As I sit here watching old PBA highlight reels, that iconic moment from the 2013 Governors' Cup finals keeps replaying in my mind. The scene remains vivid: LA Tenorio driving through traffic, making impossible shots look routine, while a San Miguel veteran guard muttered in mixed awe and frustration, "Kuya kaya pa, a" – acknowledging how Tenorio had single-handedly brought the Kings back from nine points down in the fourth quarter to within striking distance at 85-87. Moments like these make me wonder what truly separates great imports from legendary ones in the Philippine Basketball Association's rich history.
Having followed the PBA since the early 90s, I've developed my own criteria for judging imports. It's not just about scoring averages or championship rings – though those matter – but about moments that define eras, players who transformed teams, and those rare athletes who understood the unique Filipino basketball culture. The greatest imports didn't just dominate statistically; they connected with fans, elevated local players, and created memories that still give me chills when I recall them.
Let me start with my personal favorite – Bobby Ray Parks Sr. The man was simply phenomenal during his stint with Alaska in the late 80s. I remember watching him drop 51 points against Purefoods in the 1988 Open Conference finals, a performance that still stands as one of the most dominant individual efforts I've witnessed. Parks wasn't just a scorer; his defensive presence altered entire offensive schemes. Statistics show he averaged around 42 points per game during that championship run, though honestly, the numbers hardly capture his impact. He had this unique ability to take over games when it mattered most, much like Tenorio in that 2013 classic, except Parks did it consistently across multiple conferences.
Then there's Norman Black, whose name inevitably surfaces in these discussions. What sets Black apart in my view was his basketball IQ and adaptability. While imports like Parks relied on athletic dominance, Black mastered the system. His understanding of coach Baby Dalupan's system was so complete that he essentially became an extension of the coaching staff on the floor. I'd argue his most valuable contribution came during the 1985 All-Filipino Conference – wait, let me check my records – yes, 1985, when he led Great Taste to the championship while mentoring young local players like Allan Caidic. That mentorship aspect often gets overlooked in these debates, but it's crucial for imports who want to leave lasting legacies.
The conversation inevitably turns to Sean Chambers, and here's where my bias might show. Chambers represented everything I love about basketball – toughness, loyalty, and clutch performance. His statistics might not match up to some other candidates (he averaged roughly 28 points and 11 rebounds during his prime), but numbers don't capture how he embodied Alaska's never-say-die spirit. I'll never forget Game 6 of the 1996 Commissioner's Cup finals where he played through a visible ankle injury to will Alaska to victory. That's the kind of heart that transcends statistics and earns permanent places in fans' memories.
We can't discuss this topic without mentioning the modern era giants like Justin Brownlee. What Brownlee has accomplished with Barangay Ginebra is nothing short of remarkable. His connection with the local players, particularly with Tenorio, created some of the most beautiful basketball I've seen in recent years. Remember that game against San Miguel where he hit that impossible three-pointer at the buzzer? That's the stuff of legends. Brownlee understands the Filipino fan's passion in a way few imports do – he celebrates with the same intensity as the kababayan in the stands, which creates this special bond that statistics can't measure.
Then there are the "what if" stories – imports like Lew Massey or Cyrus Mann who showed flashes of greatness but didn't stay long enough to build proper legacies. Massey's 55-point game for Crispa in 1983 remains one of the most explosive scoring performances I've witnessed, yet he only played one full conference. This brings me to an important point about judging imports – longevity matters. The truly great ones like Chambers or Brownlee maintained excellence across multiple seasons, adapting to different teammates and evolving strategies.
What often gets lost in these discussions is the cultural aspect. The best imports didn't just play basketball; they embraced the Philippines. I've seen imports who put up fantastic numbers but never connected with fans, and their legacies somehow feel incomplete. Meanwhile, players like Chambers are still celebrated here decades later because they understood that being a PBA import meant more than just basketball – it meant becoming part of something larger.
As I reflect on all these incredible players, I keep returning to that Tenorio moment from 2013. The greatest imports create those "kuya kaya pa" moments – not just for opponents, but for teammates and fans. They make us believe in comebacks, in miracles, in the possibility of overcoming any deficit. Statistics matter, championships matter, but what truly defines the greatest import of all time is their ability to create moments that live forever in the collective memory of Filipino basketball fans. For me, that title belongs to Sean Chambers, but I recognize that reasonable minds can differ – and that's what makes this debate so endlessly fascinating.
