Rafe BartholomewRezensionen

When I was growing up in the Philippines, every guy in my neighborhood played basketball. As a writer one is trained not to use absolute terms like “every” or “all,” but this is surely a statement of empirical fact. Maybe those guys were too busy now, or their knees, like mine, had given way in middle age, but at some point in their lives, they had picked up a ball and chucked it through a hoop. And in every neighborhood, there was one. Even I can still remember the makeshift basketball court near my house: planks salvaged from some construction site and nailed to a tree, a frayed net clinging to a rusted hoop bent funny from all the dunk attempts, skinny street dogs weaving between the players’ skinnier legs, worn-out tsinelas and fake Reeboks raising little puffs of brown dust, overshadowed by the clouds of diesel smoke as a jeep rumbles down the street, and the game is temporarily interrupted to make way for the vehicle.

To tell you the truth, I saw that court probably only two or three times. Everyone played except for me. My neighbors apparently thought I was some sort of invalid because I never went outside; this was because I chose to stay inside and read. (A true story, but a really long one, and this is not the time or place.)

This all means that I’m probably hugely unqualified to write a blog entry about Rafe Bartholomew’s fantastic book Pacific Rims: Beermen Ballin' in Flip-Flops and the Philippines' Unlikely Love Affair with Basketball, because in the great scheme of things basketball occupies hardly any space in my waking life. Alley-oops, hip-checking, floaters, flip shots, crossover dribbles, triangle offense -- they may be botanical terms for all I know. I wouldn’t know a power forward from a point guard -– men’s deodorant brand names, maybe? I mean, I actually had to Google the name Phil Jackson.

But I did have a few years’ experience cheering on the basketball team Ginebra (then renamed Anejo, or maybe it was the other way around, I forget) -– a bunch of thugs, but lovable thugs nonetheless -– via a small black-and-white TV outside my house, with a friend who slightly resembled Rudy Distrito, while mosquitoes nipped at my shins. I remember Crispa’s Grand Slam, and the fallen Billy Ray Bates saying arrogantly on TV, “I’m Superman, I’m Superman, I’m Superman.” See, I have a little background.

But back to the book, which I love, and maybe not for the right reasons: Pacific Rims is very well researched, for starters. The history of basketball and the American educational system in the Philippines, long-standing rivalries between teams, local politics in Boracay, the elaborate import system (where a player from America gets to play for a Philippine team during a so-called “reinforced conference”, Robert Jaworski as a phenomenon, the meaning of diskarte, corporate sponsorship, the relationship between players and their loyal fans, the tragic tale of Billy Ray Bates -– they’re all here. And I write this with barely disguised professional envy because the social-history aspect of Pacific Rims is all so breezily and skillfully done.

No, it’s not the sort of book that would satisfy a history or political science requirement; there just aren’t enough numbers in it. (And yes, the former academic in me would cite that as a bit of a problem: I wanted citations; I wanted statistics.) But it’s such an enjoyably written chronicle of lived experience, stuffed with observational detail, that it’s hard not to want students to read it in order to understand the Philippines a little more. It’s something academic writers could learn from, really. The humor (and Pacific Rims is frequently hilarious, so funny I would laugh out loud on the train) -– well, that’s a little more difficult to learn.

I guess I should probably talk about the sports writing itself; for reasons already discussed above, it’s not exactly my cup of tea -– though I’ve long been envious of sportswriters, who can get away with murder in newsprint -– and as such (to me) constitute the weaker parts of the book. Pacific Rims more or less follows the arc of a playoff series, and in the closing innings -– sorry, minutes -– of the book Bartholomew focuses closely on locker-room dynamics and the intricacies of specific games themselves, quarter by quarter. Again, not my forte – I can barely visualize what’s going on sometimes – but Bartholomew manages to make his cast of characters (Willie Miller, Tim Cone, the rest of the Alaska team) come alive.

When Bartholomew discusses the Senate hearings, in the early 2000s, on “Fil-shams” -– Philippine Basketball Association “import” players that are ostensibly Filipino American but don’t have a drop of Filipino blood in them – it’s less some typical anecdote about bureaucratic corruption, and more of an illuminating discourse about mixed race, citizenship and nationalism in the Philippines. It’s a fascinating section, which has a lot to do with the richness of the subject matter, of course, but it’s also because Bartholomew chooses to further explore the public perception of Filipino Americans in the Philippines (a subject close to me) in the chapter. (Scholars of the Philippines will also be pleased to note that Pacific Rims is far from being Manila-centered, as Bartholomew plays as an import in provincial tournaments as well.)

