Herald the Bedans Coming
Real men wear red. Or so Bedans love to say. The Araneta Coliseum is painted from ringside to bleachers on all sides by Bedans proudly wearing their school color. This year’s team is probably the strongest in recent memory, sweeping all but one of their regular season games. It has been over a decade since the Red Lions figured in the Finals, almost three since they last won the crown.
In 1978, at the height of martial law, the San Beda Red Lions and the Ateneo Blue Eagles---two rivals with long-standing traditions of school loyalty and pride---bitterly fought for the championships yet once again. With mascots representing the courageous red king of the jungle and that of the noble blue king of the sky, symbolizing what are arguably the best colleges of law and, certainly, the most prestigious exclusive boys schools in the land. Until that time, they were the most dominant teams in the NCAA. These two would often take turns raising the trophy and win it frequently at the expense of the other or while breaking the other's championship run.
And though the crowds from both sides have always been anything but docile, that year, the contest between San Beda and Ateneo was marred by hooliganism so violent, that the final match had to be played behind closed doors with the Bedans emerging as winners and the heartbroken Ateneans deciding to leave the league to join another. I would only watch from the sidelines as these events unraveled as by then, I have already left SBC. Martial law has not been so kind on my family’s fortunes and pragmatism had to take over.
I knew how proud my father was when as a toddler many years before, I was admitted into San Beda. This was his school too. His Benedictine education was his ticket out of life as a farmer’s son from tough and rugged Bicolandia. Being the eldest in his brood, his emancipation, in turn, paved the path---either by way of his direct support or simply by example---for his younger siblings to have a similarly better chance in life. My father and, eventually, two of my uncles gained scholarships playing wind instruments for the SBC band. Because my dad was big and stocky, he would play the sousaphone tuba---such was the load this eldest son had to carry---while his smaller and younger brothers would play the more glamorous trumphet or trombone.
Thus, to my family of plebian origins, San Beda was more than just a school which boys in the clan would attend. It was a school to which we owe gratitude. And this explains, in part, our affection to this small red school in Mendiola.
Earlier on---not unlike most other young boys who emulate their fathers---I had dreams of one day graduating as a Bedan, just like my dad. My early ambition was to become a Bedan lawyer. It was within these walls that I had first learned to aspire and strive in an atmosphere that nurtures dreams and cuddles the dreamer. Within its walls, it didn’t take very long for me to realize how special the school really is. When I had to leave, after 8 years as a San Beda boy, it was not without sadness; even a tinge of resentment perhaps. I could only now imagine how my father felt.
San Beda, just like a lot of other schools might claim, strives for academic excellence. Though only a small college by comparison to many others, it packs a big punch! It clearly stands well above even most of the much bigger universities in the country with a list of distinguished alumni just as long, if not longer. But beyond excellence, few schools---with the exception of the Ateneo, La Salle and possibly Letran---could boast to having such rich traditions which foster a deep sense of pride and loyalty among its students. Traditions which make life within its four walls unforgettable. Surely, some of the most adorable memories of my childhood, some of my most treasured friendships, and some of my most enduring values were anchored here.
“Herald the Bedans coming
may their fellowship never cease...”
For being a Bedan is not just enrolling in a school. It is belonging to a community. It is knowing everyone else and if you didn’t, the quickest way to distinguish your batch from those younger or older is the mere mention of which “this” or “that” person from a markedly Bedan clan was your batchmate. There are whole families of Bedans. It is common to end up with peers whose grandfathers may have known each other, whose fathers may have been classmates with mine, or whose brothers and cousins were colleagues of my own. All reared and bound by the same ideals taught by this institution. The ways of Pax and Ora et Labora.
“...Molded by bold, undaunted men of prayer, work and peace
Through the carefree days of our boyhood
and the visions of our youth,
You gave us the wisdom of Benedict's soul...”
