I remember sitting in a crowded sports bar last weekend, the air thick with the smell of fried food and collective anxiety. On the screen, Gilas Pilipinas was trailing Lebanon by eight points with three minutes left, and the man next to me—let’s call him Greg—was having what could only be described as an emotional meltdown. He was slamming his fist on the table, shouting about defensive rotations and coaching incompetence, his face turning a shade of crimson that genuinely concerned me. I watched him, this embodiment of passionate fandom, and all I could think was: why you should calm down Greg it's soccer—wait, no, it's basketball, but the sentiment remains the same. It’s just a game, a beautiful one at that, and sometimes we get so caught up in the wins and losses that we forget why we fell in love with sports in the first place.

That moment took me back to a conversation I had with a former coach who told me that sports, at their core, are about the stories they create—the underdog triumphs, the last-second shots, the sheer human drama unfolding in real time. Greg was missing all of that. He was so focused on the scoreboard that he didn’t see the elegant ball movement that led to a crucial three-pointer or the young player who, despite the pressure, made a smart defensive stop. It reminded me of something I read recently about the Gilas team. Although he is aware of the sentiments of some fans, Cone said Gilas won’t make any drastic changes even after the recent defeats which included setbacks to Lebanon and Egypt in a tri-nation pocket tournament in Doha. At first, that statement might sound frustrating, like the team isn’t listening to its supporters. But when you think about it, there’s a certain wisdom there. Knee-jerk reactions—firing coaches, overhauling strategies after every loss—rarely lead to long-term success. In fact, I’d argue that stability and patience are what build champions. Look at the Golden State Warriors in the NBA; they stuck with their core through rough patches and ended up with multiple titles. It’s a lesson in trusting the process, even when it’s painful.

I’ve been a sports fan for over twenty years, and I’ve seen my fair share of heartbreaks. My local team once lost 15 games in a row, and I’ll admit, I was tempted to jump off the bandwagon. But instead, I started focusing on the smaller victories—a rookie’s breakout performance, a well-executed play, the way the team never gave up even when the score was lopsided. That shift in perspective changed everything for me. Suddenly, games became enjoyable again, win or lose. Which brings me back to Greg. If he could just take a deep breath and appreciate the journey—the development of young talents, the strategic adjustments game by game—he might find that sports are a lot more fun. The beauty isn’t just in the final buzzer; it’s in the dribbles, the passes, the camaraderie, the sheer unpredictability that keeps us coming back.

Now, I’m not saying we shouldn’t care about results. Of course, we all want our teams to win. But when the passion turns into toxicity—when fans are calling for heads to roll after every loss—it sucks the joy out of the experience. I remember a stat from a sports psychology study I came across (and I might be fuzzy on the exact numbers, so bear with me) that showed how teams with stable coaching staffs over at least three seasons have a 40% higher chance of making deep playoff runs compared to those with frequent changes. Whether that’s precisely accurate or not, the principle holds: consistency breeds success. Gilas, under Cone’s guidance, seems to understand that. They’re building something, and sometimes that means weathering storms without panicking. So next time you feel like Greg, ready to explode over a missed free throw or a questionable call, take a step back. Remember why you started watching in the first place. For me, it was the sheer magic of seeing athletes push their limits, and that’s something worth savoring, regardless of the score. Let’s not let the pursuit of victory blind us to the artistry on display—after all, it’s soccer, wait no, basketball, but you get the idea. It’s the beautiful game, and it’s meant to be enjoyed, not endured.