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 about. Before Arnis was officially declared the national sport in 2009, there was another traditional game that captured the nation's heart - a sport so intense that matches could stretch for hours, testing both physical endurance and mental fortitude. I remember my grandfather telling me stories about how entire villages would gather to watch these matches, with spectators often bringing food and drinks as they settled in for what could become marathon sessions.
The sport I'm referring to is Sipa, a traditional foot volleyball game that dates back to pre-colonial times. What's particularly interesting is how Sipa matches could become incredibly prolonged affairs, much like the reference from Valdez suggests when discussing extended competitions. "It's not something na we're proud of kasi it extended into five sets," that sentiment perfectly captures how these traditional games could sometimes stretch beyond reasonable limits. I've personally witnessed local Sipa tournaments where matches lasted over three hours, with players drenched in sweat but refusing to give up. The game involves keeping a rattan ball airborne using only the feet, knees, and sometimes the head, requiring incredible agility and stamina that modern athletes would struggle to match.
What really fascinates me about Sipa is how it embodied Filipino resilience and creativity. Unlike the more structured Arnis, Sipa was inherently flexible - you could play it anywhere, with any number of players, using whatever space was available. I've played improvised versions in narrow alleyways and crowded schoolyards, adapting the game to our environment. The equipment was equally adaptable; while traditional Sipa used a rattan ball, we often made do with washers wrapped in colorful threads or even modified shuttlecocks. This accessibility made it the people's sport in a way that perhaps Arnis never quite achieved, despite its official status.
The decline of Sipa began in the early 20th century as American influence introduced basketball and other Western sports. By the 1970s, you'd be hard-pressed to find organized Sipa competitions outside of cultural demonstrations. I recall visiting a provincial school in 1998 where the physical education teacher had to explain what Sipa was to completely baffled students - they recognized the game but had no idea it was once considered for national sport status. The numbers tell a sad story: from an estimated 85% participation rate among Filipino youth in the 1950s to less than 15% by the 2000s.
Personally, I believe we lost something special when Sipa faded from public consciousness. While Arnis undoubtedly deserves its place as our national sport, having practiced both, I find Sipa offered a different kind of cultural expression - more playful, more accessible, and in many ways more uniquely Filipino. The game's emphasis on graceful movement and continuous play reflected our cultural values in ways that martial arts simply can't capture. I'm not arguing we should replace Arnis, but I do wish we'd make more effort to preserve Sipa as part of our living heritage rather than treating it as a historical curiosity.
The story of Sipa's decline offers important lessons about how we preserve cultural traditions. When the Philippine government officially declared Arnis as the national sport, it was a conscious choice to promote a martial art that embodied resistance and national identity. But in doing so, we inadvertently allowed other traditional games to fade into obscurity. I've noticed this pattern in other aspects of cultural preservation - we tend to single out one representative tradition while letting others slowly disappear. The challenge, as I see it, is finding balance between establishing official symbols and maintaining the rich diversity of our cultural expressions.
Looking at modern attempts to revive Sipa gives me some hope though. I recently attended a cultural festival in Cebu where they'd organized Sipa tournaments, and the energy was incredible. Young people who'd never seen the game before were immediately drawn to its dynamic nature. The local organizers told me they'd seen participation increase by roughly 40% annually over the past three years, though exact numbers are hard to come by. This grassroots revival, combined with occasional media coverage, suggests that Sipa might not be completely forgotten after all. It may never regain its former prominence, but as someone who loves both our history and our living culture, I'm encouraged to see new generations discovering this beautiful game and making it their own.