Being a Bedan means being molded by men who were not just teachers who taught, they were coaches who inspired. During my time, Mr. Antonio Isip customarily handed out specially printed cards with a thumbs-up sign and a poem entitled “The Boy I Like”. At the back is a hand-written note professing why the recipient is considered exceptional. Of all the honors and awards I’ve received, that card from one of the most admired teachers in campus is certainly among one of the most cherished.
Being a Bedan means growing up in reverence of Our Lady of Monserrat and imploring the guidance of the Holy Infant of Prague. It means regularly hearing the most solemn of masses within walls of the most beautiful chapel in the world. With a view of the lush gardens of the Abbey and the hallowed courtyard of the old grade school building where the fountain of knowledge is nestled.
At that fountain, I had spent countless hours after school in my early years catching tadpoles and missing my impatient “fetcher” who would leave after having waited for me in vain at the dismissal area. The guards would then take me to the security office where I would cry for the rest of the afternoon until my older sister or cousins come for me. (At least during our time, being a Bedan means the likelihood---as my sisters and cousins did---that female members of your clan would attend the nearby College of the Holy Spirit and they, in turn, are classmates with the sisters or cousins of your Bedan peers.)
In later years, if I were not caught up playing a variety of games with school friends, I would find my way to the chapel after class and there, I would kneel along its wooden pews in prayer for good grades. A habit that would continue well into my college years and beyond, even when I was no longer a student there.
Being a Bedan means learning to celebrate. The Frolics, the Pista and Pasko sa Nayon. Festivities which bring the community together and where everyone, it seems, would contribute as an active participant---not just a mere fence sitter. Just as as every student is encouraged to do so in any of its many clubs or activities. There is almost certainly one for each person, no matter what the persuasion. At SBC, everybody has a circle he can call his own.
And if there ever were scores to settle, there was always the back of the swimming pool where, after you had let off some steam and blows are exchanged, you shake hands with your foe like true gentlemen. Yes, at San Beda, even skirmishing had its rituals.
To be a Bedan meant that among the earliest rhymes one would encounter are the cheers. Cheering is an outlet for expression of love and pride in one’s identity as a Bedan. For who else but a true Red Lion can make sense of “lama-lama-rika-naka-suma” or “alaka-laka-yebo-yebo-rah”? Naturally, rival schools will try to respond in kind. To SBC’s Polly Wolly Wanna asking with unabashed belligerence “We’re from San Beda! Who are you?” Ateneo would respond with its No Name Yell defiantly declaring “We’re from Ateneo! No one could be prouder.”
Even the bands would get into the act. After ours is done playing “Tijuana Taxi”, “Spanish Flea” or the theme from Lucky Strike (informally known among students of yore as the “King Size” song), theirs from opposing teams would play other NCAA staples like “Cerezo Rosa”, “Santa Maria”, “When The Saints Go Marching In”, "Till the End of Time" or even the theme from Marlboro.
But the Indian Yell remains unequalled. The rest of the schools could muster nothing that may even come close to its powerful and rousing cadence. The first few beats of the drumroll, the first few bars of blaring trumphets and the air is charged; the crowd goes wild! As the Little Bedan Indians dash into the center court, tomahawks in tow and red and white war paint painted on their faces, contesting crowds could only watch in awe. Perhaps bellow a few cat calls here and there, all in a feeble attempt to put a damper on the one- uppance. But by then, the Bedan spirits would have already been lifted from whatever depths.
The Little Bedan Indians is SBC Grade School’s single biggest contribution to Bedan pride. It instantly wakes up and rekindles memories of everything else we like about San Beda.
Quite understandably, it has been easy for people from some other schools to dismiss this as petty and parochial. Yet some others, in a rival league where the influence of Ateneo and La Salle have pervaded, were subsequently obliged to haphazardly fabricate their own if only to keep up with appearances, missing the point entirely. For such unabashed and vibrant displays of partisanship cannot simply be driven by “me too” pretenses. Even from the time when the minds are young, they had to be carefully cultivated as outlets for a deep sense of school spirit. Function should take precedence over form, not the other way around. Lest, you end up with crowds where only the cheerleaders are cheering.
