Basketball
4th Quarter Man: Jolas on coaching Alaska, killing Ginebra, and saving the bronze
Photo courtesy of Butchik SyCip-Lastimosa
I.
JOJO LASTIMOSA HAD SPENT part of last month on a rebuilding project, but it had barely anything to do with basketball. A proud son of Cagayan de Oro City, Lastimosa watched in horror last December as flash-floods brought about by tropical storm “Sendong” ravaged the city, killing hundreds of people and affecting thousands of other families.
A notoriously private person, Lastimosa sprung to action in his own quiet way. In about two weeks, he raised some P300,000 from friends, and worked with Xavier University to identify a community that still needed help. As a Cagayan de Oro native, he knew that while aid had been pouring in for the city, there were many other communities in and around the city — those away from television cameras — that were still struggling.
Lastimosa worked to help a mining community of indigenous people, about three hours away from the city center through rough road, whose livelihood was devastated by the floods.
“Hindi mo makikita ‘to sa mga news report, tago talaga ‘to eh,” said Lastimosa. “At ‘pag sinabi mo pang indigenous people, alam mo naman dito sa atin, minsan hindi pinapansin kaagad.”
In his visit to the city, Lastimosa was struck even more by the damage of the floods.
“I’ve talked with friends in Cagayan de Oro, I’ve talked to batchmates. And they were all affected — they lost their houses and they don’t want to go back there. Kahit sino yung kausapin mo sa mga kaibigan mo, same story, kung hindi man sila, may kaibigan silang naapektuhan. Madaming ganun.”
Today, he hopes to continue to be involved with rebuilding Cagayan de Oro. But since he won’t be able to devote as much time to go there personally, Lastimosa figures that he could still help by continuing to raise funds for rebuilding efforts in the city.
II.
BACK IN MANILA, LASTIMOSA is involved with a different kind of rebuilding effort. His team, the Alaska Aces, are still picking up the pieces after the departure of Tim Cone after 22 years. Lastimosa, who now works as an assistant coach for the team, watched as Alaska stumbled to its worst performance in an all-Filipino tournament after losing Cone.
Lastimosa describes the Philippine Cup debacle as a sacrifice for the franchise, as it moves to a new phase in its history. But sacrificing a tournament wasn’t exactly the plan.
After Cone left, Alaska had planned to simply stay the course. The Aces named former assistant Joel Banal as Cone’s successor. They hoped that plugging in a familiar face at the helm would allow the machine to continue chugging along nicely, since Banal had been Cone’s chief deputy since 2007.
But things weren’t quite so simple, as Alaska discovered belatedly. Cone is notoriously obsessive as a coach, and he had his fingerprints all over every little facet of the Alaska basketball machine — from the way they ran plays, to the way they lined up defensive rotations, to the way they called water breaks during practice.
Banal also had to adjust to moving one seat up the bench. When he was an assistant, he could afford to be buddy-buddy with players, but as the head coach, he had to take on a more authoritarian role. At the start, Banal struggled to find the right balance in dealing with players who were so used to hearing Cone’s voice.
The losing didn’t help, and Alaska found itself one of the first two teams eliminated from contention in the Philippine Cup. In between tournaments, members of the team underwent some soul-searching, and arrived at a decision to junk Cone’s trademark triangle offense in favor of a simpler system designed by Banal.
Lastimosa, who was the leader of those 1990s Alaska teams that ran the triangle to perfection, gave his vote of confidence to Banal and the new system. It was an important step for the organization, especially since Lastimosa had been with team for the better part of the past 20 years.
In a way, it served a basketball purpose; it was harder to teach the triangle offense to new members of the team, and for the system to be effective, all five players on the floor should have a good grasp of it. When players know the system well, as Lastimosa’s old Alaska Milkmen teams did in the ’90s, it was art on the basketball court. When they don’t, players end up being being tentative and clunky, and the result on the court is dreadful to watch.
But in a more general sense, it also served as a clean break from the past. If Cone’s departure from Alaska signalled the end of a long-term relationship, then the Aces junking the triangle was the basketball equivalent of burning old love letters from a lover as a sign of finally moving on.
III.
FOR MANY PBA FANS, it is surprising to see Lastimosa on the Alaska sidelines wearing the trademark coat-and-tie, his notoriously “sexy legs” hidden from view by black slacks. It was hard to imagine Lastimosa, the killer on the court, babysitting egos in practice as a PBA assistant coach.
But for people who were close to him, Lastimosa’s transition to become an assistant was natural. Away from the coliseum lights, he was a natural leader, gregarious and affable with a sharp sense of humor. Off the court, Lastimosa was actually fun to be around.
On the court, however, it was a different story. “The persona that you would see me in when I was playing was that I was always serious,” he said.
