Filipinos are naturally short, which is why we should forget our unrequited love for the tall man’s game of basketball, and instead focus our resources of football, where we can be more competitive internationally. It’s a common refrain that has grown louder with the recent success of the Philippine national football team in the ongoing Asean Football Federation Suzuki Cup. Traditionally the doormats of the competition, the Azkals’ 2-0 victory over defending champion Vietnam has galvanized the Filipino sports fan base with dreams of more international football glory.

On its face, the argument for football over basketball seems sound. It’s easy to imagine the graceful Pinoy athlete gliding through the pitch to dominate the beautiful game. Watching tiny Pinoy hoopsters soaring above the rim over foreign 7-footers, however, is much harder to fathom.

The numbers, however, tell a different story.

In Southeast Asian basketball competition, the Philippine team is virtually assured of a gold medal simply by showing up. On the other hand, the Azkals would need to go through the eye of the needle in every Asean tournament for a medal.

The odds don’t get better at the higher levels of competition. No Southeast Asian team has been competitive even at the Asian level of football; in the Asian Cup for example, Indonesia has played 12 games, with a 2-2-8 record, while Thailand has played 20 games, with a 1-8-11 record. At the world level, Asian teams don’t have much to brag about either: the highest-placed Asian side in the FIFA World Ranking is Japan at no. 29. Thailand is the highest-ranked Southeast Asian team, at no. 121. The Philippines, meanwhile, languishes at no. 151.

The fact is it’s very hard to build an internationally-successful program in football. Assuming that the Philippines would shoot up the rankings “if only we tried,” as some fans and announcers keep harping, isn’t just inaccurate; at best, it’s ignorant and naïve, and at worst, it’s jingoistic, and it’s disrespectful of our neighbors who give their heart and soul for the sport, for whom football is part of the fabric of their culture.

Conversely, the Philippine basketball team is ranked 53rd in world basketball, but that number is artificially low because our country’s national basketball program was in a mess for such a long time. We have shown that we can be competitive with higher-ranked Asian teams, such as Lebanon (ranked 24th), Qatar (29th), Korea (31st), Jordan (32nd), Japan (33rd), Kazakhstan (40th), and Chinese Taipei (41st). Our ceiling is much higher too, as China, the top-ranked Asian squad, is pegged at no. 10. There’s no reason why we can’t move up in the rankings if we keep competing in Asian level competitions, considering that India and Kuwait are both listed higher than the Philippines; we know we’re better than those teams.

So while qualifying for the Olympics is a pipe dream for the Philippine basketball team, so is going all the way to the World Cup for the Philippine football team. The difference is that the hoopsters have Southeast Asian gold medals to show for their troubles.

Faced with these facts, then, we need to flip conventional wisdom on its head: If we want to keep winning medals in international team competition, we must continue to concentrate of basketball.

The key here, of course, is that winning medals shouldn’t be the only reason for us to fall in love with a sport, and winning shouldn’t be a prerequisite for us to embrace football. After all, football is a sport worthy of affection in and of itself; it’s called the beautiful game for very good reason, and in precious moments, it lives up to its lofty moniker, with its unique rhythm and its opera of goals and near-misses. Furthermore, it’s a sport that allows us to commune with the rest of the world, to speak their language on the pitch, and to learn more about our neighbors. Whether we win or we lose, football deserves our love.

It’s a tough sell for a Filipino fan base that prefers to shower their affection mostly on winning athletes. Another common refrain among critics is that Pinoy fans only have eyes for hoop heroes, but that’s just not true. Over the years, we’ve made stars of a diverse group of athletes; Eugene Torre (chess), Lydia de Vega (athletics), Rolando Navarette (pro boxing), Onyok Velasco (amateur boxing) and many others have parlayed their athletic success into short-term showbiz careers, while flash in the pan stars in every sport, from billiards to swimming to taekwondo have been feted and honored after their big wins.

And now, with the recent success of the Azkals, it’s their turn to bask in the spotlight. And while they deserve all of it, there’s still the problem that all these admiration and goodwill from the fans are, as it was with athletes before, largely ephemeral. Like every other sports hero of yesteryears, we’ll love them as long as they’re winning. But when they lose, we’ll go back to indifference.

Unless we make it different this time, starting with football. Instead of asking our athletes for medals and victories in exchange for our love and admiration, maybe we ought to ask them instead for grit, for fortitude, for heart. It’s a lesson from the playground that has been largely lost on us, that it really isn’t about whether we win or lose, but how we play the game.

Maybe then we could start caring about the issues that have hampered the development of football – and all of sports – in the Philippines, even in programs where we haven’t been successful yet. Maybe we could take a deeper look at what ails our athletes and find ways to fix them. Maybe instead of asking our athletes to be our heroes to lift us up, be we could go ahead and lift them up first.

We have the perfect opportunity to do these with football and the Azkals. We need to love football because it’s a beautiful game that would not only teach us about the rest of the world, but would give us the opportunity to learn a thing or two about ourselves.