Team Profile – Toyota: Shaky Start, Stretch Drive (Sports World, 1973)

Sports World Magazine

August 11-17, 1973

E.A. Perez De Tagle

It was as big a bash as could be, had any old noontime that press conference that was to propel the Komatsu Komets into the limelight of bigtime Philippine basketball last week of March. Only, it was not to be, because the morning dailies carried the news that Komatsu, together with E.R. Squibb and Consolidated Foods Corporation was still outside the MICAA looking in. So all there was for newsmen that day were a terrific lunch, a more terrific bevy of beauties, and Dante Silverio, wearing instead of familiar garb as one of motor racing’s aces a barong with the new bodyfit cut – affable, somewhat apologetic, at the abrupt turn of events but determined to make as good a go of the affair as could be.

 

If the frustration hurt, Dante didn’t show it. The show went on and the brand-new Komets were introduced.

Robert Jaworski, Alberto Reynoso, Fortunato Acuña, Francis Arnaiz, Cristino Reynoso, Ramon Fernandez, Rodolfo Segura, Ulysses Rodriguez, Edilberto Canamo, Edward Camus. That was nearly five months ago.

 

When the team was formed, Jaworski and Big Boy Reynoso were not yet sure they could play in the MICAA for they were nine months away from completing a two-year suspension for going after referees rather than the goal. The word was that the MICAA, regardless of how it acted on Komatsu et al’s petition for reconsideration, would insist in the event Komatsu was accepted that the two fully serve out their suspension.

 

All of which is water under the bridge. The MICAA reconsidered and took in all three teams. The MICAA also reconsidered and allowed the Big J and Big Boy to play. And now, Komatsu turned Toyota and Komets turned Comets are on the verge of a Cinderella finish in their first year of action.

 

But if anybody should say that all it takes to win a championship is to get Jaworski, Reynoso, Bauzon, Fernandez, Segura, Arnaiz and mix, Dante Silverio will be first to say not on your life. For the making of a team, he found out (Toyota Coach Claustro Verona whom everybody calls Nilo being a veteran cager knew all time) meant a lot of sweating it out. Practice, practice and more practice. Exposure to competition – the team grabbed every opportunity to play.

 

A good word from friends went for an invitation to join in from the Panamin organizer, Manda Elizalde. And Toyota (as Komatsu) was in its first tournament.

Was there a fairy godmother? Did the slipper fit? If there was, she didn’t show, and the slipper was big enough to wobble in. In other words, the guys now known as Comets dropped five games in a row to bring up the rear in the standings with YCO winning the crown.

 

The next tournament – the National Invitational – the Comets sat out, and they would have sat out the last meet for the 1972-73 season, too – the Palarong Pilipino – but for the failure of the UAAP to field a complete team. The university selection was scrapped, and Toyota moved into the slot.

 

It was much the same glory for their first game as they lost to Mariwasa, 79-84. But Bauzon was now playing together with Fernandez whom San Miguel Corporation decided to release. SMC must have rued it for Toyota scored Victory No. 1 in official play against the SMC Braves, 73-66.

 

Crispa and Concepcion prevailed against the newcomer, but the Comets dashed the NCAA selection, 102-77, and humbled YCO, 87-82, for a 3-3 showing. Dante and Co. were ready for the MICAA.

 

Saddled early with a setback (by Crispa) after an initial win against Universal Textile on MICAA opening day, June 3, the Comets next won six of seven matches to finish the first half of the marathon 18-game preliminary round second from the top on a 7-2 record, bettered only by YCO’s 8-1.

 

 

Like some other big teams, Toyota fell victim to Lauro Mumar’s foxy tactics in second half play, but as of this writing, appear certain of second place in qualifying round standings. At worst, it would figure in a three-way tie for second with Concepcion and SMC, a win in its last two games will cement second place, behind YCO which definitely has nailed first place regardless of the outcome of the Painters’ game with the Comets Thursday.

