Let's go drink tuba. I just got myself a new suki. His name's Franklin Labra, age 30, of Barrio Ocana, Carcar. Know where Carcar is? Head down south, and the moment someone jumps into your vehicle and yells "Pow!Pow!" right smack at your face, that's it.

Frankie's got the best tuba in this part of the world. Not that he's some congenital connoisseur. Nope, forget Gattaca. Not also because he had some workshop stint in Padi's or Pops. Nope, those craters don't even serve Kulafu. Not also because he's some Will Hunting of the Johnny Walker World. Nah, the guy got a wife and three kids.

So, guys, let's go see about a man. Frankie, as of press time, is probably beating the tracks still in the Marlboro Centennial Tour. He's well adjusting into the unfamiliar gear timings of a bike just lent to him. But that's getting ahead of the story.

Frankie, my dear, works as a mechanic in some bike repair shop somewhere in Magallanes. That's when days are lean with his tuba. Because while the tropa in Ocana are such perpetual inebriates, they too get to waltz with migraine from time to time. Or, perhaps, their respective kumanders would put them in a mission. Something like "Go, find us today's meal, you lazy lizard!" Or things to that effect.

So if he misses a day in the grind, cash would go on an ebbtide. Everyday, he wrestles with that fact. Everyday, he wakes up in fear of having nothing to feed his children. Everyday, he faces the fear of getting a sudden confession from his wife. That had she not gave in to this Evil Kneivel from Carcar years ago, she wouldn't have to make love with a torso that exuded of Vinegar-scent. Instead, things would have gone perfectly with Drakkar or CK.

But for years, Frankie would wake up everyday, beamed by sunlight that took the form of a wife. She's still there, and there's not a single hint there would be any waning at all. He can tell not only through her eyes. He gets to see nostrils that welcome with a flaring the scent of Vinegar. That is for her the sweetest CK (Carcar's Kahumot). That is for him one unmistakable proof of her love.

Frankie's wife would not mind if he'd speed off so early in the morning with his bike and return home only late at night. Never mind if she misses him, and in fact, she misses him terribly in days like those. She knows he's well off on the road somewhere south or north of Cebu, pedaling his way towards his dream.

Every year, Frankie would try himself out to the elimination rounds for the Marlboro Tour. Many years, he would not be able to make it. For many years, he'd been trying to make it work for him. And so this year, he hit the mark by placing fifth in the elimination round, qualifying him for the Visayas Team.

Thanks to the kind-hearted individuals who helped pump Frankie's spirit up. There's Wendell Sarcon who's lending Frankie his bike for him to go through the tour undeterred by mechanical problems only because he's using a bike that comes close to being a collector's item. Then there's Maning Tagimacruz who constantly supplied Frankie the necessary vitamin supplements, just so there's something else to empower him other than a daily bol of tuba.

The guys' message is that when people as Vinegar-scented as them would help each other out, they could re-align the planets to their favor. Never mind if the Southern Tagalog Team faces the race well endowed by their sponsor, Ayala. Never mind if the other teams have Mavic or Spinergy, wheel-brands that produce stuffs whose weight are that of a feather's. Never mind. Frankie has tuba for an adrenalin and an ambition as large as Godzilla. All these because some guys out there are boosting his morale.

So what makes Frankie's brand of tuba the best in this side of the earth? Well, it has something to do with speed. It's about getting the flavor before they lose their potency. One had to be as quick as a witch to assure the right mixture. That's the secret with the Jap's sushi. Or, more locally, with kayos, yams which the B'Laans of Sarangani have to make do because there's an utter lack of food supply. Such foods are prepared with accuracy. And that's what Frankie is good at.

Managing to be a biker of great speed and stamina while keeping a family with so little means. That's accuracy. That's speed. Surviving against odds means accuracy, it confirms speed. Mangguna is how Frankie calls his occupation. And he does so with great velocity and precision.

That's the kind of thing politicians need to know about. And make good use of. Not being swift and precise in robbing the people blind. They should start engaging in some sport and have their lessons in speed and accuracy. Why not try a banjee off the noose.

Frankie is only another version of Mang Pandoy or Josephine. He's the common tao, or the common athlete in his case, of the third world.

In this year's elections, there will of course be winners and losers. But by the looks of it, the good ones are going down the drain while the bad ones are getting most of the pie.