Basketball, dreams, and redirections

For most Filipinos, basketball is more than just a sport—it’s a religion. If that’s true, then my brothers and I are devoted followers.

At an early age, our dad introduced us to the world of basketball. By the time I turned six, he decided I was old enough to outgrow childhood cartoons and made me watch basketball documentaries with my older brothers. At first, I was skeptical. Could I really enjoy something that seemed so intricate, with journalists analyzing every detail? But my dad thought otherwise.

And he was right.

The moment he pressed play, a clip of Michael Jordan executing his signature fadeaway filled the screen. Right then and there, my world shifted. I was enamored.

My brothers and I were completely enthralled by the beauty of basketball. I can still recall the countless times we screamed our lungs out, watching game-winning shots over and over again. We begged our dad to put a basketball hoop in our living room and front yard so we could play whenever we wanted. Instead of Dota, our family computer had NBA Live 08 installed. Seeing how passionate we were, our dad enrolled us in summer clinics so we could learn to play properly.

And with that, a new chapter began.

Oohs and aahs became the norm every time I stepped onto the court. At just 8 years old, I could already pull off incredible crossovers and spin moves. I dreamed of playing in the big leagues, sharing the hardwood with legends. Back then, I was young, zealous, and full of dreams. I believed that with enough training and perseverance, I could reach them. Yes, I was that good … before life took a sudden turn.

When I entered elementary school, my interest in basketball faded. I dabbled in lawn tennis and football for a couple of years. It wasn’t until sixth grade that I decided to return to the sport I once loved. After years of neglect, my skills were rusty and needed serious polishing.

By ninth grade, I saw my chance for redemption. I was in the lineup to play for the nationals. Every morning, I trained with my uncle and cousin, who was also part of the varsity, to help me in my return. My shot was back, and soon, it was raining buckets. I yearned to play basketball and become one of the legends. So I trained and trained to my limits, knowing that to compensate for my height, I would have to have an extraordinary skill set and a bag of tricks up my sleeves. But during one of our sessions, I suddenly passed out.

I had a seizure. My parents rushed me to the hospital, where I was diagnosed with epilepsy. My neurologist told me to avoid competitive sports—it was simply too dangerous. Just like that, I had to stop training. And with that, my skills faded beyond recovery.

I still play basketball recreationally. Sometimes, I miss being the best player on the court. Occasionally, I catch glimpses of my former self—draining deep threes, breaking ankles with my handles—but it’s never quite the same. Now that I’m officially out of the game, all I can do is reminisce about my glory days.

Basketball was once my religion. Now, I’m a lapsed follower. I forgot my devotion when I forgot how to play like I used to.

Life happened, and I shifted my focus on things that seemed more relevant. I entered the major seminary to discern priesthood, where I discovered a new love—reading and writing. The same passion I once poured into mastering crossovers and deep threes, I now channel into crafting stories and reflections. Now, whenever I open my old closet, I see my jerseys hanging there—remnants of my younger self who was once a legend on the court.

They were right—basketball is more than just a sport. It is a religion, and now this religion has a shrine.

A shrine that reminds me of my unfulfilled dream.

This shrine reminds me that some dreams are not meant to be fulfilled, no matter how much you yearn for them and persevere. Some desires are placed in our hearts not for the sake of achievement, but because the pursuit itself teaches us lessons that shape who we become.

I may not have thrived the way I wanted to, but through basketball, I forged invaluable friendships, learned important lessons, and created memories that I will cherish for the rest of my life. I may not have become a legend, but I know that basketball turned me into a friend, mentor, and brother for other people. Those experiences made all the blood, sweat, and time I poured into the sport truly worthwhile.

Life is more than just about reaching our dreams—it’s about the journey we take in pursuit of them and the person we become along the way.

I once dreamed of playing on the hardwood. But now, here I am, on a different kind of hardwood—a desk—pursuing a different path: the path of writing.

Maybe I wasn’t meant to be part of the lineup.

After all, they also need men for the sidelines.

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Brendan Keith Augustus N. Blas, 22, is a seminarian. He is currently discerning what kind of father to become in the future—a reverend father in the Church or a padre de familia.