offices in the Central Business District, and helps Adidas meet profit margins. This is a fever that turns prim and proper rosary bead-clutching kolehiyalas into fierce cheerleaders pumping their middle fingers in the air.  This is a fever that reduces men to brash khaki pants wearing schoolboys making hamon (calling out) each other to suntukan (fistfight) at the back of the school. 

We are talking about a rivalry that is as entrenched as the New York Yankees versus the Boston Red Sox.  As blood spattered as Toyota versus Crispa.  And as scathing as Noranians versus the Vilmanians. 

It is Katipunan versus Taft.  Eagle versus Archer.  Gary Lising versus Johnny Litton.  It is Ateneo versus La Salle.  When both schools do battle, school is out and green and blue alike are being given a lesson in aerodynamics at the Araneta Center.  

These are the games that are visceral in nature. Tribal in essence. Epic in scale.  And amplified through merchandising.  It is a rivalry where your shine or shame after the game becomes a subject of national concern.  And – because the cosmic scales of balance demanded it – the fiercest of rivals faced off in this year’s UAAP basketball finals. 

And, this season, it just had to be raining hard during Game Two. 

Argh. The agony. 

But despite the frustration, despite the heartbreak, and despite the hair loss, I continue to revel in this rivalry as much as the next hardcore Archer or diehard Eagle.  And I’m as hardcore as you can practically get.  I’m third generation strong, sixteen years berde and proud of it.  This rivalry has been programmed into my DNA as I am sure it has it has been twined into the double helix of those who have blue gushing in their veins.  When our boys won last year, I howled like a banshee and my body was spitting out so much alpha-male testosterone I was worried my wife might grow chest hair. But, this year, when the Iglesia ni Chris Tiu overcame our Church of Casio, I felt my heart crumple and implode as I went into voluntary sensory deprivation. I couldn’t bear to watch the news or read the papers or even check my email because any tidbit of news replaying the Katipunero victory was like an anathema to green bloods like me. It got so bad that even my yaya couldn’t comfort me.     

But, dear God, we love this rivalry don’t we?  From debate to golf to jack en poy, all you have to do is slap on that imprimatur of the Society of Jesus (SJ) or the Fratres Scholarum Christianarum (FSC), and both sides start painting on their war colors.  And this rivalry hits its crescendo when we duke it out on the hard court.  Our rubber matches are the few times that we can be unapologetically blue and green.  We invest so much of ourselves in school pride (some even invested P25,000 to score a ticket on E-bay), that it is very easy to lose ourselves in the rivalry. 

And why not?  After all, we’re only human.

I’d like to think that our rivalry was borne out of a healthy respect for a competitor that pushes us to better ourselves.  Whenever I see both our players on the court, I cannot even imagine the scale of responsibility that rests on the shoulders of these young men who carry the hopes and dreams of thousands of students and alumni.  But it is also from the hopes and dreams of their supporters, scattered through the generations and across the globe, from which the players draw their extra-dimensional source of ooomph for that archer sting or eagle bite.  These are the type of supporters whose relationship to our players is so intimate that they have the tenacity to watch the games live every heart-stopping time. ‘Screw the statistics’, they say.  ‘To hell with the predictions’, they proclaim.  “Any Ateneo-La Salle game is do or die time. And my boys need me there.”

As a result, these young men, armed with sinew and flushed with adrenaline, have only one mantra running through their minds during the game – “I cannot lose to THAT school.”  When this happens, our amateur cagers do not possess fighting spirit.  They are our fighting spirit.  

We all relish the passion, the zest and the loss of bladder control that this rivalry brings to the humdrum of our daily lives.  In fact, we want to be overtaken by our passions.  We want to be seized by the moment.  We want to be swept away by the experience.   And I can see why: In a world where uncertainty is the norm – where we are unsure as to where global economy is heading, when we are clueless as to which government official is telling us the truth and when we don’t know who will win in Survivor Philippines – our basketball games are the ultimate escapist fantasies.  During the hard court battle, the lines are clearly drawn.  We know who deserve our cheers and who deserve our jeers.  We know who is the hero and who is the villain. We know who is the victor and who is the vanquished.  Yes, these games truly bring out the best in us.     

