I WROTE with mist in my eyes last night about teenage years lost to time.
About a band of basketball “brothers” still spoken in respectful tones around the old hometown.
Where are they now? People ask even today of the members of a sports-inspired fraternity called the CUYO.
Well, six members and the coach had gone on to that Big Shootout in the Sky, giving this piece a hook for All Saints’ Day. But the poignancy of tales about the bunch makes the Cuyo worth remembering forever.
For those of you who were youngsters in the late ’60s and early ’70s, hop along if you want; might as well look back with me.
In every town then, there was a Cuyo. Remember?
Oh yes, try recalling the hometown hoops team that enthralled the townspeople with its razzmatazz—and a brand of play worth walking a mile for from the barrios on Saturday nights.
Not to be confused with the rosary of islands in Palawan, Cuyo stood for the Cuyapo United Youth Organization in Cuyapo, Nueva Ecija. An oft-repeated line about the town is that it’s where not only rice but culture is cultivated and hell is raised, not necessarily in that order.
Cuyo is the story of farm boys who excelled in the game and respected it as a metaphor for survival.
Most endured the hook shots, jump shots, running shots, acrobatic shots, fast breaks, slow breaks, flying elbows, body checks and crushing weights thrown at them in a game and by life itself.
A few did not.
The small-town idols were tough. Their group was never a sanctuary for santo santitos. Once during a night of youthful indiscretion spiced by San Miguel, players and their admirers streamed into the town plaza in the dead of night and posed buck naked for the camera. Peace officers who happened to be team fans conveniently looked the other way.
But mischief gave way to a profound sense of social responsibility early on. The Cuyo led the get-out-and-vote-your-conscience drive, a gutsy move indeed in the perilous political clime before martial law. It was not uncommon for youthful members to stand vigil while ballots were counted in far-flung villages where bullets flew.
For the lasses of Cuyapo then, the Cuyo homeboys were heartthrobs sent from central casting. They were the closest things to Tirso Cruz III and Edgar Mortiz.
Says the opening line of the team anthem:
“Cuyo sagisag ng kabataan. Cuyo kasapi nito’y puro guapo.”(Cuyo a symbol of youth with good looking members.)
On Saturday nights during the summer and Christmas holidays, crowds four-deep watched while the team ruled the local cage wars. If scouts from big-time Manila leagues were present then, they would have picked up a diamond or two in the rough from the Cuyo. One of them was the best cage contortionist I’ve seen and the smoothest glider to the goal ever.
He survived the hardcourt’s battles, but not life’s, and died a broken man. He was the best player not to play in the Micaa and the PBA.
Cuyo, although bathed in riceland glory, also signified a given in our earthly existence—that all good things must come to an end.
They did. Parity set in. A younger, taller and heftier team came along. The Cuyo’s hoop dreams that once soared eventually plummeted back to terra firma.
Just like a whole country’s majestic years in a sport we once dominated in Asia now remain only a memory—relegated to the distant past.
In a town in Nueva Ecija, long time ago, there was the Cuyo.
Proclaims the last line of the team anthem:
“Cuyo pa rin kami kahit kamiý nasa nitso.” (We’ll belong to the Cuyo until the grave.)
The Cuyo—where are they now?
Edgardo Domingo Dumandan, the greatest player not to play in the PBA, is dead.
Vicente Guerzon Jr. is an Air Force two-star general who presided over the Magdalo court martial proceedings. He retired recently.
Ariston Agustin, a mechanical engineer, works under contract in Vietnam.
Abelardo Ysmael is a tax preparer in Antioch, California.
Johnny Carambas, a former election registrar and high school teacher, is dead.
Boogie Casco was an agrarian court clerk; he, too, is dead.
Eddie Casco, studio photographer and hunter, is also dead.
Teddy Beltran Domingo, a former barangay captain, still resides in Distrito Cuatro, Cuyapo, Nueva Ecija.
Lucilo Pasakdal Jr. retired as municipal assessor and now lives in Cabanatuan City.
Tony Olog, a retired sergeant in the Philippine Air Force, died only last week.
Romulo Corpus who retired from the United States Navy, is a resident of Oxnard, California.
Diosdado Dacquel, player, senior statesman and alternate coach, is private secretary to the mayor of Cuyapo.
Mel Gonzales and Raul “Abay” del Mundo were the rookies. Gonzales works in Manila as an aircraft engineer. Del Mundo is a farmer in Cuyapo.
Percy Domingo Della writes this commentary. He retired as a state government spokesman in Sacramento, California.
Original coaches Boy Robles and Lando Ramos are very much alive, Robles in Manila where he is recovering from a gall bladder operation, and Ramos, a former town councilor, in Cuyapo.
Lawyer Manuel D.Tamase, who coached the team till its disbandment, is dead.
Emmanuel Rosario, official scorer and resident jester, was the first Cuyo to join his Creator. He was knifed to death at age 23 on Sept. 6, 1972. He died waiting for a visa to work in the United States as a medical technologist.
Jose Bernardo Yango was a Cuyo wannabe but was too young to play for the team then. JB went on to become a collegiate star, national team standout and PBA star. He is serving his last term as member of the Nueva Ecija provincial board.
