AFTER ITS semifinals series against Derby Ace, I thought San Miguel would have a very hard time in the finals going up against either Alaska or Talk N Text, who at the time were still to figure in a deciding seventh game in their own semifinals matchup. It had a lot to do with how San Miguel, the much fresher and deeper team, had so much trouble putting away a tired and overmatched Llamados squad whose import, Tony Washam, couldn’t even get a shot off Arwind Santos. That it took a superhuman effort for Gabe Freeman – who dominated Derby Ace’s injured big guys Rafi Reavis and Marc Pingris – for San Miguel to finally advance didn’t really inspire much confidence in me as a basketball observer.

In the middle of the series, I got a sense that this was how Alaska’s coach, Tim Cone, saw the matchup too. He’d deny it, but I think after winning game 1, he knew that the series was over. This is a veteran of countless basketball wars, who had come out on top 12 times before. He knew his way around these things.

Of course, I don’t have any inside information, but I got the sense that Coach Tim was confident that everything would go well when he started tweeting in the middle of the series – something he never did during the quarterfinals against Ginebra or the semifinals versus TNT. Then he became curiously active on Facebook, leaving comments around people’s status messages – he’d give updates on his conversations with Miami Heat coach Erik Spoelstra and other stuff – and confirming friend requests, such as mine.

Then, to top everything off, he left a comment on this blog, in a post where I mulled over the future of my favorite team, after it was reported that Purefoods was going to be sold by San Miguel Corporation. I said that if the team’s stars such as James Yap found themselves on other teams, I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. “I got an idea,” Coach Tim wrote. “Become an Alaska fan!”

He would never admit it, but Earl Timothy Cone knew pretty early on that he had this series in the bag.

PEOPLE ALWAYS say that Alaska is the thinking fan’s team. Their reputation was cemented in the mid-‘90s, during their multiple-championship run. The passing and discipline that the ‘90s Milkmen displayed on both ends of the floor* was in stark contrast to the run-and-gun, smash-mouth, macho brand of basketball that was the only thing Pinoys were familiar with at the time.

* – Perhaps no one typified the cold, clinical efficiency of the Alaska machine more than Jojo Lastimosa, who remains, to this day, the quintessential Alaska player. While Johnny Abarrientos belonged to all PBA fans, Jolas was Alaska’s, and Alaska’s alone. Originally nicknamed The Helicopter for his high-flying, slam dunking ways, Lastimosa transformed his game into a ground-based attack, relying less on athleticism and more on smarts, footwork, and angles, while developing the best medium-range perimeter game since Bogs Adornado. Lastimosa’s transformation mirrored Alaska’s evolution in the ‘90s from the Alaska Air Force into Tex Winter’s Southeast Asian wet dream.

Also, Jolas was a pretty huge dick on the court, so everyone projected their hate of Alaska toward him (again, since Johnny A. belonged to everyone, we couldn’t hate him). There’s a reason that the best line in all of Gary Granada’s Ginebra songs remains, “At ang inuman ay hanggang umaga, at ang pulutan ay si Lastimosa!”

So while it wasn’t much of a surprise that Alaska won, it was kind of surprising how Alaska won this championship: with a particularly macho brand of basketball. For much of the series, Alaska eschewed its vaunted triangle offense to dump the ball down low into Diamon Simpson, and dared San Miguel to just fucking try to stop him. When Simpson was out, Cone would call for a top-of-the-key isolation for Cyrus Baguio,** who would try to go one-on-one and embarrass Dondon Hontiveros – and he usually did.

** – I wonder if Coach Tim was aware that Baguio also went out with Valerie Concepcion before she became Hontiveros’ girlfriend. Think that motivated Skyrus? That’s why Tim Cone has 13 PBA championships, and you don’t.

And it bled onto the other players: Reynel Hugnatan would call for the ball in the block and score, like he was still playing for the Negros Slashers. Larry Fonacier and Mark Borboran kept taking – and making! – ballsy shots. Joe Devance, of all people, kept taking Jay Washington in the low block, like he read my post about JWash being a pussy and wanted to challenge the latter’s manhood himself.

Unlike Alaska’s mid-‘90s teams, the thinking fan’s team which won championships because they had a better blend of talent, they had better chemistry, and they were better-prepared, this particular team won because they were more aggressive, and they wanted it more.

And, as cliché as this sounds, they played with more heart.

ALASKA CERTAINLY wasn’t lacking for inspiration this conference. Last April, Alaska’s big boss, Wilfred Uytengsu Sr. passed away, and his son Fred and the whole Alaska organization decided to dedicate this tournament to him (the players wore WU patches on their uniforms during the conference).

It was also the farewell conference for veteran guard Jeffrey Cariaso. People bandy the term “heart and soul” around a lot, but Cariaso was the glue for this Alaska team. He was the players’ connection to the past, a member of the 1996 Grand Slam team as the squad’s young bottle rocket, a constant reminder of the team’s glory years. He also serves as a bridge between the team’s homegrown group of stars, and its caucus of Fil-Ams (and its import). In Pacific Rims, Rafe Bartholomew describes Alaska as being a true family, and that comes in no small part because of the presence of The Jet.

Of course, the other players had their reasons too. For LA Tenorio, this was a stab at basketball glory, a first championship at the only level of basketball where he had not yet won a championship. For Cyrus Baguio and Larry Fonacier, this was for basketball redemption, a chance to be back on the big stage after some people had written them off. For talented young guys like Joe Devance and Mark Borboran, it was an opportunity to get the monkey off their backs. Etcetera, etcetera.

You could imagine, then, how playing with heart would come so easy for this crew.

WHAT’S HARDER TO imagine is Tim Cone actually sitting back and letting his players play. You have this basketball genius – seriously, is it still a stretch to call him the best PBA coach of all time? – and you just know it drives him crazy to sit down and let LA Tenorio decide what to do with the ball. To let Diamon Simpson get the rock in the low post, hoping that he makes the right decision, and that Reynel Hugnatan makes the right dive cut at the right moment for that easy layup. To let Cyrus Baguio figure out what to do on his own – and if you’ve seen Baguio play, you know he never figures out exactly what to do up until the very last moment. To let Larry Fonacier and Mark Borboran pull shots out of their asses.

It couldn’t be easy for Coach Tim to relax, especially not in the finals, not against San Miguel. But that’s exactly what he needed to do – relax, hold back, and trust his players to play with heart and passion.

Maybe that’s why he was on Twitter and Facebook so damn much.

(Tomorrow, hopefully: Quo vadis, San Miguel?)

Next: Love, hate, and the San Miguel Beermen