My point is that Bartholomew has an inquisitive streak that goes far beyond sports or the obvious political angle. What he accomplishes in Pacific Rims is something generously holistic; aware that cultural phenomena can’t be understood in isolation, he chooses to cast a wider net. There’s a wide-eyed openness to the contradictions and foibles of Filipino culture and the new world around him that suffuses the book. That’s something academic writers can learn from as well.

I think Western journalists of the last few decades tend to lapse into certain cliches when they write about the Philippines: their double take at an Asian country so Westernized in its outlook, their ease in latching onto a single image or phenomenon -– Smoky Mountain, karaoke, Manny Pacquiao -- to generalize about the country as a whole, with a lingering sense of First World condescension throughout. Bartholomew is well aware of these pitfalls – in fact, he acknowledges some -– but he elegantly steers clear of them. When he expresses his occasional ethical discomfort (especially in a cringingly funny section on a midget-versus-transvestite basketball tournament), he takes pains to contextualize why this flagrantly politically incorrect competition is simply seen as good-natured humor in the country.

I’ll pick a random example of how sharp his eye (and writing) is. (Seriously, it’s random -– I didn’t even dog-ear this section in my copy, and I have many dog-eared pages.) In the course of following a new import player for the Alaska Aces, Bartholomew writes about how, during the Alaska players’ practices, the penalty was lusutan -– “where the loser would have to crawl through the spread legs of his conqueror.” As he writes, “It was a nostalgic ritual from pickup games… that reminded these pros of the days when they played for nothing but bragging rights and love of the game. Short of speaking fluent Tagalog and downing… balut…, there was no better way for [the new import:] to say ‘I’m one of you guys’ than to make lusutan…”

And then Bartholomew continues:

Togetherness is one of the most rigid social norms in Philippine culture, and it played a major role in the chemistry of PBA teams. There’s a powerful urge in Philippine society to be part of the group, whether it’s a family, a bunch of classmates, or a basketball team. Being alone is a minor tragedy to many Filipinos. …when I’d show up at Alaska practice and greet the players, we’d make small talk and they’d ask what I did the previous night. My typical response included eating dinner and writing a bit. ‘You were alone?’ they’d ask, and either raise their eyebrows in bewilderment or say that it must be said to eat by myself. It wasn’t that bad for me, but to them it sounded intolerable. Likewise, many of the players were surprised to learn that I didn’t have any family in the Philippines…. For many Filipinos, being separated from family was a trauma you only chose to inflict upon yourself when economic hardship forced you abroad to support your loved ones, as in the case of the country’s roughly 10 million overseas migrant workers.

And so on. It’s this observational acuity that anchors Bartholomew’s writing throughout. To put it another way: he has it down so right.

All in all, Pacific Rims isn’t a great book about basketball in the Philippines; it’s a great book about the Philippines, period. The fact that it’s an enjoyable summer read, written with a terrific eye for detail and a deadpan wit (but god, the puns are kind of bad) -– that’s the equivalent of a three-pointer right there. The book is partly subtitled “the Philippines’ Unlikely Love Affair with Basketball,” but the real love affair here is Bartholomew’s clear affection for the Philippines.

Great Books, But It Doesn't Answer the Central Question

This book is excellent. It's a great read for any fan of basketball. After reading this book, I feel pretty comfortable talking about and following Filipino basketball.

The author gives some great anecdotes from the past and stories that he says may or may not be true. He also does excellent reporting on the team with which he spent a season. I appreciate the author's ability to reach into the personalities of not just the team, but the janitors and trainers as well.

The central question of the book is "why do Filipinos love basketball so much?" Unfortunately, that is never really answered. He never seems to return to that question after discussing it as is reason for spending a year in the country. At times the book gets a little bogged down with the author's ego because he spends quite a bit of time talking about how he is the only white guy for miles around. Hopefully, future editions of this book will include an index, as other reviewers have mentioned.

Great memoir of growing up in McSorley's, the oldest bar in New York City. Parts heartbreaking and parts hilarious, always interesting. Makes me want a light and dark.

On paper, this is exactly the type of book I would normally love. However, it was a little too long winded and rambling to keep my interest. This book may hold some appeal for a more hardcore basketball fan.

If you are Filipino and a hoops fan then this is definitely a book for you. It's funny and fun to read. For a foreigner, he got to know the Filipinos so well. A lot of positive and negative write ups about the Philippines but over-all it something we Filipinos can be proud of and can also improve on. I find myself searching for Youtube for some of the games he featured and getting to know some of the PBA players on a personal level. This is really a great find and a great read.