Comments to: pd_della@hotmail.com
Where are they now? People ask even today of the members of a sports-inspired fraternity called the CUYO.
Well, six members and the coach had gone on to that Big Shootout in the Sky, giving this piece a hook for All Saints’ Day. But the poignancy of tales about the bunch makes the Cuyo worth remembering forever.
For those of you who were youngsters in the late ’60s and early ’70s, hop along if you want; might as well look back with me.
In every town then, there was a Cuyo. Remember?
Oh yes, try recalling the hometown hoops team that enthralled the townspeople with its razzmatazz—and a brand of play worth walking a mile for from the barrios on Saturday nights.
Not to be confused with the rosary of islands in Palawan, Cuyo stood for the Cuyapo United Youth Organization in Cuyapo, Nueva Ecija. An oft-repeated line about the town is that it’s where not only rice but culture is cultivated and hell is raised, not necessarily in that order.
Cuyo is the story of farm boys who excelled in the game and respected it as a metaphor for survival.
Most endured the hook shots, jump shots, running shots, acrobatic shots, fast breaks, slow breaks, flying elbows, body checks and crushing weights thrown at them in a game and by life itself.
A few did not.
The small-town idols were tough. Their group was never a sanctuary for santo santitos. Once during a night of youthful indiscretion spiced by San Miguel, players and their admirers streamed into the town plaza in the dead of night and posed buck naked for the camera. Peace officers who happened to be team fans conveniently looked the other way.
But mischief gave way to a profound sense of social responsibility early on. The Cuyo led the get-out-and-vote-your-conscience drive, a gutsy move indeed in the perilous political clime before martial law. It was not uncommon for youthful members to stand vigil while ballots were counted in far-flung villages where bullets flew.
For the lasses of Cuyapo then, the Cuyo homeboys were heartthrobs sent from central casting. They were the closest things to Tirso Cruz III and Edgar Mortiz.
Says the opening line of the team anthem:
“Cuyo sagisag ng kabataan. Cuyo kasapi nito’y puro guapo.”(Cuyo a symbol of youth with good looking members.)
On Saturday nights during the summer and Christmas holidays, crowds four-deep watched while the team ruled the local cage wars. If scouts from big-time Manila leagues were present then, they would have picked up a diamond or two in the rough from the Cuyo. One of them was the best cage contortionist I’ve seen and the smoothest glider to the goal ever.
He survived the hardcourt’s battles, but not life’s, and died a broken man. He was the best player not to play in the Micaa and the PBA.
Cuyo, although bathed in riceland glory, also signified a given in our earthly existence—that all good things must come to an end.
They did. Parity set in. A younger, taller and heftier team came along. The Cuyo’s hoop dreams that once soared eventually plummeted back to terra firma.
Just like a whole country’s majestic years in a sport we once dominated in Asia now remain only a memory—relegated to the distant past.
In a town in Nueva Ecija, long time ago, there was the Cuyo.
Proclaims the last line of the team anthem:
“Cuyo pa rin kami kahit kamiý nasa nitso.” (We’ll belong to the Cuyo until the grave.)
The Cuyo—where are they now?
Edgardo Domingo Dumandan, the greatest player not to play in the PBA, is dead.
Vicente Guerzon Jr. is an Air Force two-star general who presided over the Magdalo court martial proceedings. He retired recently.
Ariston Agustin, a mechanical engineer, works under contract in Vietnam.
Abelardo Ysmael is a tax preparer in Antioch, California.
Johnny Carambas, a former election registrar and high school teacher, is dead.
Boogie Casco was an agrarian court clerk; he, too, is dead.
Eddie Casco, studio photographer and hunter, is also dead.
Teddy Beltran Domingo, a former barangay captain, still resides in Distrito Cuatro, Cuyapo, Nueva Ecija.
Lucilo Pasakdal Jr. retired as municipal assessor and now lives in Cabanatuan City.
Tony Olog, a retired sergeant in the Philippine Air Force, died only last week.
Romulo Corpus who retired from the United States Navy, is a resident of Oxnard, California.
Diosdado Dacquel, player, senior statesman and alternate coach, is private secretary to the mayor of Cuyapo.
Mel Gonzales and Raul “Abay” del Mundo were the rookies. Gonzales works in Manila as an aircraft engineer. Del Mundo is a farmer in Cuyapo.
Percy Domingo Della writes this commentary. He retired as a state government spokesman in Sacramento, California.
Original coaches Boy Robles and Lando Ramos are very much alive, Robles in Manila where he is recovering from a gall bladder operation, and Ramos, a former town councilor, in Cuyapo.
Lawyer Manuel D.Tamase, who coached the team till its disbandment, is dead.
Emmanuel Rosario, official scorer and resident jester, was the first Cuyo to join his Creator. He was knifed to death at age 23 on Sept. 6, 1972. He died waiting for a visa to work in the United States as a medical technologist.
Jose Bernardo Yango was a Cuyo wannabe but was too young to play for the team then. JB went on to become a collegiate star, national team standout and PBA star. He is serving his last term as member of the Nueva Ecija provincial board.
Published on page A24 of the October 28, 2006 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer
Comments to: pd_della@hotmail.com
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