When my wife was able to watch the Little Bedan Indians for the first time, she was amazed at how men, from the middle-aged to the elderly, and boys, from tots to twenties, are joined together in jubilant cheer. Indeed, the Indian Yell cuts across generations and brings them together. It captures the Bedan spirit. And for such a small college, she was amazed at how it is able to draw such a huge and enthusiastic audience!
To be a Bedan means that among the first songs one would learn to sing is The Bedan Hymn, sang with the solemnity of a Gregorian chant. “Herald the Bedans Coming.…” At the end of every program and every contest, big or small, Bedans are taught to raise their fists to the tune of this song, no matter the outcome. At San Beda, you take this song seriously or, perhaps, you are not a Bedan at all.
“...When we encounter trials and hardships,
we shall bring you honor and fame!
For nothing but these show our loyalty, clear,
to our alma mater's name..."
To me, The Hymn has been and continues to be a source of inspiration. In the darkest days of my stormy high school years, I was reminded by a beloved Benedictine priest, friend, and counselor of a pledge that I had made earlier in my life. “I will give you honor and fame!” Words lifted from the Hymn. From then on, I have often taken refuge in the words of this song during times of challenges when I most needed motivation. As a working student struggling in the toughest engineering school in the country, as a young professional striving to make a name, or as an expat in a foreign land proving that Filipinos can compete with the best in the world.
"....Bring out the challenges, we'll win them all
and fear neither fire nor blood!
Bedans will answer the clarion call..."
Being a Bedan means facing, nay, even daring fate to bring forth those challenges knowing fully well that each trial and hardship presents, as the song goes, yet another opportunity to gain honor and fame not just for oneself but for an ideal that is much bigger, a cause much nobler than mere self-glorification. As red is the color of courage, Bedans are taught to fear neither fire nor blood. As generations of Bedans have so valiantly displayed and shown the way. For San Beda, our country, and God!
The mark of the lion rampant, invisible as it were to the naked eye, is something that Bedans carry with them wherever they may go, no matter the circumstances. Its coat of arms once worn in our left breast pockets remains etched in our hearts long after we have walked away from the shadow of the obelisk in the sacred grounds of our dear alma mater. Once a Bedan, always a Bedan. It is often said.
It has been a while since the Abbey walls echoed with the lions' mighty roar. The crowd has dwindled not so much because we have lost faith. But more so because the sight our our beloved team losing was just too much to bear. But the crowd is back this year and with a vengeance! "Herald the Bedans coming…" Today, all roads lead to the arena where we are here to cheer our team and renew our bonds of Bedan brotherhood.
As I stand up to sing The Bedan Hymn at game’s end, I could barely raise my clenched fist with my trembling arm. I look around me and I see not a few tears, swelling from overjoyed eyes not unlike my own. Bodies and souls are bursting with emotion. Voices quivering and crackling as we are joined together in singing a song we know so well. One which we've always sung from the heart. It has been so long. And for the great Red and White, so overdue. "Herald the Bedans coming..." Today, we have come. And we have conquered.
I look up towards the bleachers where the SBC band are seated. My father would have been proud if he were here. Our team has won! Suddenly, I see a faint sparkle coming from the flared bell of the tuba. Perhaps, from the heavens above, my father has come here too. To watch and cheer. To lend the conspicuous boom of his instrument to this gathering of Bedans from near and far.
If only in spirit.
Postscript: As the San Beda Red Lions went on to win the NCAA championships and ended a 28-year drought against another team in blue, the so-called curse of the Blue Eagles was now broken. Ironically, the boys from Katipunan, in spite of a similar near-immaculate record in the elimination rounds of the UAAP, would bow down in the finals to the Growling Tigers of UST. It seems 2006 is, regardless of what the oriental calendar says, The Year of the Cat.
In the subsequent National Champions League, SBC made it all the way to the finals for the first time since its inception. Ateneo, however, was eliminated early thus averting a much-anticipated match-up between the red and blue schools as champions of their respective leagues. The Red Lions would eventually square off and defeat the Blue Eagles in the less regarded Homegrown Cup in a battle of teams with depleted line-ups.
