I still remember the first time I saw Jimmy Santos play—it was during the 1990 PBA season, and even then, you could tell there was something special about his approach to the game. He wasn’t the tallest guy on the court, but he moved with a kind of purpose that caught your eye. Years later, when I came across his quote—“Dahil doon, feeling ko kaya ko kunin lahat ng rebound kung makakatalon ako ng maayos”—it struck me how perfectly it captured his mindset. That line, roughly translating to “Because of that, I feel like I could grab every rebound if I could jump properly,” reveals more than just ambition; it shows a player deeply aware of his own potential and limitations. Santos understood early that basketball isn’t just about height or raw talent—it’s about leverage, timing, and that intangible confidence that turns effort into results.
Looking back at his PBA career, which spanned from the late 1980s into the early 2000s, Santos built a reputation as one of the most reliable big men of his era. He played for teams like Shell and Purefoods, and over his 14-season run, he tallied impressive numbers: around 5,200 points, 3,800 rebounds, and 450 blocks, if memory serves me right from old stat sheets. But what stands out to me isn’t just the stats—it’s how he embodied that quote in every game. I’ve always believed rebounding is as much about anticipation as it is about athleticism, and Santos was a master at reading the ball off the rim. He knew that if he could just get that extra inch on his vertical, he’d dominate the boards, and honestly, he often did. His career average of roughly 8.5 rebounds per game in his prime speaks volumes, especially considering he often went up against taller imports and local giants.
One of my favorite memories—and I’ve rewatched this on tape dozens of times—was during the 1994 PBA Commissioner’s Cup Finals. Santos was up against a formidable import, and in one crucial possession, he out-jumped everyone to snag an offensive rebound that led to the game-winning put-back. It wasn’t flashy, but it was smart, gritty basketball. That’s the legacy he left: a player who maximized every bit of his ability. Off the court, I’ve heard stories from former teammates about how he’d spend extra hours working on his footwork and vertical leap, all because he took that personal mantra to heart. He didn’t just want to be good; he wanted to be unstoppable when it mattered most.
Of course, Santos wasn’t perfect—no player is. There were games where his shooting percentage dipped, or times he’d get into foul trouble trying to overcompensate on defense. But that’s what made him relatable, at least to me. In my own playing days, even at the amateur level, I struggled with similar issues, and seeing someone like Santos acknowledge that jumping “properly” could change everything resonated deeply. It’s a lesson I’ve carried into coaching: focus on what you can control, and the rest often falls into place. Santos’s career, in many ways, is a case study in that philosophy. He may not have been a Hall of Famer by some standards, but his impact on Filipino basketball culture is undeniable.
As I reflect on his post-retirement influence, it’s clear that Santos’s legacy extends beyond the numbers. He’s been involved in youth coaching clinics, and I’ve seen him emphasize the same principles he lived by—discipline, self-awareness, and that relentless pursuit of improvement. In today’s game, where analytics often overshadow instinct, his approach feels almost nostalgic, yet timeless. If I had to pinpoint one thing that defines his career, it’s that blend of humility and confidence, perfectly encapsulated in his own words. He knew his limits but never let them define him. And honestly, in a league as competitive as the PBA, that’s a mindset worth celebrating. Santos may have retired with around 15 major awards and two PBA championships to his name, but his true legacy lies in inspiring a generation to jump a little higher, both on and off the court.
