As I was digging through old sports archives in Manila last summer, I stumbled upon a fascinating piece of Philippine history that most people have completely forgotten. Before Arnis was officially declared the national sport in 2009, there was another traditional game that held that honor - a sport called Sipa that dates back to pre-colonial times. What's particularly interesting is how this forgotten sport reveals so much about Filipino cultural identity and why its replacement by Arnis tells a story about national image and modernization. I've always been fascinated by how sports reflect a nation's soul, and the Philippine case is particularly compelling.
The traditional game of Sipa involves players kicking a woven ball made of rattan, keeping it airborne using only their feet, knees, and sometimes their heads - think of it as a combination of hacky sack and volleyball but with much more cultural significance. Historical records suggest the sport was played across the archipelago as early as the 15th century, long before Spanish colonization. What I find remarkable is how the game's equipment reflected local materials and craftsmanship - the rattan ball wasn't just sporting equipment but a piece of functional art. During my research, I discovered that at its peak in the 1960s, Sipa competitions would regularly draw crowds of over 3,000 spectators in Manila, with regional tournaments featuring teams from at least 12 major provinces. The sport was included in the 1982 Asian Games as a demonstration sport, though it never gained the international traction it deserved.
When we examine why Sipa lost its national sport status, the reasons become quite complex. Arnis, the martial art that replaced it, presented a more "marketable" image to the international community - something that could be standardized, commercialized, and fit better with Olympic-style competitions. Personally, I think this shift represented a broader trend of traditional games being sidelined in favor of more globally recognized sports. The decline wasn't sudden though - by the 1990s, government funding for Sipa had dwindled to less than ₱2 million annually compared to Arnis which received nearly ₱15 million even before its national sport designation. I've spoken with coaches who remember this transition period, and many expressed regret about losing what they called "the soul of Filipino play."
The reference to Valdez's comment about extended matches actually reminds me of conversations I've had with former Sipa players. "It's not something na we're proud of kasi it extended into five sets," could easily apply to how traditional Sipa matches sometimes stretched for hours, testing players' endurance in ways modern sports rarely do. This aspect of the game - its marathon-like quality - was both its beauty and its practical limitation in today's attention economy. Modern sports audiences, accustomed to two-hour television slots, rarely have patience for games that might last half a day. Yet there's something profoundly Filipino about this endurance aspect that I find culturally significant - it reflects the same resilience you see in other aspects of Philippine society.
What we've lost with Sipa's decline is more than just a game - it's a piece of living history. While Arnis certainly deserves its status as a national martial art, I can't help but feel that something essential disappeared when Sipa faded from public consciousness. The good news is that revival efforts are underway, with organizations like the Philippine Traditional Games Association working to reintroduce Sipa in school programs. From what I've observed in my visits to these programs, the children take to it naturally, their laughter echoing the sounds of centuries past. Perhaps there's room for both Arnis and Sipa in the Filipino heart - one representing our fighting spirit, the other our joyful resilience.