Copyright ©2006 Ronnie C. Cabañes
Photos from the San Beda College website.
In 1978, at the height of martial law, the San Beda Red Lions and the Ateneo Blue Eagles---two rivals with long-standing traditions of school loyalty and pride---bitterly fought for the championships yet once again. With mascots representing the courageous red king of the jungle and that of the noble blue king of the sky, symbolizing what are arguably the best colleges of law and, certainly, the most prestigious exclusive boys schools in the land. Until that time, they were the most dominant teams in the NCAA. These two would often take turns raising the trophy and win it frequently at the expense of the other or while breaking the other's championship run.And though the crowds from both sides have always been anything but docile, that year, the contest between San Beda and Ateneo was marred by hooliganism so violent, that the final match had to be played behind closed doors with the Bedans emerging as winners and the heartbroken Ateneans deciding to leave the league to join another. I would only watch from the sidelines as these events unraveled as by then, I have already left SBC. Martial law has not been so kind on my family’s fortunes and pragmatism had to take over.
I knew how proud my father was when as a toddler many years before, I was admitted into San Beda. This was his school too. His Benedictine education was his ticket out of life as a farmer’s son from tough and rugged Bicolandia. Being the eldest in his brood, his emancipation, in turn, paved the path---either by way of his direct support or simply by example---for his younger siblings to have a similarly better chance in life. My father and, eventually, two of my uncles gained scholarships playing wind instruments for the SBC band. Because my dad was big and stocky, he would play the sousaphone tuba---such was the load this eldest son had to carry---while his smaller and younger brothers would play the more glamorous trumphet or trombone.
Thus, to my family of plebian origins, San Beda was more than just a school which boys in the clan would attend. It was a school to which we owe gratitude. And this explains, in part, our affection to this small red school in Mendiola.
Earlier on---not unlike most other young boys who emulate their fathers---I had dreams of one day graduating as a Bedan, just like my dad. My early ambition was to become a Bedan lawyer. It was within these walls that I had first learned to aspire and strive in an atmosphere that nurtures dreams and cuddles the dreamer. Within its walls, it didn’t take very long for me to realize how special the school really is. When I had to leave, after 8 years as a San Beda boy, it was not without sadness; even a tinge of resentment perhaps. I could only now imagine how my father felt.
San Beda, just like a lot of other schools might claim, strives for academic excellence. Though only a small college by comparison to many others, it packs a big punch! It clearly stands well above even most of the much bigger universities in the country with a list of distinguished alumni just as long, if not longer. But beyond excellence, few schools---with the exception of the Ateneo, La Salle and possibly Letran---could boast to having such rich traditions which foster a deep sense of pride and loyalty among its students. Traditions which make life within its four walls unforgettable. Surely, some of the most adorable memories of my childhood, some of my most treasured friendships, and some of my most enduring values were anchored here.
“Herald the Bedans coming
may their fellowship never cease...”
For being a Bedan is not just enrolling in a school. It is belonging to a community. It is knowing everyone else and if you didn’t, the quickest way to distinguish your batch from those younger or older is the mere mention of which “this” or “that” person from a markedly Bedan clan was your batchmate. There are whole families of Bedans. It is common to end up with peers whose grandfathers may have known each other, whose fathers may have been classmates with mine, or whose brothers and cousins were colleagues of my own. All reared and bound by the same ideals taught by this institution. The ways of Pax and Ora et Labora.
“...Molded by bold, undaunted men of prayer, work and peace
Through the carefree days of our boyhood
and the visions of our youth,
You gave us the wisdom of Benedict's soul...”
Being a Bedan means being molded by men who were not just teachers who taught, they were coaches who inspired. During my time, Mr. Antonio Isip customarily handed out specially printed cards with a thumbs-up sign and a poem entitled “The Boy I Like”. At the back is a hand-written note professing why the recipient is considered exceptional. Of all the honors and awards I’ve received, that card from one of the most admired teachers in campus is certainly among one of the most cherished.
