Sunday, October 29, 2006 Pages: Is it fun at this Casino? You bet! By John Pages Matchpoint
EDWIN Salazar plays tennis like this: He turns sideways, bends down low, pulls his arm back, curls that forehand, snaps his wrist and-BANG!-the ball explodes into the air.
Rafael Nadal? If there’s one player whose forehand resembles Edwin Salazar’s, it’s the world no.2. They both own full-western grips that generate so much spin they can power a 5-megawatt power plant.
But herein lies the difference: Edwin is right-handed and gets to play in one of the best tennis clubs in Cebu, while Rafa? Well, he’s Spaniard and can kiss the hand of the Queen of Spain anytime he wishes. But he’s no member at this Spanish club called the Casino Español de Cebu.
Edwin’s a member and so are hundreds of others. This club along V. Ranudo St. is an institution, a watering hole, a landmark with a candle-lit restaurant that has launched a hundred engagements and a ballroom that has blessed a thousand “Yes, I do’s,” an icon that’s 86 years old with a brand-new body.
There are plenty to like in Casino. The water fountain that showers you with “Hola!” as you enter. The swimming pool that sprawls and begs you to take a dip. The P248/person lunch and dinner weekend buffet.
The “no-tipping” policy. The waiters whom you’ve called by first name for decades. The Taraflex badminton courts and the cozy Bar Mixto. The Beef Oscar, Caesar’s Salad, Fresh Mushroom Soup... Hmmm, there’s plenty to like, but here’s my personal favorite: The tennis courts.
Edwin Salazar not only plays good tennis but also builds good tennis courts. He built Casino’s. A two-hour-long downpour? No problem. Give the court an hour and it’ll vacuum itself and dry up. The court surface? I’ve been to many clay-courts (including Rafa’s favorite: Roland Garros in Paris) and consider Casino’s one of the best I’ve played on. The clay is smooth and even, the overhead lights feel like you’re playing at 12 noon, and the acacia trees loom high and envelope you with nature.
But the very best thing about the tennis club? The players.
Take Jeffrey Dico. He’s one of the nicest people you’ll meet in Cebu. Same with Romy Alejandro, the president of the group for the past two years. Romy grabs a racket, warms-up, drills a serve, sweats and-the score 8-2 or 2-8-he shakes your hand after the match and smiles. Another is Jun San Juan. And another is Larry Chan.
There’s Joe Camaya, who’ll lead the group starting January. There’s Danny Mella, who owns, in my opinion, the best forehand of any club player in town. There’s Jun Jumao-as. Donald Ruiz. Doming Garcia. Jimmy Escaño. Nonoy Alba. The two Colonels: Rolando Borres and Jun Teves. And, of course, the person who prays for all of us, Monsignor Achilles Dakay.
Last weekend, I saw the Casino Español spirit when we invited a group from Tagbilaran (the City Sports and Racquet Club) for an inter-club event.
Fred Quilala and Joe Mesina stood as doubles partners. How can the combination of Fred (whose slice shots are sharper than a kitchen knife’s) and Joe (whose topspin shots are as heavy as Bjorn Borg’s) be beaten? They won, 8-1.
I played two matches. In the first one, the score reached 6-all before we won the next two games and the match. My partner? His initials spell ES and he’s Cebu’s Rafael Nadal. In the next match, I was fortunate to be paired with another strong hitter, Rubi Kooner, whose forehand and backhand topspin won us, 8-3.
And here’s a unique moment not found elsewhere: Before we warmed-up, we huddled to the net for picture-taking. (You recall Roger Federer and Andy Roddick doing the same before the US Open final?) After the match, we grouped together for another set of pictures plus the winners received a medal hung around the neck by beauties like Hedy Mesina, Ann Cuenco, Marilou Ramirez and Marichu San Juan. Ha-ha! Roger and Andy, I bet you didn’t have those!
The main event was the Class-A pairing of Fabby Borromeo and James Dumoran against the top pair from Tagbilaran. The betting reached thousands, there sounded claps and shouts, fist-pumps pierced the night, and yells screamed “YES!”
Then here comes Paquito “Kit” Borromeo. Every time Fabby hits a terrific shot, he’d scream, “That’s my son!” He does it again. And again. Soon, everyone follows. Each forehand winner by Fabby, we shout, “That’s my son!” then turn to Kit Borromeo and clap. And here’s the funny part: at one time when Fabby’s partner, James Dumoran, missed, Kit hushed, “That’s not my son.”
We laughed, laughed, laughed. All night long. For at Casino Español, you don’t play tennis to exercise your arms and legs, you play tennis to exercise your lungs.