Even as a rookie, he was fearless, and he gained renown by going head-to-head against Robert Jaworski and Ginebra. He relished taking it to the basket again and again, notwithstanding the “TLC” he got from the physical Ginebra players. He was never intimidated.
As a rookie, Jojo Lastimosa was fearless in attacking the basket even against Ginebra
The only time he ever got starstruck, he said, was when he attended Purefoods practice for the first time, and realized that former idols like Mon Fernandez were now his teammates. On the court, he was all business.
“You have to consider that even before my rookie year, I already played in the PBA with the national team,” said Lastimosa. “So playing against Jaworski in a semifinal game was not a big deal.”
Throughout his career, Lastimosa enjoyed playing against the league’s most popular team, and loved the experience of shutting up the mammoth hostile crowd. Ginebra fans had no love lost for him either. In Gary Granada’s classic ode to the team’s title run in 1997, “Nang Maging Champion ang Ginebra,” Lastimosa was the only non-Ginebra player name-checked in the lyrics. “At ang inuman ay hanggang umaga, at ang pulutan ay si Lastimosa,” sang Granada, as the barangay celebrated finally vanquishing the villainous shooting guard.
“That’s, for me, a great compliment, believe it or not,” said Lastimosa. “That’s why I always had good games against Ginebra, I loved it, because I knew that [they're booing me because] I was giving them a hard time every night. Para sa akin, gusto ko yung ganun.”
IV.
WHILE LASTIMOSA TOOK HIS villain role in stride, there was one infamous play involving his good friend Samboy Lim that remains a lowlight in his career.
“This is still very vivid in my mind now, I can still recall everything in slow motion,” he related, openly.
“He drove by me, I think, malapit sa may free throw line. We were side by side together, and he began to take off. And as soon as he was taking off, I tried to block the shot. So tumaas na siya, pero yung block ko was not going [downward], my block was going sideways, from east to west, ganun yung swipe ko.
“So when I swiped at him, he continued his acceleration. So pagtaas niya, tinamaan ko yung ulo niya, while going up. So yung momentum niya, yung ulo niya naiwan, yung legs niya were still going up, because he was carried by his momentum.
“When he was in the air, he was met by [Nelson] Asaytono and Jerry Codinera. So unang-una, off-balanced na siya when he was going up, and then tinamaan pa siya on the air ni Nelson and Jerry, kaya umikot siya sa ere. But the reason why he was off-balanced was because of me.”
Almost 23 years later, the play — a freak accident — still remains scary to watch on video. Lastimosa wants to lay to rest any notion that he had caused that play on purpose.
“We played together in the national team for a year or so, and then we were teammates in Lhuillier [in the Philippine Amateur Basketball League] and we won, and he was one of my best men in my wedding. We were together for such a long time. There was just no reason for me to hurt him intentionally.
“Hindi ko sinadya yun.”
In fact, on the night the play happened, Lastimosa rushed to the hospital immediately after the game to check up on what happened to Lim.
Ironically, Lastimosa used to act as an enforcer for Lim — who was the closest thing to a saint on the basketball court — while they were playing together in the amateur ranks.
“Someone hit him, because Samboy was our MVP. Kaming dalawa magkasama nun, we were the stars in that lineup, and one time tinitira na talaga siya. Eh si Samboy naman, hindi naman gumaganti yan eh, sobrang bait na player niyan — hindi ko kagaya,” he said.
“Going downcourt, nung nakita ko si Samboy na tinira ng player, siniko ko sa ulo. I actually ran at him and smacked him in the head with an elbow. Tapos nagkagulo na.”
V.
The Centennial Team won the country's last medal in high-level Asian competition in 1998
FOR MOST OF HIS PBA CAREER, Lastimosa relished playing the anti-hero role. So there’s a note of irony that the single most memorable moment of Lastimosa’s career had him donning the white hat, helping the Centennial Team salvage the bronze medal in the 1998 Asian Games in Bangkok.
He came off the bench to score 19 points against Kazakhstan in the battle for third place. For most fans, it was just another case of Lastimosa, Alaska’s “4th Quarter Man” who saved the team time and again in the PBA, coming through in the clutch, this time for the national squad.
But there’s more to the story than just that.
For starters, Lastimosa didn’t want to be there. He had no desire to be part of PBA-backed national teams, and he didn’t care if people called him unpatriotic because of it. Before turning pro, he had already been part of the national program for two years, an experience he cherished, so he felt that he had done his part. He was loyal to his country, sure, but now he was raising a family — and that’s where he felt his real loyalty should be. Besides, there were other guards in the PBA who could also fill the spot.
Lastimosa was named to the national team when Alaska coach Tim Cone was appointed coach. But up until the last moment, the star guard wasn’t keen on joining the team to the Asian Games.
