MANILA, Philippines – This isn’t a story about how a person became both a successful boxer and a basketball star. This isn’t a story of an athlete’s confusion over which sport he’d be better at.
This also isn’t a story of dreams coming true. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. It’s a story of a dream that slipped away. It’s a story of what-could-have-been. It’s about regret.
Then again, it’s also about dreaming once more.
One basketball game night, I purposely avoided doing my usual rounds of talking to players, searching for possible post-game nuggets of wisdom worthy of a story. There was only one person I wanted to talk to, and he was always the last person out of the locker room.
When he emerged, I had no idea what his story was. I didn’t even know his name.
I expected something unique, even touching. I never expected I would meet someone who had lived and endured my life’s greatest fear.
Fans of the San Mig Super Coffee Mixers basketball team would easily recognize the colorful character along the Mixers’ bench. I could describe the defensive stance and the movements he demonstrates to the Mixers all game long. But it’s best to show you, in case you might have seen him at a game before, too.
His name is Manuel “Maning” Vilbar. He is also called NingMa. Vilbar is the “All Around Guy” for the players and the coaching staff. He massages Marc Pingris. He tapes James Yap. He is in charge of coach Tim Cone’s clipboard.
“All around work. Taper, masahe, minsan nag re-referee ako,” Vilbar describes his job. (Masseur, taper, sometimes I referee.)
Vilbar has been with the San Mig Coffee franchise since around 2006, when it was still called Purefoods. Before that he had already worked for the Magnolia, San Miguel, and Ginebra teams in the Philippine Basketball Association (PBA). He has been working for the San Miguel Corp. teams for about 16 years already.
His first stint in the PBA was with the popular ball club Ginebra in 1992.
Vilbar used to live at the Cuneta Astrodome in Pasay in the early 90s. He knew the arena’s manager and was allowed to sleep there while he worked at Anito Lodge as part of the maintenance crew. Every time Cuneta hosted a PBA game, Vilbar would watch and he eventually became friends with the players. It was the sweet-shooting Allan Caidic who first offered him a job with Ginebra.
His current stint with San Mig Coffee began with working for the San Miguel All-Stars. He was still new at Ginebra then, but decided to volunteer for the All-Stars since there was no other person to tape the veteran players comprising that team. He then transferred to Magnolia and finally made his way to the San Mig Coffee franchise.
Vilbar says he loves his job tremendously. And clearly, his job loves him back.
Just speaking with him along the corridor as the last few players filed out, it was quite clear to me how much he is loved in this world of basketball.
“NingMa!!” One San Mig player called out to him and gave him the highest of fives. Another player from another team passed by and ruffled his hair, “Sikat ka na ah!” (You’re famous now!)
And as Vilbar acknowledged his friends, one fellow staff whispered quietly to me, “Mahal ng mga player yan si Maning.” (Players love Maning.)
With two kids (a 14-year old boy and a 7-year old girl), Vilbar says he’s happy with a job that’s able to provide for his family.
As the first person in practices or games and the last one out, Vilbar, a resident of Valenzuela, says the main challenge is sacrificing sleep in order to tend to his children, and have enough time for the 2-hour commute to Manila. Sometimes, he shares, he cuts travel time down to 45 minutes to an hour when he’s riding his motorcycle.
“Okay lang naman, sacrifice lang,” he tells me. “Kaya naman lahat, ma’am.” (It’s okay. I just have to sacrifice. I can do it, ma’am.)
Dreams crushed by reality
Vilbar is content with his life. He looks happy, he smiles a lot, and the people around him only have nice words for him. And that’s exactly why nobody, including me, would suspect the real story he keeps.
“Pangarap ko talaga dati, gusto ko talaga mag world champion,” Vilbar bares his life long dream. (My dream before was to become a world champion.)
It turns out, before becoming the All Around Guy, Vilbar had only one designation: a boxer.
“Kasi yung kalakasan ko dati sa tingin ko marami ako mapapahirapan sa timbang ko. Sa 105 pounds mas malaki ako kaunti, may advantage ako,” he explains. (When I was still young and strong, I was a difficult match-up among those in my weight class. At 105 pounds I was a little bigger. I had the advantage.)
A native of Cebu, Vilbar started boxing at the age of 16. He immersed himself in the local amateur boxing circuit, and became quite known right away. The gold medal he took home from the Amateur Boxing Association of Cebu helped with his popularity, too.
One of his batch mates, he shares, was retired boxer Gerry Peñalosa.
The dream for Vilbar slowly began unfolding before his eyes as he made his way to Manila in 1986 to pursue his boxing career, citing that promotion was still weak in Cebu at the time.
It was his cousin who encouraged him to take a chance in Manila, telling Vilbar that international promoter Jesse Abrea would become his new promoter.
Abrea was supposed to succeed Vilbar’s Cebu promoter Joaqui Salud, whom Vilbar never signed with. Vilbar says Salud supported and promoted him without a contract just to help.
Upon arriving in Manila, however, Vilbar and his cousin discovered that Abrea was unable to promote due to problems with the Games and Amusements Board.
Trying to get past that bump on the road, Vilbar tried out at the LM Gym, where Manny Pacquiao used to train. Vilbar impressed a Japanese promoter who wanted to bring him right away to Japan.
“Tinuro na ko nung Hapon pag tryout ko. Parang sabi, ‘Yan kunin ko yan.’ Excited na ko noon.” (The Japanese pointed at me during the tryout. Like he was saying, ‘I will get him.’ I became excited.)
