You know you've crossed that invisible line when you find yourself planning your entire week around game schedules rather than work deadlines. I remember sitting in a café last Tuesday, supposedly working on a quarterly report, but instead I was calculating how many hours remained until the Ginebra-TNT semifinals matchup. That's when it hit me - I'm not just a sports fan anymore, I'm a full-blown sports addict, and honestly? I've learned to love this part of myself.

The first undeniable sign appeared when I started recognizing players' subtle mannerisms before they even made their moves. During that fourth lonse-sided victory in the semis series everyone's been talking about, I found myself predicting Ginebra's defensive adjustments just by watching how their point guard positioned his feet. Normal fans watch the ball - addicts watch everything else. My notes app has become a chaotic collection of observations that would probably embarrass me if anyone saw them, yet I can't help adding to it during every commercial break.

There's this peculiar thrill that comes from knowing team histories so intimately that current matchups feel like personal vendettas. When Ginebra crossed paths with TNT again in that best-of-seven playoff, I felt that familiar tension in my shoulders - the same tension I'd experienced watching them lose to the Tropang Giga in the Governors' Cup Finals. For casual viewers, it's just another game. For people like us, it's unfinished business. I've calculated that I've spent approximately 47 hours this season analyzing previous encounters between these teams, and while that number might shock my accountant, it feels entirely justified to me.

The real turning point came when I realized my emotional state directly correlated with game outcomes. After Ginebra's loss in the previous finals, I walked around for three days feeling personally offended by questionable referee calls. My coffee tasted bitter, my workouts felt sluggish, and I found myself explaining zone defense strategies to my bewildered dog. That's when you know you're in too deep - when your pet becomes an unwilling participant in your sports analysis.

I've developed what my friends call "playoff personality" - this transformed version of myself that emerges during crucial games. My voice gets noticeably louder during fourth quarters, I develop temporary superstitions about lucky socks, and I've been known to rearrange furniture based on which seating arrangement coincided with a winning streak. The Gin Kings looking to exact revenge? Honey, they're not the only ones seeking redemption here.

The beautiful part of this addiction is how it connects you to complete strangers. During last week's game, I found myself high-fiving a man in a grocery store when we both checked our phones simultaneously and saw Ginebra had taken the lead. No words were exchanged - just that shared understanding that we were both riding the same emotional rollercoaster. These moments create bonds that transcend normal social interactions, forming what I like to call "the fellowship of the obsessed."

My calendar has become a colorful mosaic of game days circled in red, practice session notes scribbled in margins, and statistical averages replacing birthday reminders. I estimate I've watched approximately 127 games this season alone, though my partner insists the real number is closer to 200. Who's counting anyway? Besides both of us, apparently.

The financial aspect is something we rarely discuss in polite company, but between you and me, I've probably invested enough in tickets, merchandise, and those overpriced arena beers to fund a small vacation. Yet I can't bring myself to regret it - not when I can close my eyes and still feel the vibration of the crowd during that incredible overtime victory last month.

What began as casual entertainment has evolved into something resembling a second job, except I pay for the privilege instead of collecting a paycheck. My browser history reads like a sports analytics textbook, my social media algorithms show me nothing but player statistics, and I've developed strong opinions about coaching strategies that I'll defend with surprising passion at dinner parties.

Here's the secret they don't tell you about sports addiction - it teaches you about resilience in ways that translate beautifully to everyday life. Watching teams like Ginebra prepare for redemption matches shows you how to handle setbacks with grace. The Tropang Giga might have taken the Governors' Cup, but the beauty of sports is that there's always another season, another chance, another opportunity to come back stronger.

So the next time someone raises an eyebrow when you cancel plans for a big game, or when you find yourself emotionally invested in teams you've never actually met, remember this - we're not just watching sports, we're participating in ongoing stories of human achievement. We're witnessing moments of brilliance that remind us what people can accomplish under pressure. And if that's an addiction, I don't want the cure.