*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
I once watched the Barangay Ginebra basketball team through the invitation of their player number 23 Raymond "Mr. Never Heard" Aguilar, during one of their practices, and what I witnessed stayed with me far longer than any game-day highlight. Inside that gym, there was no noise of a cheering crowd, no television cameras, no roaring chants. What I saw instead was discipline—quiet, deliberate, and deeply instructive.
I witnessed the importance of role players and practice players—the ones who rarely make the headlines, whose names are seldom chanted by the crowd, yet whose presence is indispensable to the team’s success. What struck me most was how the coach treated them. There was no hierarchy in effort, no favoritism in discipline. Role players like number 23 were treated with the same seriousness and respect as the stars in the regular rotation. Every drill mattered. Every screen mattered. Every pass mattered. Each player had a role, and every role was honored.
Role players, in particular, carried a silent burden. They were not there to score or dominate the ball. Their task was to assist, defend, set screens, absorb contact, and make their teammates stronger—especially during practice. But beyond that, they were expected to be ready at any moment. When called from the bench, their responsibility was to deliver quality minutes, stabilize the game, and substitute for star players without disrupting the team’s rhythm. No excuses. No spotlight. Just readiness.
There were moments when they could have taken the shot, moments when they could have chased recognition. But they chose restraint—not because they lacked ability, but because they understood their job description. Their value was measured not by points, but by trust. When the coach called their name, they had to be ready.
That practice taught me a painful truth about our nation: we do not fail because roles are unclear; we fail because too many people refuse to stay within them—or refuse to prepare for them.
Perhaps, if everyone—whether in government or in the private sector—faithfully adhered to the duties clearly defined by their positions, and if they constantly remembered the simple yet powerful reminder to “focus on your job description,” corruption and anomalies that plague our nation might cease to exist.
When we focus on our responsibilities, we do only what is proper: what has been entrusted to us, what we are mandated to do, and what is right. We perform our work with honor and integrity. That is the true essence of every profession—on the basketball court, in the classroom, in the office, or in government.
This truth becomes even more urgent when we speak of public service.
Elected presidents and vice presidents, the ombudsman, and members of the judiciary all have specific roles clearly stated in the Constitution. None of these roles include enriching themselves, engaging in corruption, or bending the law for personal gain. They are mandated to perform their duties strictly within what the Constitution allows—and nothing beyond that.
The same principle applies to legislators. Those in the executive branch execute the law. Those in the legislative branch legislate or make the law. And those in the judiciary interpret the law. That is the constitutional design. There is no space in that design for violating the law, bending it, manipulating it, or circumventing it to make money.
And this responsibility does not stop at the national level.
Those who serve in local government—governors, vice-governors, board members, mayors, vice mayors, and councillors—are all placed in office to serve the people, not to enrich themselves from the people’s money. Their duty is to uplift communities, improve daily life, and make their constituents feel that government is working for them.
Even at the most basic level of governance, the same rule applies. Barangay captains and barangay kagawads, down to the smallest units of local administration, are not there to make money or build personal empires. They are there to serve—to listen, to help, to resolve conflicts, and to protect their people. Power, no matter how small the jurisdiction, is never a license to exploit.
It is not the job of a senator to steal. It is not the duty of a congressman to engage in corruption. It is not the mandate of a judge to sell justice, of a governor to divert funds, of a mayor to turn public office into a family enterprise, or of a barangay official to pocket public resources. Their job—at every level—is singular and sacred: to serve the people.
That is why it is called public service, not personal service. Public office is not a business opportunity, not a reward for loyalty, and not a shortcut to wealth. It is a trust—a stewardship over laws, resources, and lives that belong to the people.
When everyone focuses on their job description, corruption does not merely decrease—it becomes difficult to commit.
Corruption thrives in blurred lines. It survives where authority is abused and where officials believe they are entitled to do more than what is mandated. The moment a public servant steps outside his or her job description, corruption finds its entry point. But when roles are clear—and faithfully observed—corruption is starved of oxygen.
Just like in basketball, when a role player suddenly decides to play hero ball, the system breaks down. He forces shots not drawn in the playbook and weakens team chemistry. In governance, when an official tasked to execute the law begins to manipulate it, or when one tasked to interpret the law starts bending it, the system collapses. Corruption begins not with theft, but with role confusion.
Focusing on job descriptions creates boundaries, and boundaries protect institutions. It also creates accountability. When everyone does only what they are supposed to do, any deviation becomes obvious. Corruption hides best in chaos and ambiguity. Discipline exposes it.
It builds a culture of professionalism, where pride comes not from wealth accumulation, but from competence, reliability, and trust. It prevents collusion, because corrupt networks depend on officials stepping beyond their mandates to protect one another. When each office stays in its constitutional lane, corruption networks fail to form.
At the local level, integrity at the barangay prevents corruption from reaching the national level. When barangay officials treat public funds as trust—not entitlement—corruption loses its roots.
In the end, corruption is not defeated only by laws, arrests, or investigations. It is defeated daily—quietly—by people who choose to stay in their lane.
Perhaps, if all government employees—elected and appointed, national and local alike—would simply remain faithful to their job descriptions, we would have a great nation. A nation with a strong future. A nation with clear direction. A nation guided not by greed, but by service.
This country will not be rebuilt by grand speeches or dramatic promises. It will be rebuilt in the quiet “practice sessions” of governance—budget deliberations, procurement decisions, court rulings, barangay assemblies, and everyday choices made when no one is watching.
Focusing on your job description may sound ordinary. But in a nation wounded by corruption, it is revolutionary.
Because when everyone simply does what they are supposed to do—nothing illegal, nothing excessive, nothing self-serving—we do not just strengthen institutions. We restore trust. We honor the Constitution. And we remind the next generation that integrity, like teamwork, is how nations win.
The role players returned to practice.
The stars prepared for game day.
No headlines were written.
But championships—and nations—are built that way:
by people who know their role, prepare for it, and honor it—especially when no one is watching.
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