IT WAS about 3 p.m. yesterday when I received the persistent calls on my mobile phone.
I could not answer right away because my phone was on the second floor of my townhouse unit and I was in the the first floor.
“What’s your emergency?” I asked the caller, a colleague, when I finally returned his calls. “Is somebody dying?”
“You mean you haven’t heard? Jared Dillinger got involved in a vehicular accident just before the break of dawn at three o’clock this morning and has been rushed to the hospital.”
“What on earth was Jared doing on the streets at this ungodly hour when his team has an important game tonight?”
My colleague said the initial report was very sketchy. Nobody could tell exactly where the accident happened—if there were other casualties and what was the extent of Jared’s injuries. He requested me to help him find out details of the accident.
“You can call up his coach Norman Black, or better yet his agent Charlie Dy,” my colleague suggested. Norman, he said, might not open up.
I followed my colleague’s advice. Not because I did not expect to get anything out of Norman, but because I didn’t want to add to his problems just before a big game, and after a big loss.
Charlie Dy was no big help. He said Jared had texted him about the accident, but assured him that he was OK, so he thought no more of it.
Charlie said he would be visiting the cager at the Makati Medical Center later in the day. Only then would he be able to get the details of the accident. One thing became very clear at this point: Jared would not be able to play in Game 2 of the best-of-five semifinal series.
According to the sports editor of a tabloid, Norman had confirmed that Jared would not be able to see action last night.
My final question to Charlie, “ When will Jared be discharged from the Makati Med?” “Friday,” he replied.
Friday? That’s almost a week away, I thought—about the same length of hospital confinement for a woman who has given birth by caesarian section.
I figured Jared must have sustained some major injuries, if he was to stay that long in hospital, like broken bones. Charlie suggested that I call TNT team manager Aboy Castro.
I texted Aboy and a host of others and even came close to calling the police precinct that covered the area where the accident happened.
I didn’t get a single reply and it was past my deadline. Just couldn’t help but wonder what the secrecy was all about.