Give football its due

By Herman M. Lagon

There are moments in sports when a win is more than a number on a board — it becomes a quiet rebellion. That’s what the recent victories of our men’s and women’s football teams in the 2025 SEA Games felt like. Beating defending champions didn’t just shock pundits; it made many of us sit straighter and whisper the phrase we’ve whispered too often when Filipinos succeed against the odds — “Pwede pala.” These wins weren’t accidents born out of lucky kicks. They came from kids who learned the game barefoot, from parents who tucked muddy cleats in plastic bags, from small communities where dreams are louder than megaphones and politicians’ tarps. It came from faith — not the type that waits, but the type that builds, sweats, and hopes. That is why these wins must be seen as more than medals. They are reminders that football deserves serious and sustained investment, the same way we proudly support basketball and volleyball — and even the non-mainstream sports where we have a global fighting chance such as boxing, weightlifting, athletics, gymnastics, and even chess, where height is not a limitation and strategy, endurance, and heart bridge the gap talent alone cannot.

I say this as someone who calls Barotac Nuevo home — the Football Capital of the Philippines. Here, football is not an after-school hobby; it is as natural as fiestas and family gatherings. Kids learn to dribble long before they learn algebra, because on these fields, the world feels reachable. No grand stadiums, no multi-million sports programs — just welded goalposts, borrowed jerseys, and the stubborn belief that a small-town child can someday outrun a giant. But while places like Barotac and the many footballing towns of Iloilo, Mindanao, Negros, and the Cordilleras have produced exceptional talents, investment still tilts toward familiar hardwood and tarpaulin-ready sports. Our passion for basketball and volleyball is not the issue — it’s the imbalance. Meanwhile, sports like boxing, where legends like Manny Pacquiao, Nesthy Petecio, Carlo Paalam, Eumir Marcial, and Aira Villegas, have made entire nations listen; weightlifting (Hidilyn Diaz), gymnastics (Carlos Yulo), billiards (Efren “Bata” Reyes), and athletics (EJ Obiena), where speed, grit, and strength come from relentless discipline; and chess, where quiet minds disrupt global boards — all prove that we thrive in spaces where size matters less than heart, brain, and devotion.

My love for football deepened not only in Barotac but also in a Jesuit school in Iloilo, where the sport lived in balance with basketball and volleyball — proof that fandom expands when platforms grow. One of my former students went on to represent the country internationally — twice. I remember him as a soft-spoken boy in uniform lining up for recess, then later saw him lining up with national athletes while the anthem played. That moment made me wonder: how many more “national athletes” eat fishballs near school gates today, unknown, un-scouted, unseen? How many potential champions in football, boxing, chess, javelin, billiards, sprinting, ju-jutsu, skateboarding, curling, baseball, swimming, archery, esports — and countless other sports — are stuck between talent and access? What if the next Filipino world champion is in a public school in Sultan Kudarat, Antique, Zamboanga, Palawan, or Catanduanes — waiting only for a coach, a program, a community, or the simple dignity of a fighting chance?

Many do not realize this — football is part of our forgotten heritage. In the early 1900s, football was the schoolboy sport of Manila. Paulino Alcántara, an Ilonggo, became a legend at FC Barcelona long before we turned basketball courts into national landmarks. We once competed head-to-head with Asian neighbors. But as commercial leagues and giant sponsors embraced the hardwood, football faded to the periphery. We didn’t lose interest — we lost platforms. We didn’t lose talent — we lost space to breathe. Yet here we are again, knocking on the global door, not by accident, but by the persistence of communities and families who refused to let the sport die.

Our women footballers accelerated this comeback. From their AFF triumph to their World Cup stage appearance, they proved that success blooms even in underfunded gardens. Stories of them raising funds for their own plane tickets aren’t folklore — they are red flags. But they still won. They still inspired. Their success mirrors the journeys of artists who rehearse in small rooms, of athletes in non-mainstream sports like gymnastics, fencing, sepak takraw, billiards, and rowing, where medals rarely match airtime. Yet every time a Filipino stands on a podium — whether after a knockout punch, a lifted barbell, or a perfectly calculated chess move — the country celebrates, even if investment came late or came little.

Here’s the simple truth: investment should follow potential, not just popularity. Football’s potential is immense — economically, socially, even diplomatically. Around the world, stadiums uplift communities, clubs bring jobs, and leagues create local industries. Football teaches patience, teamwork, discipline, resilience — values we claim to want in education. And yes, boxing gyms, athletics tracks, swimming pools, chess programs, and martial arts centers can change lives and communities too. Sports build character and careers; they also build nations.

This shouldn’t be a tug-of-war between sports. This is not basketball versus football, or volleyball versus boxing. This is about diversifying opportunities, so that a child’s future is not determined by height, hometown, or the presence of a mall with a league sponsor. Fandom is shaped by visibility and investment. Heroes are made where cameras point. We love many things — our teleseryes, our pageants, our karaoke — we can love more than two sports at a time.

If we want grassroots development, it must start where children play and where dreams begin — in schools and barangays. A football field should not be a luxury. A track oval should not be a privilege. A chess program should not rely on secondhand boards. And boxing coaches shouldn’t need to crowdfund for gloves and headgear. If DepEd and CHED speak of holistic education, then real facilities must exist — not only in capital cities but in coastal towns, rural barangays, and conflict-affected communities where sports often become therapy as much as training.

Local governments must stop treating sports as a background for photo ops. A sports facility is not a one-day ribbon-cutting; it is meant to echo with shouts, whistles, and running feet long after the band has gone home. Partnerships with universities, clubs, businesses, and communities are not hard — they simply require sincerity and follow-through.

The private sector can also change the game. Corporations helped build basketball and volleyball. They can build football, boxing, swimming, athletics, and chess too — if they look beyond trends and toward legacy. Imagine telling the story of a fisherman’s daughter who learned to kick on a sandy field and later scored for the country. That isn’t just content — that’s national memory.

In the end, it’s not simply about medals — though medals matter. It’s about dignity and possibility. The recent SEA Games victories are not just proof of skill; they are proof of what happens when Filipinos are allowed to dream with support, not excuses. Invest in football because it is time we rediscovered a sport that once belonged to us. Invest in other sports where we naturally excel because talent has never been our problem — access has.

So here’s the ask — simple, overdue, and absolutely doable: invest in football as we invest in basketball and volleyball; invest in boxing, athletics, chess, weightlifting, and other sports where Filipinos are proof of potential. Invest because every child — tall, small, fast, quiet, disciplined, strategic — deserves a field, a track, a platform, a board, or a ring to grow. Invest because the world plays football — and finally, beautifully, courageously — the Philippines is learning to play back.

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Doc H fondly describes himself as a ‘student of and for life’ who, like many others, aspires to a life-giving and why-driven world that is grounded in social justice and the pursuit of happiness. His views herewith do not necessarily reflect those of the institutions he is employed or connected with.