COMMENTARY: Into the mind of Jayson Castro

 

IF YOU WERE JAYSON CASTRO, what would you have done?

 

He had the ball, with Gilas Pilipinas down two with 24 seconds left on the game clock. Castro was on an island. The immortal Jimmy Alapag, who was on fire for most of the second half, was blanketed by a much taller defender from Argentina. Main scorer Andray Blatche has been erased by a combination of the peskiness of Andres Nocioni and a painful right knee. 

 

Castro found himself alone facing Pablo Prigioni, the veteran of countless international basketball wars for his country. 

 

Prigioni had been in that situation before. Castro had not, just as the rest of his Gilas teammates hadn't. And yet, his decision carried some of the biggest stakes in Philippine basketball history.

 

Decades from now, we would look at that play the same way we do all the heartbreaking moments in Philippine basketball history. We'd focus on the video of Castro changing his mind mid-jumper and losing possession of the ball. 

 

What we would forget is that this play wasn't drawn for him. 

 

The play was for Alapag, whose mighty heart kept Gilas alive and kicking. For most of the second half, Alapag's defender kept going under the screen, leaving him with enough space to size up the ring, mix a sachet of 3-in-1 instant coffee, finish his drink, then shoot the three. Alapag burned Argentina for five three-pointers, all in the second half.

 

However, on that last play, he was blanketed. His height, the biggest handicap he had as he competed on the world stage, finally caught up to him. He couldn't even get the ball on the last play, no matter how valiantly he tried.

 

Meanwhile, Andray Blatche was on another planet, waging a personal war against Nocioni, like Drax the Destroyer against Thanos.

 

If you were Jayson Castro, what are you going to do?

 

REWIND THE YOUTUBE VIDEO, and look at Castro size up Prigioni. He takes a few dribbles, looking to measure Prigioni to blow by him for the layup. On a normal day, The Blur would have been able to blur right through the 37-year-old veteran. On a typical day, he would drive past Prigioni, get to the shaded area before an additional defender can help, and perhaps draw the foul. 

 

But Castro's speed just wasn't there — and hasn't been for most of the tournament so far. The drives to the basket that we are used to seeing were being blocked, challenged, stopped cold. The ankle injury he suffered before the tournament — the one we were praying he would be able to shake off — had turned him from a superhero into a mere mortal. 

 

At least once every game, Castro has gone to the rack against a bigger defender, and you think that THIS is the time he'll be able to finish a shot. But it hasn't happened yet. Robbing Castro of his speed and agility is like asking Urbandub to unplug their instruments and sing acapella in a gig: the foundation is still there, but the message gets lost in the medium.

 

Despite his injury, Castro was still finding ways to contribute. He doesn't have the burst of speed, but he's made up for it by shooting almost a couple of three-pointers per game at a 45 percent clip from the three-point line. His presence on the floor has kept defenses honest, preventing defenders from sagging off him and helping on Alapag and Blatche.  

 

So what are you going to do? You're not quick enough to blow by Prigioni, and even if you did, defenders will collapse on you. You're shooting 45 percent from beyond the arc, and your defender is backpedalling, unsure of what you're going to do.

 

Unfortunately, we don't have to imagine anymore. We all saw what happened.

 

IT WAS CASTRO'S FACE, when he headed back to center court to huddle with the team, that slayed me. There was a look of shame, disgust, anger and humiliation. It's like he aged five years after that one play. No one should ever have to feel that way. 

 

Yet there was his failed decision on full display, the most heartbreaking turnover in Philippine basketball history.

 

If you were Jayson Castro, what would you do?

 

There's only one answer: You don't change a damn thing.

 

If you were Jayson Castro, you keep driving hard to the paint, willing yourself to finally break through to finish over those giants from Puerto Rico and Senegal. Eventually, one will fall find the basket. And like a house of cards, their interior defense will fall apart.

 

If you were Jayson Castro, you continue to sacrifice your stats and play decoy so that your teammates can get theirs.

 

If you were Jayson Castro, you keep key players like JJ Barea and Carlos Arroyo under control, so that they can't rally their countries and steal a game.

 

If you were Jayson Castro, you dust yourself off and try again. You remember that it's only over when the scoreboard says it's over.

 

And if you fail, you fail as a team, not as an individual. No fingers pointed at others. No regrets, only determination.

 

And you remember that they said it couldn't be done against Korea. That this entire tournament would just be a cameo for the Philippines.

 

Not content with standing on the shoulders of giants but daring to be greater than they are. — JST, GMA News/Photos courtesy of FIBA.com