“Would you guys like anything from Starbucks?” 

Gabe Norwood asked over DM on a gloomy and dry Thursday morning. It’s been weeks since his last game as a professional basketball player, yet there he was, still being a gracious host to a couple of guys who still can’t get enough of Gabe Norwood the professional basketball player.

Gabe was sitting alone in the lobby of his condo in off-duty clothes (which in classic Gabe style meant a Trophy Hunting tee, a pair of shorts, and Dunks). The image of someone as highly decorated and accomplished as Gabe just static, silently waiting, was jarring in itself. Like a Ferrari cooling down. A cheetah chilling. Gabe’s face immediately broke into that familiar smile when he saw us – in classic Gabe style.

On the court, for 17 years, the name Gabe Norwood was synonymous with “class act.” Off the court, he was famously welcoming. Warm to his fans. Cool to his friends. Ever-present to his family. Generous in all things hoops. He just started Year 1 of retired life and, understandably so, his mind and body haven’t fully settled into this new arc. His team stamped “One La5t Flight” on his final PBA conference. A couple of weeks later, Gabe was still jetlagged.

“It’s been weird,” Gabe said.

“I found myself last night, about to go to bed, and I was in a panic. I was like, ‘Oh man, I gotta get some rest, I have practice tomorrow.’ But then I was like, ‘Hold on, I don’t.’”

Since Rain or Shine, Gabe’s team for 17 years, lost to Meralco on December 29, this was the first time he slipped back into pro Gabe, his body clock readjusting to PBA Standard Time. Gabe was prepared for the steep learning curve of being a civilian. What will take more time is the unlearning, both from his side and from the POV of those who’ve spent years developing familiarity with his game. 

Wherever Gabe goes from here on out, forever in his trail are the trophies and medals he collected in his career. Walking around his building as we made our way to a quiet spot that’s conducive for an interview, Gabe collected friendly nods from security, from his neighbors. On the way up in a cramped elevator, Gabe was asked by someone who lives in the building: “Will you be coaching now?” “Will your kids play in the PBA?” Just like that, the interview had started.

There’s a particular stillness when Gabe speaks. His eyes connect and don’t wander around. His words land softly then linger. His character is bound by family, faith, respect, a lot of moving before staying, a couple of mistakes before learning, hopefulness, and home. Gabe has that rare gift that can instantly convert anywhere he is into a comfortable home. Whether in Hawaii, where he grew up, or in George Mason in Virginia, where his hoops trajectory took off, or in Manila, where he built his life from the ground up. In this particular time on a humid Thursday, home was a poorly ventilated gazebo behind an outdoor basketball court, where he’s being debriefed on his retirement. 

“I was always comfortable being uncomfortable,” he said.

Navigating Manila with his backcourt partner Sol Mercado was the priority when they were both PBA rookies in 2008. They shared a gray Mazda 3, a condo in Eastwood, and the ball. While Sol was the more skeptical of the duo, Gabe kept it positively steady, which was why they co-existed harmoniously well. Sol described Gabe as the one who “always saw the light in everything.” The contrast between the two resulted in awesome basketball, injecting hours of mixtape highlights for Rain of Shine. Lobs and dunks aside, Rain or Shine incurred an uptick in wins, eventually helping turn the franchise into a perennial contender.

“I think we changed the culture a little bit at Rain or Shine from just another team in the league to a team that would compete and give our best every time we played,” Gabe said, his thoughts going back to when he was the new kid. 

Basketball can do different things to different people. A livelihood for most, therapy for some. It’s a way out. A cure. A health benefit. A distraction. A means to an end. For Gabe, it’s his way in. 

“I was always the new kid. How do you break down walls? For me, basketball was my icebreaker. It was my conversation starter. It was, ‘Oh, you can play a little bit, you can sit at our table for lunch,’” he said.

“[Basketball] was just an opportunity to express myself, to be accepted for my talents, but also a way in to have conversations, to build bonds, to build trust, and really present my personality through the game.”

Pull on the thread of Gabe’s national team career and you’ll discover the fabric of who he is. Leading as captain for the World Cup in 2019. Choosing restraint over violence versus Australia in 2018. Posterizing Luis Scola in 2014. Clamping down on South Korea in 2013. Fighting for a seat on the table as a new kid in 2007 – when Gabe and his allegiance to Pilipinas basketball began. A moment deeply embedded in his memory, so vivid that the phone conversation with his great grandmother to break the wonderful news became the catalyst for Gabe’s auto-accept reply to the Gilas call of duty.