Being a Bedan means growing up in reverence of Our Lady of Monserrat and imploring the guidance of the Holy Infant of Prague. It means regularly hearing the most solemn of masses within walls of the most beautiful chapel in the world. With a view of the lush gardens of the Abbey and the hallowed courtyard of the old grade school building where the fountain of knowledge is nestled.
At that fountain, I had spent countless hours after school in my early years catching tadpoles and missing my impatient “fetcher” who would leave after having waited for me in vain at the dismissal area. The guards would then take me to the security office where I would cry for the rest of the afternoon until my older sister or cousins come for me. (At least during our time, being a Bedan means the likelihood---as my sisters and cousins did---that female members of your clan would attend the nearby College of the Holy Spirit and they, in turn, are classmates with the sisters or cousins of your Bedan peers.)
In later years, if I were not caught up playing a variety of games with school friends, I would find my way to the chapel after class and there, I would kneel along its wooden pews in prayer for good grades. A habit that would continue well into my college years and beyond, even when I was no longer a student there.
Being a Bedan means learning to celebrate. The Frolics, the Pista and Pasko sa Nayon. Festivities which bring the community together and where everyone, it seems, would contribute as an active participant---not just a mere fence sitter. Just as as every student is encouraged to do so in any of its many clubs or activities. There is almost certainly one for each person, no matter what the persuasion. At SBC, everybody has a circle he can call his own.
And if there ever were scores to settle, there was always the back of the swimming pool where, after you had let off some steam and blows are exchanged, you shake hands with your foe like true gentlemen. Yes, at San Beda, even skirmishing had its rituals.
To be a Bedan meant that among the earliest rhymes one would encounter are the cheers. Cheering is an outlet for expression of love and pride in one’s identity as a Bedan. For who else but a true Red Lion can make sense of “lama-lama-rika-naka-suma” or “alaka-laka-yebo-yebo-rah”? Naturally, rival schools will try to respond in kind. To SBC’s Polly Wolly Wanna asking with unabashed belligerence “We’re from San Beda! Who are you?” Ateneo would respond with its No Name Yell defiantly declaring “We’re from Ateneo! No one could be prouder.”Even the bands would get into the act. After ours is done playing “Tijuana Taxi”, “Spanish Flea” or the theme from Lucky Strike (informally known among students of yore as the “King Size” song), theirs from opposing teams would play other NCAA staples like “Cerezo Rosa”, “Santa Maria”, “When The Saints Go Marching In”, "Till the End of Time" or even the theme from Marlboro.
But the Indian Yell remains unequalled. The rest of the schools could muster nothing that may even come close to its powerful and rousing cadence. The first few beats of the drumroll, the first few bars of blaring trumphets and the air is charged; the crowd goes wild! As the Little Bedan Indians dash into the center court, tomahawks in tow and red and white war paint painted on their faces, contesting crowds could only watch in awe. Perhaps bellow a few cat calls here and there, all in a feeble attempt to put a damper on the one- uppance. But by then, the Bedan spirits would have already been lifted from whatever depths.The Little Bedan Indians is SBC Grade School’s single biggest contribution to Bedan pride. It instantly wakes up and rekindles memories of everything else we like about San Beda.
Quite understandably, it has been easy for people from some other schools to dismiss this as petty and parochial. Yet some others, in a rival league where the influence of Ateneo and La Salle have pervaded, were subsequently obliged to haphazardly fabricate their own if only to keep up with appearances, missing the point entirely. For such unabashed and vibrant displays of partisanship cannot simply be driven by “me too” pretenses. Even from the time when the minds are young, they had to be carefully cultivated as outlets for a deep sense of school spirit. Function should take precedence over form, not the other way around. Lest, you end up with crowds where only the cheerleaders are cheering.
When my wife was able to watch the Little Bedan Indians for the first time, she was amazed at how men, from the middle-aged to the elderly, and boys, from tots to twenties, are joined together in jubilant cheer. Indeed, the Indian Yell cuts across generations and brings them together. It captures the Bedan spirit. And for such a small college, she was amazed at how it is able to draw such a huge and enthusiastic audience!
