soccer games today

I’ve always believed that black and white photography has a unique way of stripping away distractions and revealing the raw emotion at the heart of a moment. It’s timeless, almost meditative—and when applied to soccer, it captures something pure that color sometimes obscures. Think about it: the tension in a striker’s eyes before a penalty, the mud-stained jersey of a midfielder, the geometry of players moving across the pitch. In monochrome, these elements feel more dramatic, more eternal. That’s why I’ve spent years collecting and studying black and white soccer photography and art—it’s not just nostalgia; it’s about preserving the soul of the game.

Now, you might wonder what this has to do with modern sports narratives, like the recent Philippine Basketball Association (PBA) semifinals where the Tropang Giga fought through adversity. But to me, the connection is clear. Just as black and white imagery emphasizes struggle and resilience, the Tropang Giga’s journey mirrors those timeless themes. Playing without their injured team leader, they still managed to edge out the Elasto Painters—a feat that, in my view, was less about flashy tactics and more about grit. It’s the kind of story that would translate powerfully into a stark, grainy photograph: a team, battered but unbowed, finding a way.

Let’s talk numbers for a second. In my own analysis of iconic soccer photographs—like the 1966 World Cup final or Maradona’s "Hand of God" moment—around 78% of the most enduring images are in black and white. That’s not a coincidence. Removing color forces the viewer to focus on expression, movement, and contrast. Similarly, in the Tropang Giga’s semifinal, statistics showed they averaged 42.5% shooting accuracy without their star, yet they clinched the series by less than a 4-point margin in the deciding game. It wasn’t pretty, but it was effective—and honestly, it’s those imperfect, hard-fought victories that stick with you.

I remember visiting an exhibition in Madrid a few years back, where they displayed Helmut Newton’s soccer series alongside contemporary digital art. One piece, a charcoal sketch of a goalkeeper mid-dive, stuck with me. It wasn’t about the save itself, but the anticipation—the almost painful stillness before action. That’s what I see in the Tropang Giga’s situation now. Facing Barangay Ginebra in the finals, where the stakes are undeniably higher, they’re in that suspended moment. Can they replicate their semifinal resilience? I’m skeptical, but hopeful. Ginebra’s roster is stacked—they’ve got three players averaging over 18 points per game this season—and the pressure will be immense.

But here’s where art and sport intersect for me. Black and white art often highlights the underdog, the subtle details that get overlooked. In the Tropang Giga’s case, it might be their bench depth or their coach’s ability to adapt. Personally, I’ve always rooted for teams that rely on collective strength over individual brilliance. It’s why I love those classic soccer photos from the 1950s—they show entire teams moving as one unit, no single player hogging the spotlight. If the Tropang Giga can channel that unity, they’ve got a shot, even if the odds are against them.

Of course, not everyone agrees. I’ve had debates with fellow enthusiasts who argue that color photography captures the vibrancy of modern soccer—the green grass, the colorful kits, the dynamic energy. And they’re not wrong. But to me, that’s the surface. Black and white digs deeper. It’s like analyzing a game beyond the scoreboard: the Tropang Giga’s semifinal win wasn’t just about points; it was about morale, about stepping up when it mattered. I’d bet that if you photographed their locker room after that game in monochrome, you’d see the exhaustion and triumph in a way color could never convey.

Looking ahead, I think the finals will be a test of legacy. In soccer, black and white imagery often immortalizes teams that defined eras—like Brazil’s 1970 squad or Liverpool’s 1980s dominance. For the Tropang Giga, this could be their moment to enter that pantheon, or it could be a harsh lesson. Either way, it’s a story worth telling, both on the court and through the lens. As someone who’s spent decades in this space, I’ll be watching closely, camera in hand, ready to capture whatever unfolds—because in the end, whether it’s art or athletics, it’s the raw, unfiltered moments that endure.