Samboy Lim turned 55 Saturday, and an enormous outpouring of love and devotion greeted him on his birthday, 20 years after he stopped playing professionally. More than any other basketball player of his era, the Skywalker – as he was christened by Joe Cantada – embodied the possible for tens of millions of fans, this writer included. He was more than an athlete. He was a touchstone of hope, a living symbol of what can be achieved in the right way, with the right values, and the right work ethic. If you went around the PBA and even the sportswriting fraternity, you would be hard-pressed to find anyone with anything negative to say about him. Fame and achievement never changed him as a person.
In the early 1980’s Lim was part of the NCC squad that conquered the US in the Jones Cup. Some opponents thought that he and Allan Caidic were twins, since they were pouring in three-pointers from opposite wings and wore consecutive jersey numbers. This was an underrated facet of his game. Whereas many players develop outside shooting at a later stage when they can’t bang with bigger, younger players anymore, Samboy developed every aspect of his game, a formidable arsenal few players can match, even today. He was always ready for what might come.
I first interviewed Samboy Lim in the late 1980’s as a fledgling reporter, and he was always focused on what he was doing. He easily shifted from doing his basketball drills to talking with anyone who needed his time. This acute ability to pay attention is rarely written about, but it is, in fact, a sign of intense discipline and mindfulness. Samboy has always had the ability to switch on to what was in front of him 100 percent. When he finishes something, he always moves on to the next. He makes eye contact, digests the question, and gives his most honest, direct answer. And something in him makes it difficult for him to say anything bad about anyone, a trait so painfully rare in a world where the anonymity of social media makes it easy to hurt anyone else.
In the late 1980’s, I played in different teams that participated in the Broadcasters Invitational Basketball Tournament (BIBATO) organized by San Miguel Corporation. Unfortunately, their corporate team would include former players like Samboy, Caidic and Hector Calma. In one game, Samboy dropped a very casual 45 points on us. But it wasn’t the number that fascinated me, but how he did it. It was all lay-ups and short jump shots. He never tried to embarrass anybody, he never tried to show off. He played basic basketball, never went out of his way to embarrass or intimidate anyone, and still managed to destroy us. In one instance, I stumbled onto the floor, and he just picked me up and kept running back down the court as if I weighed next to nothing. I remember wondering to myself what it would be like to see him get angry. Thankfully, I never had the chance.
From 1990 to 1992, I was a producer and commentator on the PBA television broadcasts, and as a courtside reporter, got to watch the games firsthand. It was obvious then that even the league’s most rugged enforcers were hesitant to try to hurt Samboy, who simply played the game – every game – with his all. He was Julius Erving, Daredevil and a tightrope walker rolled into one. People paid good money to see him because they knew that, if they kept their eyes open, they would see something they had never seen before, or wanted to see again. I had several chances to interview Samboy, and he was always gracious, and made it a point to ask about the person asking the questions, a little courtesy often forgotten today.
At the end of 1990, Samboy was selected for the first-ever all-pro team to compete in the Asian Games. Against the gigantic Chinese on their home soil, whenever the Philippines needed a basket, coach Robert Jaworski would turn to Samboy. What many people did not know was that, at the time, Samboy had a painful shoulder tear, and was being given shots of painkiller prior to each game. But you never heard any complaint from him.
Yet, it was Samboy’s fearlessness that also curtailed his career. The frequent injuries from all his derring-do kept him on the sidelines much of his playing days. Much of the time, he was injured or recovering from surgery. He would take to the air unmindful of the potential harm it would do him, like jumping off a cliff and building his parachute on the way down. He was only able to complete one season in a decade-long pro career, making the PBA Mythical Second team. Then again, there were more than enough moments of brilliance to keep fans wanting more.
In the late 1990’s, I was asked to help a men’s magazine with an article comparing the best players of the 1980’s to the best players of the 1990’s. It included a survey to determine who the fans preferred. Samboy was on the 1980’s starting unit. Even though that decade’s chosen starting unit was decidedly shorter than their 1990’s counterpart, fans overwhelmingly picked them to win. Samboy was one of the main reasons why. Fans said he would find a way to score the winning basket.
Between then and the 2000’s, I would see Samboy every so often, and he would always have a compliment on hand, real or sometimes, imagined. If you lose weight, he compliments you. And if you’ve out on a few pounds, he’ll squeeze your bicep and ask if you’ve been working out, with a knowing smile on his face. One thing I’ve always admired about him was his dedication to who he was. He was a basketball player, teammate, friend. He lived his life with integrity, staying true to himself.
For the young people who never got to see Samboy Lim play, you missed something. He is a prime example of professionalism, consistency, sportsmanship and dedication to his craft. He has always had the ability to bring out the best in other people, even his opponents. He left it all on the floor, in spectacular fashion. And yet, regardless of his prodigious gifts as a basketball superstar, there is one thing that stands out even more. Samboy Lim is an even better human being.
I look forward to the day when the Skywalker flies again.