Alaska had won the first two PBA titles in 1998, one championship shy of its second Grand Slam in three years. Lastimosa wanted to stay with the team to go for the third jewel in the triple crown, and lobbied Cone to instead give his spot to Mobiline’s Jeffrey Cariaso, a former Alaska player. After all, Alaska had already sacrificed much for the national team; apart from Cone, also scheduled to miss the third conference to play in the Asian Games were Johnny Abarrientos and Kenneth Duremdes. Another key player for Alaska, Bong Hawkins, was out due to injury.
But Cone pleaded with him to join the team. “I need you there,” the coach said to Lastimosa.
Once in Bangkok, Lastimosa surprisingly found himself glued to the bench. When he asked why he wasn’t playing, Cone told him that other players felt like better match-ups against the teams they were playing.
“Nagalit ako sa kanya [for not giving me playing time], then nagalit siya sa akin, for not being on his side,” said Lastimosa.
It put a strain in their relationship, and soon, Lastimosa wasn’t even getting any floor time during practices.
“I was just on the side, nakaupo. So Johnny comes up to me, ‘Anong ginagawa mo diyan?’ Sabi ko, ‘Eh ayaw akong ipasok ni Tim [sa scrimmage] eh.’”
He sulked and seethed, and thought about how much he’d rather be home playing for Alaska. Reduced to the sidelines both at games and at practices, Lastimosa took to jogging everyday at the track oval in the athletic village. It was a way for him to stay in shape, to stay ready, since it was looking like he wasn’t going to any more action on the floor. It was also a way for him to release his anger.
“Tinatakbo ko na lang yung galit ko. Tumatakbo ako, 30 minutes, 45 minutes, one hour, dun sa oval.”
On the bench during games, Lastimosa remained a good soldier.
“OK na sa akin yun, naintindihan ko na yun, na hindi ako gagamitin. So papalakpak na lang ako for my teammates. But at the same time, nag-se-secret jogging na lang ako.”
So he was surprised when Cone called his number during the Kazakhstan game.
“I was surprised, binunot ako. Parang rookie again, binigyan ako ng chance ni coach,” he said. “But I was ready, and I was pissed off.”
“Wala akong pakialam kung anong gagawin mo, tanggalin mo ako kung magkalat ako, wala akong pakialam, basta titira ako dito. That was my whole mentality toward that game.”
Lastimosa scored the Centennial Team’s last 10 points in the game, mowing down the Kazakhstan defense by channeling the anger that he had pent up over the last several days. Philippine Daily Inquirer columnist Recah Trinidad, feting Lastimosa’s performance, wrote that the bronze medal that hung around the player’s neck was every bit as good as a gold.
For years, there was a hint of hurt in Lastimosa’s voice when discussing the moment that, for many fans, is the most memorable for his career. He didn’t even know that the bronze he helped in the 1998 Asian Games was the last medal for a Philippine basketball team in a high-level Asian competition.
When reminded of this fact, he broke into a wide smile. “Really? Oo nga ‘no,” he said. Maybe that bronze medal really was as good as gold.
“We have to credit Tim Cone also for that, for benching me,” he quipped. “Because if I wasn’t pissed off, I don’t think I would be able to play that well.”
VI.
LASTIMOSA NEVER WON THE PBA’S highest individual honor, the Most Valuable Player award. But he ended up with 10 titles — one with Purefoods and nine with Alaska — making him the most bejeweled player of the 1990s.
When players like Johnny Abarrientos, Bong Hawkins, and Kenneth Duremdes joined Alaska, the superstar Lastimosa welcomed them with open arms. He eschewed personal glory for team success, and he sacrificed his individual numbers for championship titles.
Today, he holds no angst about never winning the MVP award. He never felt comfortable about the political nature of the selection process.
“People have to vote for me [on their own], I cannot campaign for myself. I don’t like that, because that’s politics. It came to a point in the PBA where you have to campaign for yourself to win an MVP, and I don’t like that.”
In that regard, Lastimosa sees a similarity with another superstar shooting guard who never cared to campaign for votes come awards season, Mark Caguioa of Ginebra.
“I like Mark Caguioa in that respect, because Mark Caguioa also doesn’t really like to win if he has to campaign for himself.”
Instead, Lastimosa always let his game speak for itself. And because his game was so lethal, it has served as the only PR tool he has ever needed for cement his legacy.
“I’m surprised, because it’s unbelievable how people could not forget me,” he said, noting that in Alaska’s out-of-town game in Lucena City, more people came up to have his picture taken that any other current players of the Aces.
Even people who used to boo him in his heyday now show him love.
“Siguro it’s a way of appreciating what I’ve done before, kasi hindi na ako player, so I can’t do damage [against they're favorite teams] anymore,” he said with a smile.