However, Vilbar’s cousin got himself involved and told the Japanese promoter that Vilbar was under contract with promoter Abrea. But Vilbar was not.
“Yung pinsan ko humarang kasi boxer daw ako ni Jesse Abrea. Eh wala naman ako pinipirmahan doon eh,” Vilbar recalls.
“Kaya yun ang mali ko, dapat dun ako sa Hapon eh. Dadalhin na sana ako.” (My cousin interfered and said I was a boxer under Jesse Abrea. But I did not sign anything with him. That was my mistake; I should have gone with the Japanese. He was going to get me already.)
Vilbar, with his life’s biggest dream on the line, chose to listen to his cousin. But without a promoter, since he wasn’t really under Abrea, Vilbar’s boxing dreams slipped away rather abruptly. He missed his one chance with the Japanese promoter to see how far he could have gone as a boxer.
Manila was supposed to make his dream come true. Little did he know, Manila was the dead end.
Regret and content
Decades later, Vilbar still thinks of that one mistake, that one decision that changed his life.
He admits every time his cousin makes contact with him, the interference that cost Vilbar his dream still comes back to him along with disappointment.
“Minsan pag nagtetext siya (cousin) sa akin naalala ko rin,” he admits. “Baka ayaw niya rin siguro umasenso ako, malampasan ko siya.”
Though he says they don’t fight and remain friends, he can’t help but feel regret.
“Magkaibigan pero nandoon na rin yung pagsisisi ko. May bahay na sana ako sarili.” (Sometimes when he texts me I remember what happened. Maybe he didn’t want me to become successful and get ahead of him. We’re friends but I can’t help but feel regret. I could have had my own home by now.)
Asked why he didn’t return to boxing when he was still young, Vilbar says it was his own fault.
“Nagpabaya na rin ako sa boxing. Hindi na nag-ensayo,” he shares. “Pero mahal ko pa rin naman. Minsan pag wala kaming practice (Mixers), tumatakbo po ako dun sa oval sa amin. Kasi hinahanap ko rin sa katawan ko eh.” (I neglected boxing. I didn’t train anymore. But I still love it. Sometimes when we don’t have practice, I run at the oval near home. My body still looks for it.)
Pain and regret still haunt Vilbar. That’s something he isn’t ashamed of admitting. The what-ifs continue to nag at him. He had his dream in his hands but things went horribly wrong. Blame it on reality, his cousin, or himself, but there’s no changing what happened.
Even he knows that.
“Nandoon din yung sisi ko pero hindi siguro para sa akin,” he says with a smile. “Sa Awa ng Diyos masaya rin naman ako dito sa trabaho ko, para sa pamilya ko, support sa mga parents ko sa Cebu.”
He adds: “Sabi nga nila sayang. Okay na ako, ma’am. No hard feelings.”
(I definitely feel regret but maybe it wasn’t for me. By the Grace of God I’m happy with my job now, for my family and support to my parents in Cebu. They say it’s a waste. But I’m okay, ma’am.)
Nowadays, Vilbar contents himself with being the All Around Guy, the husband, the father, and the fun “Defensive Coach” of the Mixers along the sidelines.
He even teaches players such as Pingris a thing or two about boxing and some basic skills the players can adapt on the basketball court.
“Si Pingris gusto rin matuto. Nagtuturo din ako minsan. [I teach them] skipping rope para sa footwork.”
He adds with a laugh, “Mas mabilis ako mag skipping rope sa kanila eh.” (Pingris wants to learn. I teach them sometimes. I teach them skipping rope for footwork. I’m faster at skipping rope than they are.)
Of course, I couldn’t help but ask him the obvious question: Why does he do the things he does along the sidelines?
He answers: “Sa puso ko talaga eh. Gusto ko talaga manalo kami lagi. Basta talo man, gusto ko laban lang. Kung ano yung pinagpaguran nila magbunga tsaka yung pagod namin, syempre isang team eh. Pamilya.” (It’s in my heart. I want us to win. If we lose, we have to fight. And I want all their hard work, our hard work, to result to something good. We’re one team. Family.)
Though he played it down right away, “Na-excite lang talaga ko.” (I’m just really excited.)
Despite not realizing his own dream and still living with a little regret in his heart, Vilbar hasn’t stopped dreaming.
He does not dream of becoming a World Champion anymore. Instead, he dreams for his two children.
“Ito na lang sakin, makatapos mag-aral mga anak ko. Itaguyod ko talaga sila.” (For me, I just hope my kids finish school. I will work hard for them.)
He also dreams for his beloved team that, as of posting, is one game away from the Finals.
“Sana makapasok kami ulit sa Finals, sana mag-champion ulit.” (I hope we can make it to the Finals again, I hope we become champions again.)
I have always feared never realizing dreams. Yet upon meeting Maning, I came to the conclusion that you can still be happy with whatever is handed to you. And even if your greatest dreams don’t come true, there’s always something in your life worth smiling and living for.
Looking at Maning as he told his story, I thought to myself, here was a man who could have had it all. Here was a man who could have been a Manny Pacquiao.
Most of all, here was a man who was confronted with a once-in-a-lifetime-chance, and learned the hard way that opportunity truly does only come once.
Yet, at 45 years old, he was beaming.
– Rappler.com
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