The rain was coming down in sheets that evening in Batangas, the kind of tropical downpour that turns dirt tracks into rivers and makes you question why you ever loved this sport. I was 17 then, sitting on a wooden bench with my teammates, watching puddles form near the goalposts while Coach Ramirez paced before us. "Look at this weather," he said, his voice cutting through the drumming rain. "Perfect conditions for an upset." That's when he told us about the PBA game that had happened here years ago, the one where a team that hadn't beaten Ginebra in 14 straight matches over five years finally broke through. I remember how his eyes lit up when he quoted Coach Tan's words: "We talked about how Ginebra is beatable. Even though we hadn't beaten them for five years, 14 games to be exact, we had that one game in Batangas during the PBA on Tour. That's the game we mentioned - beatable ang Ginebra."
That moment stuck with me, not just because of the rain soaking through my jersey or the chill creeping into my bones, but because it was the first time I truly understood what it takes to become a professional footballer. See, we weren't just some kids playing in the mud - we were dreamers, every single one of us, and Coach Ramirez knew exactly how to fuel those dreams. He made us believe that giants could fall, that records were meant to be broken, and that somewhere in Batangas, on a rain-soaked field much like ours, a team had proven that even the most dominant opponents could be defeated.
I've carried that lesson through my entire career, from those muddy provincial fields to the pristine pitches of professional stadiums. The path to becoming a professional footballer isn't just about perfecting your dribble or mastering tactical formations - it's about cultivating a certain mindset. That Ginebra story taught me more about psychology than any coaching manual ever could. Think about it - five years without a win against the same opponent. Fourteen consecutive losses. The mental toll that must take on a team is unimaginable, yet they found that one reference point, that single victory in Batangas during the PBA on Tour, and used it to rewrite their entire narrative.
When I finally got my break with a second-division club, I found myself facing similar mental battles. We were scheduled to play against a team that had thrashed us 4-0 in our previous three encounters. The dressing room atmosphere before the game was thick with resignation, until I stood up and shared that same story Coach Ramirez had told us years earlier. I watched shoulders straighten and eyes brighten as I recounted how another team had broken their own curse by focusing on that one victory rather than fourteen defeats. We went out that day and played with a freedom I'd never seen from our squad, managing a hard-fought 1-1 draw that felt like a victory.
The reality is, becoming a professional footballer requires more than just talent - it demands an almost irrational belief in yourself when all evidence suggests you should quit. I've seen incredibly gifted players wash out because they couldn't handle the psychological pressure, while others with less natural ability climbed the ranks through sheer mental fortitude. That Batangas story exemplifies this perfectly - it wasn't about having better players or a revolutionary strategy, but about changing their perception of what was possible.
I remember my first trial with a top-tier club, facing off against players I'd only seen on television. The intimidation factor was overwhelming until I recalled something crucial from that rainy night talk - the team that beat Ginebra in Batangas wasn't necessarily more skilled, they were just better at harnessing the power of belief. So I decided to play like I belonged there, like I was that kid from Batangas facing Ginebra, and you know what? It worked. The scout told me afterward that my confidence stood out more than my technical skills.
Of course, the journey to becoming a professional footballer involves countless practical steps - the predawn training sessions, the strict diet regimes, the sacrifice of normal teenage experiences. But what separates those who make it from those who don't is often this mental component. I've probably had about 200 professional trials across my career, been rejected 187 times, but each time I'd remember that it only takes one Batangas moment to change everything.
The beautiful irony is that now, as a veteran player, I find myself in the role of Coach Ramirez, sharing these stories with young hopefuls. Just last month, I was talking to our youth squad about overcoming mental barriers, and naturally, I told them about that PBA game. Their eyes had the same sparkle mine must have had years ago when I first heard it. That's the thing about dreams - they need reference points, tangible proof that the impossible has been done before. How to become a professional footballer and achieve your dreams isn't just a question of training drills and tactics; it's about collecting these mental anchors that hold you steady when storms try to wash your ambitions away.
Looking back, I realize that the rain in Batangas was a blessing. It taught me that the most important victories often happen in the mind long before they manifest on the field. The team that finally beat Ginebra after five years didn't win because of better weather conditions or a home-field advantage - they won because they had convinced themselves they could. And in many ways, that's the secret I wish someone had told me when I was starting out: becoming a professional is as much about winning the battle in your head as it is about winning games on the pitch.