The Tale of Ginebra's Never Say Die!

Robert Jaworski, a former playing coach for Barangay Ginebra, became synonymous with the PBA's most iconic team, renowned for its "Never Say Die" attitude. But this legendary status didn’t happen overnight. It was a moment in 1985 that solidified his legacy and immortalized him in Philippine basketball history.

During a pivotal game, Jaworski found himself in the thick of the action. Near the end of the second quarter, he took a brutal hit and busted his lip. Rushed to the hospital, he received nine stitches, and it seemed as though Ginebra’s hopes were dashed. As the team faltered, the gap between them and their opponents grew wider.

But then, in the third quarter, against all odds, Jaworski returned. Bloodied but unbowed, he didn’t just rejoin the game; he became a beacon of leadership. With the game slipping away and a deficit of more than 10 points, he rose as both a player and coach—taking command on the court and inspiring his teammates.

As the game progressed, tensions soared. In the fourth quarter, a controversial foul was called on Jaworski, sparking the fury of the Ginebra fans. Coins and batteries rained down from the stands in protest. Yet, despite the adversity, Jaworski’s resolve never wavered. He led his team with unwavering determination, scoring basket after basket. And in an unbelievable turn of events, Ginebra staged a stunning comeback and emerged victorious.

That game marked the birth of the "Never Say Die" spirit—a motto that would come to define Ginebra’s identity and Jaworski’s enduring legacy. From that moment forward, Jaworski wasn’t just a player; he became a symbol of perseverance, resilience, and unyielding determination.

The once-unknown player had ascended to legendary status. He embodied the spirit of never giving up at a time when the nation needed it most. And with his indomitable will, he helped transform basketball from a national passion into an all-consuming obsession for Filipinos across the country

The Years Gone Dark

Here lies my refuge, a sanctuary where the world’s chaos fades into the background. Here is my tabernacle, a place that neither condemns nor condones, where I can lay bare the oddities of my soul, without fear of judgment or expectation.

An introspection on the last seven years reveals a tumultuous period in my life.

It began with promise—a bright start, from our first meeting in January 2003 to the birth of our son that November. Those early days were filled with happiness, hope, and dreams, inspiring me to envision an ideal home built on love, trust, and mutual respect. But as the second year unfolded, the relationship took a darker turn, plagued by jealousy and suspicion. It became painfully clear that family life was far from the fairy tale I had imagined. I had to adapt, to immerse myself in the world she knew, stooping to a level I never thought I'd reach, just to maintain a semblance of peace.

The years that followed were a vicious cycle. Negativity seeped into her being, and we clashed over the smallest things. She fixated on the past, making baseless accusations of infidelity and other unfounded suspicions. But the worst came when I witnessed her desperate attempts to control every aspect of my life. My patience, once boundless, was stretched to its breaking point. I had to make a choice: face the consequences of this crumbling relationship or sink deeper into the quicksand of our own making.

The second week of May 2010 was the last time I saw our house, her, or my son—the child I loved more than anything. My great dream, once vivid and full of promise, had faded into obscurity, leaving only a hellish mirage.

The repercussions of that time are still with me, trapped in the portal of my defiance against the natural order of life. The animosity we shared has morphed into a shadow that relentlessly chases me, threatening to erase my very essence. But I cannot—no, I must not—let despair suffocate the strength I’ve fought so hard to rebuild. I must grasp my shield once more and stand tall, for I know I am more than this.

I dream that one day, I will uproot the torn pages of my past, let them drift into the abyss, and leave them there—forgotten, where they belong.