I still remember the first time I stumbled upon the abandoned stadium behind the university's old sports complex. It was one of those humid Manila afternoons when the air feels thick enough to chew, and I'd taken a wrong turn while trying to find the new basketball arena. What I discovered instead was something far more haunting - the decaying remains of what was once a vibrant soccer field, now being slowly reclaimed by nature. The place had this strange, melancholic beauty that stuck with me for days.
The contrast between this forgotten space and the current buzz around campus sports couldn't be more striking. Just last week, I read that after a decade and a half, University of Santo Tomas is back in the UAAP juniors basketball finals. The campus is electric with anticipation, students are wearing their yellow and black colors with renewed pride, and there's this palpable energy that reminds me why I fell in love with sports journalism in the first place. Yet here, just a stone's throw from all that excitement, lies this ghost of sporting past - a soccer stadium that time forgot.
Walking through the overgrown field now, I can almost hear the echoes of past cheers. The grass reaches up to my knees in some places, and vines have started their slow conquest of the concrete bleachers. There's something profoundly moving about seeing nature gradually erase human ambition. I counted at least fifteen different plant species growing through cracks in the seating area - though I'm no botanist, so don't quote me on that exact number. The goals still stand at either end of the field, their nets long disintegrated, their frames rusting but stubbornly upright.
What fascinates me about exploring the eerie beauty of an abandoned soccer stadium left to nature is how it tells a story about shifting priorities and changing times. While UST celebrates its basketball renaissance after 15 years away from the finals spotlight, this soccer field represents a different kind of timeline - one where a sport gradually faded from prominence at this institution. I spoke with Dr. Elena Santos, a sports historian at the university, who told me that soccer actually had a strong following here in the late 90s, with average attendance reaching about 3,500 spectators per match during its peak season in 1998. "The beautiful game had its moment here," she reflected, "but institutional focus shifted, and some facilities simply couldn't keep up with the maintenance costs."
Personally, I think there's value in preserving these spaces, even in their decayed state. They serve as physical reminders of our sporting heritage - not just the triumphs, but the ebbs and flows of different disciplines. The way morning light filters through the broken panels of the concession stand, or how rain has created miniature ecosystems in the depressions on the track - there's an accidental artistry to it all that modern, pristine facilities can't replicate.
I find myself returning to this place whenever I need perspective on the transient nature of sports culture. While everyone's rightfully celebrating UST's basketball comeback after those long 15 years, I can't help but wonder what other sporting traditions we might have lost along the way. The abandoned stadium stands as both a cautionary tale and a work of accidental environmental art - a place where ambition and nature have reached an uneasy, yet beautiful, truce.
