The Final Score: Finals MVP contenders Calvin Abueva and Arwind Santos clash in Game Seven

 

An hour before the start of Game Six of the Philippine Cup finals, a man walked along the courtside seats of the Araneta Coliseum and he carried a boy. The boy, who I’m guessing is around four to five years old, wore a cardboard mask bearing the life-like image of Calvin Abueva. With Abueva’s mouth wide open. With Abueva’s tongue sticking out. 

 

Excuse me sir. What was that again? Yes. Mouth wide-open. Tongue sticking out. Wrapped around the face of 4-to-5-year old boy. You can’t get a mask that’s more lifelike than that. Like it came from a Calvin Abueva-themed children’s party. 

 

Abueva only played 16 minutes and tallied just five points and six rebounds (no steals, no blocks, no turnovers) in Game Six, easily his least productive game in the tournament. But if San Miguel loses in Game Seven, it’s likely Abueva’s face that will haunt the Beermen in their sleep. With mouth wide-open. With tongue sticking out. Like a Gene Simmons rock-and-roll poster for the band KISS. 

 

Take out Abueva’s Game Seven glitch and you have a player averaging 19 points and 11 rebounds in the finals. Actually, he’s averaging 18 and 10 dating back to the Semis. I still can’t explain how he scores, suicide-mission-style, against taller, wider defenders. I’m just glad I get to see his Michael-Bay-blockbuster-caliber stunts in person. If Alaska wins Game Seven, Abueva should be the Aces’ finals MVP (unless Dondon Hontiveros scores 30 points on 10 three-point shots in Game Seven). 

 

However, if San Miguel wins Game Seven, then Arwind Santos should be the finals MVP (unless June Mar Fajardo does a 30-point-30-rebound-life-altering rampage in Game Seven). I think if there’s a series that could change the minds of those forever bewildered by Arwind, these Philippine Cup finals must be it. His series-long virtuosity should finally convince the confused. But knowing how fandom normally works, it probably won’t. 

 

Arwind is averaging 18 points, nine rebounds, two assists, a steal, and two blocks in the finals. Arwind’s all-around attack, right? So try and forget the fact that he happily launched 14 three-point shots (making 4) in Game Six. Somebody just muttered, “Ano, 14?!” Moving on. If I’m an Alaska big man or penetrator, I’d be more concerned with Arwind’s four blocks in Game One and five blocks in Game Five. 

 

Wait. You’re still thinking about Arwind’s 14 three-point shots, aren’t you? Fine, let’s go back to that. 

 

You probably won’t admit it but every time Arwind swishes a three-point shot, it feels like a dagger. Because that’s the one thing you didn’t expect him to excel at. He rebounds the way Ed Sheeran sings. He blocks shots the way Alyssa Valdez spikes balls. And he wears his trademark horse-riding hat (I had to Google this. It’s not a beanie. It’s not a cap. It’s – based on my best estimation – a horse-riding hat) the way Michael wears his Jordans. It’s his and his alone.

 

So when Arwind swishes a three, it always hurts. It hurts a little in the first half. It hurts a lot when it pushes San Miguel ahead late in the game. Perhaps for Alaska fans, it’s more deflating than a June Mar Fajardo dunk. It makes you say in exasperation, “Wow. Pati ba naman three-point shot, kaya mo na rin gawin? Bad trip naman o.”

 

Maybe an hour before the start of Game Seven, I’ll spot that same man walking along the courtside seats of the Big Dome. He might be carrying that same boy. The boy is back to wearing a Calvin Abueva mask with Abueva’s lifelike mouth wide open and lifelike tongue sticking out. 

 

Maybe moments later, Arwind will arrive in a slim-fitting dress shirt and even slimmer-fitting designer jeans. He’ll saunter towards the San Miguel locker room sporting that same darn horse riding hat or cap or headgear or whatever he prefers to call it. Fact: he loves that hat the way he loves to sing. No apologies. No compromise.

 

But you know what, perks. These are perks. If you play like Calvin Abueva, you have the right to inspire kids to wear masks with your fearsome likeness. If you play like Arwind Santos, you have the right to wear the most distinct headgear in the league. 

 

Go ahead and ask, “It’s an awesome mask but why would anyone make that child wear that mask?” 

 

Go ahead and ask, “Why would a highly-skilled, handsomely-paid basketball star wear that hat?” 

 

Perhaps only the best performers who succeed in ways incomprehensible to most will understand what it means to be set apart. Calvin is nonconformist. Arwind is unorthodox. They make you pull out hair just as often as they make you say, “Wow.” Alaska and San Miguel expect both men to play well in Game Seven by constantly, insanely, reliably doing the unexpected. —JST, GMA News