Baby Dalupan

Having seen countless moments of great strength, I have also been witness to great weakness and tragic flaws. This has given this writer a more intimate – and sometimes jaded – perspective on sports figures. Those of us in the sportswriting profession know all too well the frailty and humanity of the sports gods the masses worship. We have the privilege of such an inner knowledge, and the responsibility to protect it as much as we are ethically allowed to do in our work.

Having said that, there aren’t many people I venerate. Don’t get me wrong. I have a deep, abiding respect for most of the people I speak to and write about. I am often in awe of their great moments, but not really of them as persons. How can you be in awe of your buddies, of the people in your world? But there are a rarefied few who transcend that self-imposed border, the true legends, those whom even the ones we call legends bow to. Baby Dalupan is in that class of people I venerate.

It was with a great deal of reverence (and a little feeling of intimidation) that I sat down to do my first-ever full-length interview with The Maestro, the architect of Crispa’s early dominance, Great Taste Coffee’s ascendancy, and the builder of the careers of the first great generation of PBA pros. I had last seen coach Baby at the launch of “To Give And Not To Count the Cost”, the brilliant book published by the Ateneo de Manila in commemoration of its 150th anniversary, its sesquicentennial. A hundred and fifty Ateneans were asked to write about their Atenean heroes. I remembered my mentor and friend Joe Cantada. Chito Narvasa chronicled his relationship with coach Baby, who had graduated from Ateneo high school in 1942, in the throes of World War II. That occasion gathered both writers and honorees. 

I heard that there was some initial hesitation on the part of coach Dalupan to do the interview. He’s 90, and has been unable to see, but still follows the PBA by listening to the commentators on TV and radio. So you would understand why I was giddy as a kid in a toy store. There were so many things that connected us: Ateneo, Crispa, basketball, the PBA. You mean, I get to ask him anything? Like I always say, I love my job. For me, it’s the best job in the world.

It was jaw-dropping for me to hear his stories of playing with friends and classmates in grade school in the 1930’s, and his realization that he was not that good a player, so he decided to coach, eventually landing the head coaching job at University of the East, which has since named a building after him. In the interim, coach Baby has been influential or responsible for coaching or giving opportunities to many legendary players: Robert Jaworski, Allan Caidic, Atoy Co, Philip Cezar, Bogs Adornado, just to name a few. All are in the PBA Hall of Fame.

I couldn’t resist, so I asked him about the Crispa-Toyota rivalry, which lifted the PBA to great heights in its first eight years. I asked him if it was personal, coaching against Jaworski.

“No, it wasn’t,” he said calmly. “He was my player at UE. I just wasn’t able to recruit him.”

Most of the time, he seemed pensive, surrounded by his thoughts and thousands of memories. I imagined him in the center of a gigantic swirl of great moments, a wizard rolling back time. He told me of a memorable game during Martial Law. Crispa had beaten Toyota, and a scuffle broke out in the tunnel at Araneta Coliseum. Players from that era had corroborated details of the story.

“All the players were apprehended by the Metrocom (Metropolitan Command) and brought to Camp Crame then Fort Bonifacio,” coach Baby says with a knowing smile and a gleam in his eyes. “They were told that they shouldn’t do that because they were examples to young people. All their loved ones sent them blankets, beddings and food.”

But that wasn’t even close to the roughness of provincial games, which weren’t seen on television. There, Dalupan recalled, players would just flat out hit each other until things got out of hand. And of course, the fans loved it. 

I asked him what made his teams played so well for so long. He answered immediately.

“We were family. The players, the fans, everybody. We went out together, ate together. (Crispa team owner) Danny Floro was like my brother. He didn’t treat the players like employees. We were always together. We would play hard for each other.”

After Crispa left the PBA, Dalupan coached the new team Great Taste Coffee, and was reunited with two of his MVPs Atoy Co and Philip Cezar. On a more sensitive note, I asked what it was like to have his record number of championships broken by Tim Cone of San Mig Coffee, who recently put even more distance between them by notching his 17th title. In his first finals as a head coach for Alaska, Cone lost to coach Baby, who then won his last PBA championship. Coach Baby said then “Look out for this Tim Cone. He’s going to be something.”

“I’m happy for Tim; I’m happy it was him,” coach Dalupan admitted. “I’m grateful he remembered me and always mentions me. I’m happy for him.”

In the course of producing a new international documentary, I have been blessed to sit down and chat endlessly with the greatest players, coaches and team owners in PBA history. Those who were part of Crispa, like Atoy Co and Danny Floro’s grandson and namesake Bones, have nothing but love for coach Baby. Gilas Pilipinas and Barangay Ginebra point guard LA Tenorio confided that one of his fondest wishes was to meet and chat with The Maestro. 

Last year, former PBA MVP and Great Taste stalwart Ricardo Brown returned to the Philippines for the first time in almost two decades. He signed a ball for his old coach, and it sits in the Dalupans’ living room, facing his most treasured trophies. It says “To Coach Baby, Love Always.”

More than any triumph of the basketball court, that indelible, unfading love for their coach is the greatest testament to Baby Dalupan as both mentor and man. And many of us who remember share the sentiment.