Manila, 1981. The air inside the newly refurbished Rizal Memorial stadium was thick with anticipation; the atmosphere was electric; the air was humid hinting of a happening that precedes greatness.
The Manila Southeast Asian Games wasn’t just a competition; it was a platform created by Marcos to show to the world the new Philippines which was still reeling from Martial Law. But in real sense the 11th edition is the stage for the launching of the new generation of homegrown heroes. And for me, a wide-eyed student armed with little more than nerve, it was my baptism into the world of sports media.
My media credentials were not procured through any high-level journalistic network, but through sheer audacity and the institutional authority of Ozanam, Adamson University organ. I held the crumpled letter from the editor and submit it to the Media center at the Rizal Memorial Complex office, Suntok sa buwan, malay mo makalusot.
I watched with disbelief as a genuine media pass was stamped and handed over to me by an overworked clerk. Her crumpled hair and scattered paper on her desk, showed how busy she was and having a hard time inscrutinizing and screen those late applications piling up on top of the other in her desk.
I was a student media—a title that felt far grander than my actual experience.
My gear was equally humble but infinitely precious: an old but reliable Yashica SLR camera, borrowed from a generous uncle. In an era before the digital DSLR and instant review thru LED screen, every click of that shutter was a calculated risk, a roll of 36 exposures standing between me and the perfect, career-defining shot. I had to make every frame count.
The focus of my assignment was clear: capture the magic of the Filipino track and field contingent. The names alone—young, powerful, and blazing—were enough to fuel national interest.
Lydia de Vega, already hinting at the greatness that would crown her “Asia’s Sprint Queen.” She moved with an effortless grace; like a waltzing gazelle. She doesn’t run but glide; its poetry in motion.
Shooting her was an exercise in timing—trying to catch the peak of her stride, knowing that if I blinked, the moment, and the frame, would be lost forever.
Then there was middle distance runner Isidro Del Prado, Hector Begeo, Elma Muros unheralded Jaime Grafilo who upstaged his more illustrious team mate Renato Unso in bagging the 400 meter hurdles. They were the stars of presidential nephew Michael Keon of Gintong Alay program.
It was humbling just to be inside the track oval recording history through a lens.
But the moment that remains etched in my memory—the one that defined the high-stakes drama of analog sports coverage—was the photo finish sprint in the 10,000 meter run between David Carmelo and Arturo Alimbuyao.
The two runners pushed each other to the absolute limit, matching stride for stride in the final 50 meters. The crowd sustained roar increases in a deepening crescendo as they approached the finish line. As they lunged across the finish line, the two bodies collapsed into a desperate, simultaneous heap, with nobody knowing who had won. The officials immediately called for the photo review.
We waited. Minutes crawled by agonizingly. When the result was finally posted. A dead heat but officials declared Carmelo as winner. A dual gold medal winner was the popular demand by the fans but it’s still an alien topic at that time. Besides the country was still under Martial Law and the government won’t risk any controversy it might create involving two Filipinos for the golds
The photo finish result can’t convincingly declare a winner,their times were identical to the nearest fraction—a testament to both of the athletes’ intensity and the cold, unfeeling accuracy of the camera.
At that moment of frenzy, I failed to squeeze my shutter for the shot. A testament to my being an amateur in the field. I had the shot but failed to capture it.
I left the stadium that day not just with a story and a roll of developed film, but with a profound respect for the craft. The 1981 SEA Games taught me that sports journalism is about more than just reporting facts; it’s about being present when heroes are born, about capturing the passion of a nation, and most importantly , about realizing that a humble, borrowed Yashica SLR can be one of the greatest tool in the world.
