THOUGHTS | STUDENT-ATHLETES LOOKING AND THEIR SPONSORS

With 6.1 ticks left, San Sebastian rookie phenom Jhuniel Dela Rama rose for a jumper over Letran’s pro-bound big man Mark Denver Omega. The shot rolled in, rolled out, then somehow crawled back in with 3.4 remaining. Seconds later, Deo Cuajao’s desperation heave missed, sealing San Sebastian’s second win of the season and snapping Letran’s five-game winning streak.

Game winner. Upset. Streak breaker.

For the San Sebastian community, this should be a feel-good moment, right? A rare bright spot after five straight losses. Something worth celebrating.

Right?

Right???

Well… instead of bonfires and cheers, we got drama. Over a decade ago, UP celebrated one win in two years with a full-blown bonfire. The Stags? They celebrated their first win after five defeats by airing their dirty laundry on live TV.

First-year head coach Rob Labagala revealed that the coaches and players haven’t received their monthly allowance from their sponsor for four months. If that doesn’t kill a locker room high, nothing will.

Back in the early 2000s, I learned something: student-athletes can’t be salaried. So when UAAP and NCAA players joined the PBL, they received “allowances.” It was a workaround—players developed their game, schools stayed competitive, everyone pretended it wasn’t technically pay.

But not everyone could afford to pretend. The MBA came in, and some college guys jumped ship because they were breadwinners. Eddie Laure did it. Melvin Mamaclay did it in 2001, losing his scholarship just to ease his family’s burden. NCAA players, I remember, could join earlier than UAAP guys.

Fast forward—MPBL turns pro, college players get removed. And yet I talked to an NCAA player a couple of years back who said some schools encourage MPBL stints for experience. Omega did that with Parañaque and Zamboanga during his Perpetual days, and look where it got him—solid development, second-round PBA pick.

Good pathway, no arguments here.

I’ve always believed that if you’re good enough, then you should enter the draft. Age shouldn’t be the barrier; development should. Just promise to go back and finish your degree if you need seasoning.

What I do question is the sustainability of school-sponsor relationships. Ateneo and San Beda thrived for years under the MVP Group. FEU has had stability under Anton Montinola. But not every program has that luxury. Some sponsors just hop from school to school. Coaches follow money, players follow coaches, and suddenly, programs collapse like Jenga towers.

Which brings us back to San Sebastian. Labagala and Dela Rama’s post-game truth bombs reminded me of something familiar—government-network protests back in the PTV-4, ABC-5, IBC-13 days. I saw peaceful rallies, funding issues, and passion being stretched thin because the system couldn’t support the talent.

Sports programs can end up the same way. When backing fades, dominoes fall. And for San Sebastian, losing key Pampanga guys meant scrambling for funding and support.

That’s not how student-athlete programs should function.

People love blaming the PBA for the lack of basketball development in the Philippines. But let’s be real — for decades, the PBA was the dream. It was the pinnacle. Before the international boom, every kid wanted to make it to the PBA, and we proudly produced the best players in Asia.

So how did we get here? How did the “endgame” suddenly become the “culprit”?

You can’t blame the PBA for not developing players when the pipeline itself is broken.

The amateur ranks used to sharpen talent. The PBL and later the D-League existed as bridges — developmental leagues where prospects could earn allowances, learn pro systems, and grow at the right pace. Now? Those pathways are gone. Instead of pure school pride, players and sponsors hop around like it’s free agency, chasing backing and exposure. That creates instability, not development. We expect polished products when the system barely sands the rough edges.

And honestly, if a player is already good enough, why are we stopping him from turning pro?

Let him get drafted. Let him start earning. But here’s the key: give teams a two-way system like the NBA’s G-League.

If a PBA team drafts a kid who’s still raw, he can stay with his school — still play, still study, still develop — funded by the pro team. No eligibility nightmares, no shady sponsor drama. The team owns his rights, the kid keeps improving, and the school still gets a star on the floor.

Everyone wins.

Yes, it becomes a race for elite high school talent — but that’s already happening anyway. At least in this setup, the decision is transparent.

Do you join a stacked contender and learn behind vets, or pick a rebuilding team that needs a savior?

At the end of the day, talent shouldn't rot on benches or get lost chasing sponsor money. Let the best kids grow where they’ll grow fastest. Let pros invest early. And let schools do what schools are supposed to do — educate and compete with pride, not act like temporary holding facilities in a broken development chain.

A school’s priority should be to support student-athletes—kids balancing books, practices, and pressure—not hoping a sponsor doesn’t ghost them. Transfers should be about personal growth, academics, opportunity—not backdoor deals and program instability.

If a kid is loved by the community, doing well in school, and playing big minutes, there shouldn’t be a reason to leave—unless someone waved an offer they couldn’t refuse. And if that’s the case? Then maybe the recruitment pipeline should’ve been solid before college, not during it.

Sports should be about growth, pride, and school spirit. When budgets, politics, and private deals get in the way, you get what we saw that day:

A big win—with an even bigger problem exposed.

And that’s a shame.