And, sometimes, it brings out the beast in us as well.   

And why not?  We’re only human.

When we have a rivalry as impassioned as ours, it’s almost too easy to tumble over the slippery slope that keeps our rivalry in the pink of health.  In the wake of this year’s championships, I’ve heard some things and I’ve seen some things and I’ve read some things (yes, my bout with sensory deprivation is now over) that would infuriate those of us who bleed blue or green.  These things I came across don’t bear repeating in this column, for either of our sakes.  But, needless to say, some of these acts denigrate the respect for our rivalry.

Whenever somebody from ‘one side’ steps out of line, this step can be magnified in the eyes of some from the ‘other side’ who take it as a cue that the actions of some speak for the rest of his institution.  When this happens, there is the tendency  to jump to the conclusion that whatever negative stereotypes we’ve heard about our opposite number is automatically justified.   

And there are also some from both camps who believe that a certain degree of animosity must exist between our schools. And I admit that I know how this feels like because I’ve been in that space, too.  I can’t help but think, though, that being in that space prevented me from appreciating that some ‘one’ from the ‘other side’ of the fence could not only be a great rival, but a great person as well. 

Ever since I lost my parental financing and reluctantly entered the workforce, there are many Ateneans I’ve encountered over the years whom I have come to respect, to admire and to trade friendly barbs with.  And there are many of us who have had siblings and relatives and friends who we ‘lost’ to the ‘other’ school.  But after many an Ateneo-La Salle game, we often get together with those ‘lost’ people from the ‘other school’ so we can share a beer, engage in some good-natured and slightly off-colored ribbing, and maybe throw a couple of wayward punches at each other while we’re at it (my sister packs a mean wallop).  And as we enjoy the camaraderie, I can’t bring myself to think: Are the same people from the ‘other school’ who disparage our basketball players, who put down our alma mater and who ridicule the caliber of our education?

Even if they are from the ‘other side’, I know that we both cross ourselves and offer a prayer before the start of every game.  I know that we both fervently sing our alma mater song whether we win or we lose.  And I know that we both try to remain humble in victory and gracious in defeat.  But, sometimes, even when we try our best to be humble or gracious, it just doesn’t work out that way.   

After all, we’re only human. 

I think one of the greatest lessons I have gleaned from this rivalry is the opportunity for us to become more human for each other.  How living up to the value of our rivalry helps us build each other up instead of take each other apart. How we can be men for others for La Sallians and how we can be Christian achievers for God and country for Ateneans.  In the end, we aren’t really poles apart: we take pride in our players.  We take pride in our schools.  We take pride that our schools give us an opportunity to become part of this ongoing rivalry. In the end, our principles know no color. Our respect knows no color.  And our faith embraces both colors.   

I have always wondered what those on top of our respective alma maters think about all this rivalry business.  And I do mean all the way to the top.  Earlier this year, I had the opportunity to visit the Mother House of the De La Salle Brothers in Rome where I met Br. Alvaro Rodriguez Echeverria, FSC, the superior general.  Because I couldn’t rein in my kakulitan, I just had to ask the Brother Superior about his global take on our beloved adversaries. 

“Brother, what do you think about this rivalry between the Jesuit and the Christian Brothers schools in the Philippines?” I asked him playfully.  Br. Alvaro laughed. “We are very good friends with the Jesuits. Both the La Salle brothers and the Jesuits are some of the largest religious orders in the world.  God needs all the help he can get.”  he smiled.  “In fact, when Fr. Adolfo Nicolas, SJ (the Jesuit Superior General) visits the Vatican next week, he will drop by the Mother House to celebrate mass.”

But I’m still going to be cheering myself hoarse for good ol’ De La Salle in next year’s season.  My rivals would expect nothing less.       

So, am I worried about how our boys are going to fare next season?  Hell, I’m worried about how our boys are going to fare for the next fifty seasons.

But I know that there will be a season for everyone. And for everything.

(Originally published in Philippine Star on October 29, 2008)