I started watching basketball in 1988, when I was six years old. My favorite basketball team was Purefoods – Joe Cantada dubbed the team’s talented rookie corps ‘The Yuppies’ because they were young professionals – and my favorite basketball player was a hotshot shooting guard named Jojo Lastimosa. Not only was he a high-flying daredevil slasher who would finish fastbreaks with 360-degree layups just for the heck of it, he was also a deadly shooter whose range extended far beyond the three-point line.

My grandfather installed a toy hoop in our house for me, and I would spend all my time mimicking my idol. “LASTIMOSA, THREEEEE POINTS!!!” I would yell out, pretending I was at the Ultra as I knocked in a dagger from the perimeter off a kick-out pass from David Thirdkill. At six, I didn’t want to be a lawyer or a doctor or a president. I wanted to be Jolas.

I would watch Purefoods games every time they were on. Because I got good grades, my mom took me to watch a game live at the Ultra, even though she did not know the first thing about basketball. We chanced upon a semifinal playoff game between Purefoods and Ginebra. The game was exciting, and the crowd was furious.

Barangay Ginebra, which was originally the name of the bleacher crowd that worshipped Robert Jaworski, even pelted the court with coins, and the game had to be stopped for a while in the fourth quarter. It was great, especially because Purefoods ended up winning to book a seat in the Open Conference finals against San Miguel, which was reinforced and coached by Norman Black.

Things didn’t go so well with my mom. We had a seat behind the Purefoods goal, and during warm-ups, she tried calling the attention of Lastimosa, so that her son can finally say hello to his idol (the things a mother would do for her kid). She shouted, but to no avail, as Jolas remained aloof. Still disappointed after the game, she took me aside. “Anak, iba na lang ang idol mo,” she said. “Huwag na lang si Lastimosa, ang suplado eh.”

I still liked Jolas after that, but by the next conference, Purefoods had another star rookie who was just as talented, a tall guy by the name of Alvin Patrimonio, and he quickly became my favorite. It meant that I could continue rooting for Purefoods without disappointing my mom. I suppose it now makes sense that I am a sports blogger considering I had my first existential crisis, at age 6, because of basketball.

LASTIMOSA WOULD LEAVE PUREFOODS in 1991, transferring to Alaska and anchoring the Milkmen dynasty of the ‘90s. As I wrote last August:

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.

By the time the transformation was complete, my enmity for him became real, like those of other PBA fans, because he became the lightning rod for all the hate that came Alaska’s way:

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!”

Of course, as I grew older and more mature as a basketball fan, I couldn’t help but develop a grudging admiration for Lastimosa and his game.

LAST FRIDAY EVENING, I GOT a call from my dad. “Nandito si Jojo Lastimosa,” he said. Lastimosa had been eating at my family’s restaurant for years, and he was there that night after Alaska’s game against Smart Gilas.

“Gusto ka daw niyang makilala,” my dad continued. Jolas had been reading Fire Quinito, apparently, and he wanted to meet the guy behind the blog. He heard I was related to the owners of the restaurant. “Busy ka ba?”

I told my dad I was going to be there in 20 minutes, and flew out the door.

When I got there, my dad introduced me to Jolas, his wife Butchik, and their daughter. It was Butchik who discovered the blog, which she shared with her husband.

“I’m a fan,” Jolas told me. Are you kidding? No, *I’m* a fan, I wanted to tell him. Instead, I launched shamelessly into the story of how he snubbed my mom at Ultra when I was six.

He laughed at the story, and didn’t attempt to defend himself. “Buti nga, hindi kita pinaalis sa upuan,” he said. Apparently, when he was playing at the Rizal Memorial Coliseum in the PABL, he’d shooed away a little kid from a seat near courtside. That kid ended up becoming a PBA player, who carried a chip on his shoulder against Jolas even until he got into the pros over the incident.

He said that it was because he was often too focused when he enters the court, which is why he often acts aloof. He is very aware of the suplado tag, and he even cherishes the villain role. “Kapag championship, tapos sinisigawan ako ng mga tao, ‘Buwaya, buwaya!’ gustong-gusto ko ‘yun,” he said.

“So, galit ka pa ba sa akin dun sa nangyari sa Ultra?” he asked me, jokingly.

I shot back, “Hindi na, ikaw yung nagpanalo sa Centennial Team sa Kazakhstan nung Asian Games eh, napatawad na kita.” He then launched into the inside story behind that performance, which would have to wait for another time on this blog.

We spoke about a bunch of other things, just blowing the breeze. I was surprised by how friendly he was; I hate to admit it, but I actually enjoyed talking to Jojo Lastimosa more than I did talking to Alvin Patrimonio. Interviewing Cap was a lot like interviewing a superhero – you knew all of his feats, but he was hesitant to tell you any of his secrets.

Talking to Jolas was, well, like talking to a Fire Quinito reader. See, I know that the stuff I write here isn’t for everyone – not all people will get the humor or enjoy the sharpness of this blog – so it’s always a privilege to talk to a reader who is on the same wavelength.

And I’m glad he is one of them, because if a six-year-old kid didn’t want to be Jojo Lastimosa 23 years ago, I’m not sure this site would even exist today.