"Blue Eagle, The King"

I can still remember my first ever Big Blue Eagle Cheer Rally back in 1999. I was a high school freshman, a product of a small, tight-knit learning institution in Don Antonio Heights. Unlike most of my classmates who came from the Ateneo Grade School, I stood out like a sore thumb. I had a hard time taking in all the foreign notions of Ateneo Spirit. The cheers, in particular, were unintelligible jibberish I found difficult to appreciate.

Soon enough, the school spirit rubbed off on me, probably because of all the hurdling and sprinting I did donning the old Blue and White. Or maybe I was just brainwashed. Save for the Alma Mater song, I still found the cheers and most of the school songs pretty much alien. 

In light of my ignorance of the other school songs, I wondered where those "Ateneo Will Fight Today" tarps came from. A quick Google search answered my query. In the midst of last year's UAAP cage wars, I also found the lines "Fly high, Blue Eagle Fly and carry our cry across the sky" perfect for Facebook status messages and tweets. I developed a certain fondness for "Blue Eagle The King."

The song traces its origins from the pre-World War II Ateneo and the late Raul Manglapus. Back in those days, local schools usually borrowed the cheers and songs from its colonial counterparts in America, according to the University Archives website. "Blue Eagle The King" was unique since it was completely home grown. 

I scoured the web for copies of the song. I found a Youtube clip of Eddie Mercado and the Executives Band performing the song:

Blue Eagle The King

by Raul Manglapus (1939)

Fly high!
Blue Eagle fly
And carry our cry
Across the sky!
Cast your shadow below
Swoop down on the foe,
Then sweep up the field away!

Fly high!
Over the trees
Make known to the breeze
Our victories!
Spread wide each wing
For you are the King
Blue Eagle the King!

Oh the Eagle's the King of them all
And his blue feathers never will fall
For the Blue and the White
And the Eagle in Flight
Ateneo will fight today!

Fly high!
Over the trees
Make known to the breeze
Our victories!
Spread wide each wing
For you are the King
Blue Eagle the King!

Source:
Ateneo de Manila University Archives

When Sparks Flew

I can still remember that warm summer night. The sky was almost cloudless as the moon shone on the two thousand strong crowd assembled at the Bellarmine Field. More than four years have passed, and yet I could still feel the butterflies in my stomach prior to making my move – and the triumphant exultation that followed afterward.

University tradition calls for a final grandiose batch party tinged with nostalgia, where graduating seniors gather, carouse and booze for the possibly the last time as a solid unit. The climax of the Blue Roast, as the event is called, is the giving out of aptly named Blue Roses to one’s college crush.

I was a naïve, oft-cynical twenty-one year old back then. I’ve never had a girlfriend (I still don’t). I was bereft of good fortune and the so-called “moves.” Each and every single foray into romance seemed destined for failure. I was resigned to my fate, content with wallowing in self-loathe. I channeled my energies towards more productive pursuits. All throughout four years of University, I was able to do well in my studies whilst juggling my responsibilities as a student-athlete. Looking back, I can say that I did relatively well. But deep down, there was a gaping hole.

I thoroughly enjoyed the night, as I split my time between several circles of friends. And yet beneath the stupor of alcohol, I was at a loss on whom to give my solitary Blue Rose. On one hand, there was my college track & field teammate. Things were awkward between us, thanks to my pitiful excuse of an overture. On the other hand, there was my Philosophy classmate. I tried to get close to her during the times we shared a class, but as usual, I was too stumped to ask her out.

Since I already gave the former flowers for Valentine’s Day 2006 (an experience I’d most rather forget), the latter seemed to be the obvious choice.

I had the entire night to muster enough courage to give the rose. There were windows of opportunity, because we shared a few common friends and were bound to bump into each other. We did not have much to talk about aside from the proverbial small talk. I was too scared to even try and hand over the damned Blue Rose. As the night drew to a close, the rose lay immobile and almost forgotten at our table. Amidst the festive atmosphere, my heart sank slowly – hauntingly – down to the deep bottom of regret.

On my way back from a washroom break, I saw her group leaving the party. I waved a lethargic goodbye from afar. She returned the gesture with a bright smile. Then we walked past each other.

My good friend and track teammate gave a mighty inspiring, now-or-never pep talk. This was my last chance to the give the Blue Rose, he said. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, putting on my game face. I felt my chest tremble and knees wobble as I reversed direction and made my way towards her. This was worse than pre-competition jitters, I thought. But I soldiered on, hiding the Blue Rose in the small of my back.

Fortuitously, she and her friends stopped to take pictures. In my best gentlemanly tone, I offered to go behind the camera. Amidst my inebriated state, I heard one of her friends utter “Wow, what a superman [referring perhaps to my timely arrival].” When I handed the camera back to her, I took the Blue Rose from my back pocket. I was oozing with a feeling of confidence previously unknown when dealing with the ladies.

I gave her the rose and we parted. There were no fairy tale twists in our non-existent story. The fireworks did not light up on queue, nor did the string quartet whip up a mean rendition of “The Way You Look Tonight.” But when I went triumphantly went back to my friend, I felt like the king of the world.

I haven’t seen her since that summer night. I am content to merely look back on the sparks that flew, however faint or brief.