 

Why has Toyota progressed from whipping boy to championship form in just a matter of months? It was just a matter of weaving the team together, Nilo Verona would tell you. For the team on paper had everything: height in Fernandez, Camus, Jaworski, the Reynoso brothers, Bauzon, Acuña, Segura, Carlos Concepcion. Bauzon, Jaworski and Arnaiz can be excellent as court generals. Further, Toyota’s tall men except for Big Boy and a couple of others are fast and rugged.

 

Segura is beginning to blossom into a receiving whiz. Arnaiz’s outside shooting is deadly, Jaworski, despite a tendency to go individualistic, is not the Big J for nothing: he has the shots, the drive, the speed, the bulk. So long as he controls his temper, he is among the very best.

 

Big Boy, despite a bulging middle, has shown he is the best exponent of the hook – with either hand – hereabouts. His give-and-go plays with younger brother, Cristino, shattered many a tight defense.

 

Fernandez is impeccable when he wants to be. Belligerent to the point of hurting at first, he has foregone rough play in his last few games (his latest tactic was harmless: he tickled Fortunato Co just under the right floating rib everytime the Fortune Cookie kid had the ball) and concentrated on assists, at which he is smooth and slick.

 

Bauzon, seemingly relutctant to take shots because of so many good shots around is among the best spotters when he decides to take aim. A little encouragement from Verona is probably what Bauzon needs to start pumping in those long toms of his.

 

Sunday night, just after YCO throttled Concepcion’s bid to be YCO’s third conqueror in the tournament, the Comets lazed away practice time. Meaning they didn’t exert too much efforts, just loosened their muscles. But they were impressive in built, in movement.

 

“Ang lalaki (how big!),” exclaimed a boy trapped by Sunday night’s hard rains.

 

So long as it’s not their heads that grow, big things are bound to come out all right for the Comets.

The Secret of Toyota’s Success (Game, 1973)

Game Magazine

August, 1973

Arturo D. Cariaga

 

 

From a small flickering distant light, a comet grows to an intense bright flame illumining the heavens. This is how the Toyotas shone in the current MICAA games, proving that they deserve to be called the Comets.

 

They were the cellar-dwellrs in the Panamin tournament last summer and improved imperceptively during the Palaro. Such lackluster performances earned them virulent derision from the bleacher bullies. And when the MICAA season rolled in, the oddsmakers were quick to consign the Comets way behind older ball clubs like YCO, Mariwasa and San Miguel.

 

To everyone’s surprise, however the Toyotas put up a spirited campaign and entered every game like it was their last.

 

Smelling a secret behind their rapid rise, we sought, cajoled, cornered, baited, buttonholed, studied, befriended, spied on, raided, pleaded with, hounded, chassed, inveigled, intruded on, enticed, induced, observed, bothered, and (hingal!), brooded about the Toyotas. In the end found out that they had no secret at all, their success was due to only one factor: a strict regimen of physical fitness and round-the-clock program to improve their game.

Regular roadwork covering at least eight kilometers, weights, calisthenics, and practice scrimmages comprise one aspect of their training. They eat a protein and iron-rich diet, get adequate rest and sleep, and just enough relaxation.

 

They study their games, both as individual players and as a team, and regularly hold clinics with their coach and trainer. A video camera helps recall how they actually played against rival teams.

 

Although the value of individual skills is recognized, teamwork and cooperation are given emphasis. Either we win as a team or go down as a team seems to be the slogan of team coach, Nilo Verona.

 

But the crucial factor that determines the success of any team is the attitude of the players composing it. Do they really aspire to win, to improve their game? Do they relate well to one another so that the welfare of the entire team becomes more important than a single player’s glory? Are they inspired by the others, by their coach and their manager? Do they give the best of themselves everytime they step inside the court?

 

To know all these, we set out one evening to see the Toyotas in scrimmage and talked to some of their outstanding players.

 

Sludging along like the proverbial postman. Swing down Pasong Tamo Extension into a brand-new gym. Warm light of mercury vapor cascading from the rooftop and the shouts of men pouring their juices and strengths in a practice scrimmage.