To be a Bedan means that among the first songs one would learn to sing is The Bedan Hymn, sang with the solemnity of a Gregorian chant. “Herald the Bedans Coming.…” At the end of every program and every contest, big or small, Bedans are taught to raise their fists to the tune of this song, no matter the outcome. At San Beda, you take this song seriously or, perhaps, you are not a Bedan at all.
“...When we encounter trials and hardships,
we shall bring you honor and fame!
For nothing but these show our loyalty, clear,
to our alma mater's name..."
To me, The Hymn has been and continues to be a source of inspiration. In the darkest days of my stormy high school years, I was reminded by a beloved Benedictine priest, friend, and counselor of a pledge that I had made earlier in my life. “I will give you honor and fame!” Words lifted from the Hymn. From then on, I have often taken refuge in the words of this song during times of challenges when I most needed motivation. As a working student struggling in the toughest engineering school in the country, as a young professional striving to make a name, or as an expat in a foreign land proving that Filipinos can compete with the best in the world.
"....Bring out the challenges, we'll win them all
and fear neither fire nor blood!
Bedans will answer the clarion call..."
Being a Bedan means facing, nay, even daring fate to bring forth those challenges knowing fully well that each trial and hardship presents, as the song goes, yet another opportunity to gain honor and fame not just for oneself but for an ideal that is much bigger, a cause much nobler than mere self-glorification. As red is the color of courage, Bedans are taught to fear neither fire nor blood. As generations of Bedans have so valiantly displayed and shown the way. For San Beda, our country, and God!
The mark of the lion rampant, invisible as it were to the naked eye, is something that Bedans carry with them wherever they may go, no matter the circumstances. Its coat of arms once worn in our left breast pockets remains etched in our hearts long after we have walked away from the shadow of the obelisk in the sacred grounds of our dear alma mater. Once a Bedan, always a Bedan. It is often said.
It has been a while since the Abbey walls echoed with the lions' mighty roar. The crowd has dwindled not so much because we have lost faith. But more so because the sight our our beloved team losing was just too much to bear. But the crowd is back this year and with a vengeance! "Herald the Bedans coming…" Today, all roads lead to the arena where we are here to cheer our team and renew our bonds of Bedan brotherhood.
As I stand up to sing The Bedan Hymn at game’s end, I could barely raise my clenched fist with my trembling arm. I look around me and I see not a few tears, swelling from overjoyed eyes not unlike my own. Bodies and souls are bursting with emotion. Voices quivering and crackling as we are joined together in singing a song we know so well. One which we've always sung from the heart. It has been so long. And for the great Red and White, so overdue. "Herald the Bedans coming..." Today, we have come. And we have conquered.I look up towards the bleachers where the SBC band are seated. My father would have been proud if he were here. Our team has won! Suddenly, I see a faint sparkle coming from the flared bell of the tuba. Perhaps, from the heavens above, my father has come here too. To watch and cheer. To lend the conspicuous boom of his instrument to this gathering of Bedans from near and far.
If only in spirit.
Postscript: As the San Beda Red Lions went on to win the NCAA championships and ended a 28-year drought against another team in blue, the so-called curse of the Blue Eagles was now broken. Ironically, the boys from Katipunan, in spite of a similar near-immaculate record in the elimination rounds of the UAAP, would bow down in the finals to the Growling Tigers of UST. It seems 2006 is, regardless of what the oriental calendar says, The Year of the Cat.
In the subsequent National Champions League, SBC made it all the way to the finals for the first time since its inception. Ateneo, however, was eliminated early thus averting a much-anticipated match-up between the red and blue schools as champions of their respective leagues. The Red Lions would eventually square off and defeat the Blue Eagles in the less regarded Homegrown Cup in a battle of teams with depleted line-ups.
Copyright ©2006 Ronnie C. Cabañes
Photos from the San Beda College website.
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