“That was something that I relived basically every time I put on the Pilipinas jersey. That’s why I always said yes. It was like saying yes to my Lola, you know what I mean?” he said.

At the 2014 FIBA World Cup, Gabe’s Lola, who was 80 at that time, flew to Spain to watch him play. She was at the Seville arena when Gabe dunked on Scola. 

Intertwined with Gabe’s will to be the best version of himself when he represents the flag is his hopefulness. At the 2019 FIBA World Cup, when he was named team captain, the optimism was put to the test. Gilas was heavily scarred from the Bulacan brawl a year before, but Gabe had to lead. He had to be the one to rip the band-aid off and let the painful healing process begin. Coming off the highs of 2014, he had to endure a 59-point beatdown from Serbia and a sorry overtime loss to Angola. No wins. Dead last. The lowest of all lows. Took all that beating, but Gabe’s optimism for the national team program remained intact (even though it was borderline delusional). That’s just the leader in him – in Gabe Norwood, the son of an American football coach who was raised in a Filipino household with his grandmother and great grandmother, who moved away from family and found his way back to his roots, alone, taking along with him the wisdom earned from past mistakes, and all the dreams he chased after.

“You have to be able to deal with the bad and use that as some type of motivation still. It can’t be in vain,” he said.

“That comes with leading, that comes with responsibility and expectations.”

Gabe’s one last flight brought him as far as the quarterfinals. He envisioned it to be further than that, of course. He was thinking the flight would land with his third and last championship in early 2026. He truly believed in the talent his team had. Down eight points versus Meralco with less than two minutes left, he was hoping his career wouldn’t end just yet. His teammate Adrian Nocum, after all, was in a flow state. When Nocum gets going, hitting two four-pointers in a span of seconds doesn’t sound crazy. With a minute left, Nocum drained a wide-open 3 to cut the lead to five.

“We all watch T-Mac do his thing and LeBron take over games. You just hope for one of those great sports moments,” Gabe said.

“I’m an overly optimistic person, sometimes delusionally optimistic, but I think my career has given me the right to be. I’ve seen crazy things happen. I’ve won games we weren’t supposed to win and lost games we weren’t supposed to lose. So I still had hope. I was hanging on to the hope to the very end.”

Rain or Shine had one last shot at getting closer, but a bounce that didn’t go their way and a Chris Newsome who just won’t miss from the free throw line made the game out of reach. With only nine seconds left, Rain or Shine down by seven, the broadcast camera caught Gabe on the bench, a towel draped over both eyes. Before the camera cut away back to the action, a rare image: Gabe with bloodshot eyes from holding back tears, all 17 years of his hoop life flashing before his eyes. 

“It was a bit overwhelming, you know what I mean? Your emotions go all over the place,” he said.

He took a peek behind the bench, seeing his wife and kids cheering for No. 5 for the last time. He wished he was out there on the court to try to let things play out, run the clock with the ball in his hands. Battling that feeling of embracing the final moments, being present in those moments, remembering the moment. Then a reminder, it’s not about you. The pain was slowly sinking in. The optimism was relentlessly fighting through.

“The game is going to move forward.”

“The PBA is going to be just fine.” 

“Rain or Shine is going to be just fine moving forward.” 

“Boss Raymond [Yu’s] on vacation. It would have been awesome for him to see my last game.” 

“Dang, I wish we could have held on because my parents were supposed to come out in January and watch the semis.”

“What a career.”

All these thoughts, a wave of emotion crashing down on him as the clock burned away. The sound of the buzzer now a sign of release. It’s done.

The future of waking up without practice in the mornings and without games in the evening could be terrifying, Gabe admitted. But the blessings that flowed for the many years he was a pro provide him a sense of calm. Blessings don’t stop just because eras end. They flow onward: to his three boys, who are already bigger basketball heads than him and to the future of Gilas, who he is helping to coach. 

“Hopefully, I can continue to carry the country and the game of basketball throughout my next 40 years of blessings as well,” Gabe said.

“It’s a work in progress, so I don’t know when I’ll fully be settled. But you know, hopefully, it’ll come with some peace at the same time.”

After Rain or Shine’s devastating loss (and with it, Gabe’s tearful exit), head coach Yeng Guiao’s speech at the dugout carried a bittersweet tone. He knew they could’ve done better – for Gabe. He floated the idea of retiring Gabe’s number as a tribute to his loyalty to the franchise and to Philippine basketball. No other player should use it. No other player can come close. His career ended with a couple of simple parting shots to his teammates: cherish everyday, have fun, he is a phone call away, he is Rain or Shine for life. After spending 30 minutes picking his brain, let it be known: we are Gabe Norwood for life.