 

Sonny Jaworski, Big Boy Reynoso and the younger Tino, Orly Bauzon, Mon Fernandez, Francis Arnaiz, Segura, Camus, Rodriguez, and the rest of the star-studded Toyota stable. Teams A and B. Mr. Dante Silverio watching with fond, kindly eyes. Coach Nilo Verona cocking his head to the right to catch a positioning error. Shouting instructions. “O.O, what kind of dee-fense is that?”

 

Despite the foul weather, a gaggle of fans watch the scrimmage. Eyes pop up as “Jawo” brings down the ball, fakes a shot, feeds to Arnaiz. A short dribble, a light bend of the knees to give power to the jump, a flick of the wrists, and the ball climbs up to the open mouth of the basket. Clap-clap-clap, respond the benchwarmers to Team A.

 

But Rodriguez inbounding – that fashionable word – throws a baseball pass to Segura at midcourt and Team B has a chance to even the score. Ompong rushes to the keyhole with Fernandez breathing at the back of his neck. Segura in a running jump and the jutting hand of Fernandez threatens a block. Segura shifts the ball from left hand to right, turns around in mid-air and lobs the ball in a hook shot that goes cleanly into the hoop. Clap-clap-clap goes the non-partisan bench.

 

The new Jaworski is evident even in the scrimmage among friends. Not as overeager and ball-hungry as in the Panamin series last summer, he is now feeding, assisting, directing the play, throwing a screen, pulling down the rebound, and otherwise behaving like he was the elder brother of the younger players on the team.

 

He is still as aggressive and rough as ever, hustling for the ball, harassing his man, staring down and wilting the defenses of the opposing team. But he seems to have found a new delight in feeding an open man under the board, and attempts a shot only if he has a clear chance.

 

Banking on his bulk and experience and a surprising style of heads-up basketball, Jawo is the morale-boosting superstar behind the meteoric rise of the Comets (if you’ll pardon that interstellar mixing of metaphors).

 

 

 

Back to the ball game. A barter of set plays and a literal pain in the neck brought about by too much looking up at the towering Toyotas. The scrimmage finally peglegs to a stop. Players start drifting to the open door while the others take a few more practice pops. Ompong has seen Lulu and comes over to say hello. Fort grabs the moment for some quotes, facts and figures.

 

Hovering near Francis. He consents to meet us the following day. Rene starts giving off bright ideas – from the flash gun mounted on the Nikon F. Rolly’s eyes focus on two comely girls just came in from the cold but decides against making a pitch. Two bucks jingling in his pocket.

 

Mr. Silverio, now alone on the court, showing ‘em how to sink in those shots. Counting his score. He converts about fifty percent of his attempts. Not bad.

 

Saturday. Take a cab from the Game den to San Lorenzo Village, listening all the way to the steady whirr and tsk-tsk-tsk of the meter. A modern contraption of fortune.

 

Comet quarters – stronghold of all but the married Toyotas – is a big Spanish-type house in a plush neighborhood of funeral quiet. One big hall. The sala merges with the dining room – one long table with 12 chairs, a smaller square table with four. A billiard table to the left. Kitchen doorway to the right, a clatter of pans, the smell of cooking. Also to the right, immediately as you come in, are steps leading to the bedrooms. Sit down on the sofa. Above you are wrought iron chandeliers looking heavy enough to bash in your brains and twelve blowups of the team members (kulang yata) and a bikinied girl enjoying Australian surf on a Qantas poster. Two TV sets, a stereo, two Daikin wall-type aircons, a white racer bike leaning on the hallway. Under the coffee table before you, looking like a limp rag, is a white Pekingese. Asleep.

 

After some minutes of tiddling our thumbs, we go back to the front porch. Take photos of Arnaiz bathed in sufficient light as soon as he arrives. But it is Fort who arrives first. Better late than never.

 

“I know now why they call us Press. We are always pressed for time.”

 

“Corny.”

 

“There he is. With Big Boy.”

 

“Hi, Francis.”

 

“Hi. Sorry. Did you wait very long?”

 

“It’s all right. Can we begin now?”

 

“Sure.”