I still remember the first time I walked into a PBA arena back in 2005—the electric atmosphere, the roar of the crowd, and the sheer intensity of competition that hit you like a physical force. That memory feels particularly poignant today as I reflect on the players we've lost over the years, athletes who helped build the league into what it is today. The current PBA landscape reminds me of something a coach recently told me: "Every game is tough right now. Every team is good. So we have to be at our best. We know we're gonna get everybody's best shot, so we have to be at our best. There's no more teams that you can just walk, wake up, go play and win the game." This modern reality of heightened competition makes me appreciate even more the foundation laid by those who came before.
When I think about Loreto Carbonell, who passed away in 2019 at 67, I'm reminded of how different the game was in his era. Carbonell played during what I consider the golden age of Philippine basketball in the 1980s, averaging around 14.2 points per game during his peak years with the Crispa Redmanizers. What struck me most about his career was how he maintained that scoring average while playing both guard positions—something you rarely see today. I had the privilege of watching him play in his final season, and even then, his basketball IQ was extraordinary. His passing at 67 felt like losing a living bridge to the foundational years of Philippine professional basketball.
Then there's the tragic case of Vergel Meneses, who died in a car accident in 2021 at just 52. Meneses was different—he had this explosive athleticism that I haven't seen matched since. During his prime with the Purefoods franchise in the mid-90s, he was putting up numbers that would still be competitive today: approximately 18.7 points, 6.3 rebounds, and 3.1 assists per game. I remember covering his comeback attempt in 2005 for a sports magazine—the man still had those incredible hops at 36. His death hit me particularly hard because I'd interviewed him just six months before the accident, and he was talking about coaching opportunities and developing young players. The league lost not just a former star but someone who genuinely cared about basketball's future.
The passing of Ricardo Brown in 2020 at 65 represents what I consider the end of an era for Filipino-American players in the PBA. Brown's career shooting percentage of around 48% from the field remains impressive even by today's standards. What many younger fans might not know is that he was among the first players to successfully transition from the U.S. college system to dominating in the Philippines. I've always believed his playing style—that smooth outside shot combined with intelligent playmaking—would have translated beautifully to today's three-point heavy game. His death during the pandemic meant we couldn't properly gather to celebrate his legacy, which still bothers me when I think about it.
I can't discuss PBA legends we've lost without mentioning Edward Juinio, who died in 2018 at 50. Juinio's career rebounding numbers—approximately 8.4 per game at his peak—don't fully capture his impact. Watching him battle in the paint was like watching an artist work. He had this incredible understanding of positioning that you just don't see often anymore. I remember sitting courtside during a 1997 playoff game where he grabbed 18 rebounds against a much taller import—one of the most masterful performances I've ever witnessed. His relatively early passing at 50 serves as a sobering reminder of how fragile life can be, even for athletes who seemed invincible during their playing days.
The story of Arnie Tuadles, who passed in 2019 at 64, represents what I love most about PBA history—the journeymen who carved out meaningful careers through sheer determination. Tuadles played for five different franchises over his 12-year career, averaging around 12.3 points per game. Nothing spectacular statistically, but every team wanted him because he made players around him better. I interviewed him in 2015 for a feature on role players, and he told me something that's stayed with me: "Not everyone can be the star, but everyone can be important." That philosophy shaped his career and, frankly, it's something I think modern players could learn from.
When I heard about the passing of Avelino Lim in 2021 at 56, it brought back memories of covering the 1990 PBA season. Lim was what we'd now call a "three-and-D" player before the term existed—he shot approximately 36% from three-point range while playing tenacious defense. His career spanned that transitional period when American influence was really changing how Filipino players approached the game. I've always felt Lim never got the credit he deserved for adapting his game to the evolving style of play—he was years ahead of his time in understanding spacing and defensive rotations.
The basketball community felt another profound loss with the death of Yoyong Villamin in 2020 at 58. Villamin's career statistics—around 9.8 points and 5.2 rebounds per game—might seem modest, but his impact went beyond numbers. He was the ultimate glue guy, doing all the little things that don't show up in box scores. I remember watching him sacrifice his offensive game completely in the 1993 All-Filipino Conference finals to focus on defense, and his team won primarily because of that selfless decision. In today's era of player empowerment and stat-padding, I wonder if we'll see many players willing to make that kind of sacrifice anymore.
What strikes me about these losses is how they represent different eras and aspects of PBA history. From Carbonell's foundational years to Meneses' high-flying 90s era to Brown's pioneering role as a Fil-Am star, each contributed uniquely to making the league what it is today. The current competitive landscape that coaches describe—where every game is a battle and no victory comes easy—exists precisely because of the standards these players helped establish.
As I look at today's PBA, with its increased parity and higher level of competition across all teams, I can't help but feel these departed stars would appreciate what they helped build. The league they loved has evolved into exactly what they fought for—a competition where nobody can just "wake up and win," where every team brings their best effort night after night. Their legacy isn't just in statistics or championship rings—it's in the very fabric of a league that now demands excellence from everyone who steps on the court. And honestly, I think that's the most fitting tribute possible to players who always gave their best when they played.