They say there will be a lot who will be like Mike.
But you only say that if you never stood close enough to feel what Mike Phillips actually was.
Because from the moment he arrived, Mike didn’t just play basketball—he burned through it. A rookie with too much energy for one body, too much heart for one possession. He chased rebounds like they were oxygen. He flew into crowds, into elbows, into fearlessness. Not for glory. Not for numbers. Just because the ball was there… and someone had to go get it.
“Wait until he learns how to control it,” Manong Derrick Pumaren once said.
“When he learns when to use it—he’ll be one of the best players you’ll ever see.”
What followed wasn’t just growth. It was becoming.
The chaos sharpened. The motor learned timing. And Motor Mike emerged—not a nickname, but a truth. The kind of player who lifts a team’s pulse without saying a word. The kind who makes winning feel inevitable because effort was never optional when he was on the floor.
But here’s the part numbers will never tell you:
Basketball was never the hard part for Mike.
Being good was easy.
Being great was natural.
Being good to people—that was who he chose to be.
Mike Phillips is one of the rare souls whose humility grew faster than his reputation. As his role expanded, his ego disappeared. He gave. He deferred. He trusted. He made teammates feel bigger, safer, freer. He finished second in MVP races not because he lacked brilliance—but because he never chased applause.
You will not find a single bad word from him about a coach. Not one.
Ask him to sacrifice, and he already has.
Ask him to wait, and he will.
Ask him to lead quietly—and he mastered that long ago.
The first thing he said after the championship, was to thank all the La Sallians who cued the line just to be with them and cheer for them.
And in an era where staying is harder than leaving, where loyalty is negotiable and exits are applauded—Michael Christian Phillips stayed.
Despite the offers.
Despite the money.
Despite the noise.
He chose La Salle. Every time.
Because to Mike, this was never just a jersey. This was HOME.
More than being a champion, he wanted to live as a proud and brave soldier of Jesus Christ. And he carried that faith not only in speeches, but in conduct. In patience. In dignity. In how he treated people when no one was watching.
So no—there will not be another Mike Phillips.
Not his motor.
Not his heart.
Not his loyalty.
Not his spirit.
Some players leave banners.
Mike leaves a STANDARD.
Salamat, Mike.
For every second jump.
For every unselfish choice.
For showing us that greatness doesn’t need to shout.
La Salle will always be your home.
And we, will always be your number one fan.
ANIMO MIKE!
ANIMO LA SALLE!!!
