The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled my small apartment as I settled into my favorite worn-out armchair, the one with the slight dip in the cushion that perfectly conforms to my shape after years of playoff heartbreaks and triumphant celebrations. My phone buzzed on the side table, a flurry of notifications from various sports apps. I took a slow sip, the bitter warmth a familiar comfort, and scrolled through the alerts. Tonight was one of those nights in the NBA—the kind that makes you cancel plans, order takeout, and plant yourself in front of the screen for hours. It’s a marathon, not a sprint, and I love every minute of it. I remember thinking to myself, "Alright, here's the complete NBA schedule for today's must-watch games," and I felt that familiar thrill, the anticipation of narratives about to unfold, of heroes and goats being made in real-time.
It’s funny how a single day on the calendar can hold so much weight. My mind drifted back to a conversation I had with a fellow basketball junkie from the Philippines. We were talking about the emotional toll of fandom, and he shared a quote from a coach there, Leo Austria, that has always stuck with me. Austria, after a tough loss, said, "The worst thing is lahat sila bigyan mo ng time, masaya sila maglaro pero malungkot kami dahil talo." It translates to, "The worst thing is you give them all your time, they're happy playing, but we are sad because we lost." That sentiment, man, it hits different. It perfectly captures the one-sided relationship of being a fan. We invest our evenings, our emotions, our energy. The players move on to the next city, the next game, but we’re left sitting in our living rooms, elated or devastated, living with the result. Tonight, with a slate of five incredible games back-to-back, I was willingly setting myself up for that very emotional rollercoaster. I was going to give them all my time.
The first tip-off was the Celtics visiting the Heat in Miami. This rivalry is pure theater, a brutal chess match of physicality and three-point barrages. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve screamed at my TV during their playoff battles. Jayson Tatum, with his smooth 28.3 points per game average, going up against Jimmy Butler’s relentless, almost angry, determination. Just last week, Butler dropped a cool 45 points in a statement win, and I have a feeling he’s not done. As I watched the first quarter, the Celtics jumping out to an early 8-point lead, I thought about that quote again. The Miami fans in the arena, they were giving their time, their voices growing hoarse with every defensive stop. For one fanbase tonight, the "malungkot kami dahil talo" feeling was inevitable.
By the time the second game was heating up—the Mavericks and the Suns in what promised to be an offensive fireworks display—my pizza had arrived. Luka Dončić, a magician with a basketball, is must-see TV every single night. He’s on pace for a historic season, flirting with a 33-point triple-double average, numbers that feel like they’re from a video game. Going against Devin Booker’s pristine mid-range game and Kevin Durant’s impossibly efficient scoring is a basketball purist's dream. I found myself leaning forward, completely absorbed. This is the beauty of the NBA schedule on a night like this; just as one game reaches its climax, another one is there to catch you, to pull you into a completely different story. There’s no time to dwell on a loss, only to anticipate the next potential masterpiece.
The night was young, and the drama was just beginning. The late slate featured the Lakers facing the Nuggets in a rematch of last year's Western Conference Finals. As a lifelong LeBron James admirer, these games are personal. At 39 years old, he’s still putting up 26 points, 8 rebounds, and 7 assists, defying Father Time with every powerful drive to the basket. But Nikola Jokić, the big Serbian maestro, is his own unique puzzle. Watching Jokić is like watching a grandmaster who also happens to be a bear; he’s slow, methodical, and then suddenly, he’s dismantled your entire defense with a pass you didn’t even see coming. I remember last year’s sweep, the frustration on LeBron’s face. That’s the "talò" feeling Austria was talking about, amplified on a national stage. I was invested, I had given my time, and I felt that loss alongside Lakers nation, even from my own armchair.
And just when you think you can’t handle any more, the final game of the night tips off: the Warriors vs. the Kings, a revival of a California rivalry that has become incredibly spicy. Steph Curry, the greatest shooter of all time, against the explosive De'Aaron Fox. This game is always played at a breakneck pace, with both teams easily scoring over 118 points per game. It’s a perfect nightcap, a dessert of endless three-pointers and lightning-fast transitions. As I settled back, my coffee long gone and replaced by a glass of water, I smiled. This is my ritual. This is what I love. The emotional investment, the highs, the lows—it’s all part of the deal. Coach Austria was right; it can be a heartbreakingly one-sided affair. But on a night with a schedule this stacked, with stories this compelling, I wouldn't have it any other way. The players might be happy playing, but win or lose, I’m happy watching, completely lost in the beautiful, chaotic world of the NBA.