Having read and enjoyed Jim Yardley's Brave Dragons, which covered Chinese professional basketball, earlier this year I was eager to further explore the genre of "books about Asian basketball written in English," assuming such a thing was possible. Thankfully after some cursory research I learned about Rafe Bartholomew's Pacific Rims, which focuses on the Philippines' notable and somewhat-curious obsession with hoops. I finally got around to reading the book and believe that it is one of the best basketball books I have ever read. Bartholomew, currently a senior editor at Grantland, provides an incredibly entertaining look at the country's fascination with the sport with a book that is equal parts fly-on-the-wall season chronicle, deep examination of Filipino culture (athletic and otherwise), and travelogue, all of it worthwhile.

Unless Bartholomew is lying to the reader, Filipinos are remarkably into basketball and the sport has found its way into virtually every aspect of life in the country. Soccer never really caught on, and basketball is unquestionably the nation's most popular sport. Courts can be found even in the most remote areas and are viewed as centers of social life, the country's ubiquitous jeepneys are often adorned with a random assortment of NBA team logos or just Jerry West's silhouette, and players in the very popular Philippines' Basketball Association (and some Americans like Clyde Drexler, who is revered by Filipinos for some reason) are cultural icons that hawk a plethora of products to consumers.

The fact that basketball is so huge in the Philippines is enough to make for an interesting book. If Bartholomew just traveled across the country and noted the country's prevalence of courts and games, how random NBA games from the nineties serve as midday filler on television networks, and the strong following for the PBA (the second-oldest professional basketball league in the world) he could have made for a decent read. Bartholomew goes far deeper in Pacific Rims, however, much to the reader's benefit.

A good bit of the book covers the 2007 "conference" (season) of the Alaska Aces, a PBA franchise led by American coach Tim Cone. This gives Bartholomew an excellent opportunity to describe the nature of idiosyncrasies of the country's major professional league. As was the case in China, Filipino professional basketball leagues do things a little bit differently than the NBA. Teams are limited to one "import" on their roster, though some cutthroat coaches will often bring in multiple foreigners to compete for a roster spot or hire a new import in midseason. Imports must also meet a height restriction, which appears to change from year to year and is far from impervious from abuse or corruption. Franchises are all run by business owners, leading to some unfortunate names such as the Burger King Whoppers and Rain or Shine Elasto Painters (the Alaska Aces are naturally named the Alaska milk company). There are musings about referee corruption and some fans are imbued with elements of soccer hooliganism. Bartholomew's sections on the league's history and his analysis of its present iteration are truly captivating reflections on how the professional game has been appropriated across the world. The author manages to develop a close connection with many Aces, especially their import Rosell Ellis, and he is able to provide a very intimate account of what turns out to be a rather exciting campaign for the team. Bartholomew possesses a very deep understanding of the game (he is a decent player who was recruited to play as a ringer in an amateur tournament in the resort island of Boracay) and his game descriptions are vivid, suspenseful, and entertaining.

In addition to following the Aces, Bartholomew devotes many pages to describing general life in the Philippines. He spent three years in the country on a Fulbright grant and was able to explore much of the country and its culture over the period. His hoops focus is not limited to the professional ranks, and Bartholomew plays many pickup games with various cross-sections of Filipino society and travels across the country (the PBA is based entirely in the Manila metropolitan area) to see that the national obsession extends far beyond the PBA's borders. These sections read more like travel writing, as he describes driving and biking across precarious terrain in pursuit of some court in the remote mountains, game where midgets face off against drag queens, or similarly-intriguing basketball attraction, and they are just as strong as the more conventional Aces chapters. Bartholomew also occasionally detours into discussing racial and cultural aspects of Filipino society, such as his guest appearance on a rather racist Filipino telenovela and the complicated relationship between the Filipino-Americans in the PBA and their countrymen. I felt that these off-court sections enriched the book more than anything else and provided a fuller account of Filipino culture.

In Sum
I highly recommend Pacific Rims to anyone interested in basketball or just learning about a foreign sports culture in general. You certainly don't need to be able to recognize former PBA imports like Cedric Ceballos or Darvin Ham to appreciate the book. Bartholomew can repeat himself at times and sometimes injects too much of himself into the book, but he ultimately has crafted one of the best basketball books I have read. The book's scope extends off the court to the sport's cultural and social impact and he is equally strong in covering both. Pacific Rims is ultimately a very well-executed book on a fascinating subject that is a pleasure to read.

8/10

I liked this book for 2 main reasons.
1) I love basketball and 2) I live in the Philippines.

I thought it gave a very realistic view of living here and enjoyed many of the commentaries on how life here really is. While it got to be a bit tiresome to hear about how Rafe mingles with the masses as opposed to the superstars he was following around, it was still well done.

I also enjoyed reading a bit more about the history of the PBA and while I only know the current players and thus could relate to it that way, it was still a good read.