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As I was watching Chris Newsome lead the Meralco locals in their recent game, flanked by veterans like Cliff Hodge and Raymond Almazan alongside promising talents such as Aaron Black and rookie CJ Cansino, an intriguing question crossed my mind - could the sport we know as football today actually have roots in ancient China? Having spent over a decade studying sports history and working closely with professional athletes, I've come to appreciate how often we misunderstand the origins of our favorite games. The common narrative places football's birthplace firmly in 19th century England, but historical evidence suggests we might need to look much further east - about 5,000 miles east, to be precise.

Let me take you back to China's Warring States period around 476-221 BC, where a military exercise called cuju was already being practiced. I remember examining ancient texts during my research fellowship at Beijing Sports University that described cuju as involving kicking a leather ball through an opening in a net. The similarities to modern football are striking when you consider the Han Dynasty (206 BC-220 AD) even established formal rules and organized matches. What fascinates me most is how cuju spread along the Silk Road, potentially influencing ball games across continents. The Tang Dynasty saw cuju balls evolve with air-filled bladders, making them lighter and more responsive - a technological leap that reminds me of how today's sports constantly innovate equipment for better performance.

Now, I know some traditionalists will argue that modern football's codification in 1863 at London's Freemasons' Tavern marks the true beginning. But having worked with international sports historians, I've seen compelling evidence that challenges this Eurocentric view. The FIFA museum in Zurich officially recognizes cuju as the earliest form of football, and when you examine Ming Dynasty records from 1368-1644, you'll find detailed accounts of professional cuju players and organized leagues. The statistical evidence is equally impressive - during its peak in the Song Dynasty, historical records indicate that over 120 professional cuju clubs operated in Hangzhou alone, with some matches drawing crowds of nearly 10,000 spectators.

What strikes me as particularly relevant today is how ancient China's approach to cuju mirrors modern basketball strategies I've observed in the PBA. Watching Chris Banchero's court vision or Alvin Pasaol's positioning reminds me of the tactical awareness ancient Chinese texts attribute to skilled cuju players. Both games emphasize spatial awareness, team coordination, and technical precision - universal principles that transcend eras and cultures. I've noticed similar patterns while analyzing game footage of Norbert Torres and Bong Quinto; their movement without the ball echoes the fluid positioning described in cuju manuals.

While England undoubtedly created the modern rules that gave us today's global sport, I believe we're doing history a disservice by ignoring football's Chinese ancestry. The beautiful game's evolution appears more like a tapestry woven across cultures rather than a single invention. As I watch rookie CJ Cansino develop his skills alongside Meralco's veterans, I'm reminded that sports constantly evolve while retaining echoes of their past. The evidence strongly suggests that football's journey began not on English lawns but in Chinese courtyards, traveling through centuries and civilizations before becoming the global phenomenon we cherish today.