“Want to know what a ‘sapo’ is? It’s the New York Giants beating the New England Patriots” in the recent Super Bowl. “See how that guy caught the ball on his helmet?” The emphatic utterer of this sapo-istry was Ron Maestas, professor, coach, referee and athlete. Of course, he was referring also to a recent column on sapos, and of this month’s Super Bowl. To review: Sapo means toad, but around here, we call a sapo any lucky shot, regardless of sport. The amazing thing about this part of northern New Mexico sapodom is that the word refers only to the other guys, not to ourselves.Thus, if my grandson and namesake sinks an all-net basket from 25 feet out, that’s a sapo. If I do it, it’s skill.
Of course, the more skill a person has, the more things look like sapos, to others. Isn’t the meaning of genius simply making the difficult appear simple?
Ron made his statement as I huffed and puffed on a treadmill at the Abe Montoya Rec Center. I’ve had time to assess his assessment, so here goes:
The annual Super Bowl predictions Work of Art column included the opinions of 13 people, 10 of whom picked the then-undefeated Patriots to win. Some predicted a big win, others a close game. Only three thought the Giants would take it. And in our own pigskin picks, published in the Optic the Friday before the big game, my managing editor David Giuliani and I picked the Giants, whereas Dave Kavanaugh, the sports editor, and Tom McDonald, the editor and publisher, chose New England.
Ron Maestas might even have said that David’s and my predictions in and of themselves were sapos. But back to the game. For as long as my Camp Luna neighbor and former Highlands colleague has followed sports, he ought to allow for a skillful play.
In fact, Eli Manning’s pass to reserve wideout David Tyree — the pass that made the cover of virtually every sports magazine on the planet — was planned. The photo in Sports Illustrated shows Tyree, closely guarded, falling backwards and pinning the football against the side of his helmet.
As TV cameras zoomed in on that fateful huddle toward the end of the game, one could almost read the quarterback’s lips: “OK, David Tyree, I shall heave the leather projectile in thy vicinity, and its trajectory will deliver it to the top of your protective headgear. I speak thus to prevent the defender from acquiring any advantage and possibly saponifying you and taking possession of the spheroid object.” Simple.
It was a designed play. Why, some of my best friends have been known to catch footballs on the side of their helmets. Let’s suppose the same kind of catch had been made by a Patriot instead of a Giant. Would that have gone down in the annals of sapodom?
Not likely.
Paul O. Martinez, a 1993 graduate of Robertson High School, who worked for Intel and is back in Las Vegas, attending Highlands, e-mailed about the secret formula we must have used not only to predict the Super Bowl winner but to come so close in predicting the final score.
Martinez shows wisdom and good taste as he writes, “My favorite team is the Oakland Raiders, and my second favorite team is whoever’s playing the Dallas Cowboys.”
To the untrained observer, it may appear that Giuliani came closer than I to guessing the final score. He predicted a Giants’ victory, 24-21; my pick was the Giants at 7-6. The actual score was 17-14, which may give readers the impression that Giuliani came closer.
However, my 7-6 prediction wasn’t actually the last word (or number). You see, we’ve been supporting George Bush’s Endless War for years, and we’re paying $3.15 for a gallon of gas.
Because of this burden wrought by prices that rise even as you fill up, we need to adjust the final scores for inflation as well.
Had I done that, the actual prediction would have been 17-14, which matches the final score exactly.
• • •
We all realize that the recent Democratic caucus was manned by volunteers who tried their best. Complaints of not being on the registration rolls or not having enough time to vote were not as profuse here as in Rio Rancho, for example, where several thousand would-be voters crowded into too few polling places.
At the courthouse precinct shortly after 5 p.m. a line wrapped completely around the main courtroom. It took 50 minutes for me to vote, and at no time were there fewer than 75 people in line, ahead or behind.
Though we learned this fact only from others in the same line, my line was for voters whose last name begins with a letter from H through Z. A much shorter line took care of the A through G contingent.
Why that combination? My Las Vegas phone book contains 18 pages of names from A to G and 51 pages for names H to Z. Why were the names divided this way, with an occasional line created for the M’s?
Got it: There’s a tune every primary school kid learns that begins with “A-B-C-D-E-F-G,” and ends with “Q-R-S-T-U-V-W-X-Y and Z. Now I’ve said my ABCs; tell me what you think of me.”
My guess is that the teachers were absent on Day 2, when the middle letters would have been introduced.
Your “sapoistry” grows as it goes, Art.
Ben Moffett
Art,
I have lately read the following passage on Puerto Rican basketball, in an encyclopedia, partially posted on the internet, from “Puerto Rico Past and Present,” which reads:
The popularity of the sport in Puerto Rico grew astronomically during the 1970s, due in part to the role of television in broadcasting the sport. Since then, basketball has become the most often viewed sport event in the island. Basketball slang terms such as “Apuntalo!” (accent u) (score it!) have made their way into the folk language of Puerto Ricans. The sport is a cultural event that provides a platform for social interaction.
I’m wondering if “apuntalo” is truely a Puerto Rican expression, or it is in general use? Have you heard it in New Mexico? My diccionario says that apuntar is basically “to point” or “to aim.” Is to “score” or “to shoot” a far-fetched use of it, or immediately understandable in the context of a game. Also, it sounds to me like the kind of a word that could have sexual connotations, not mentioned anywhere I can find.
I ask this because I am looking for different expressions used by different cultures on the court. It seems I can remember something like “Shootealo” (“Chutealo?”) or similar on the Albuquerque playground. This may be too cumbersome to even get into. I’ll understand. Ben
I can send you the whole encyclopedia piece if you’ll provide me with an e-mail to do so.