In the most absurd, roundabout way, Barangay Ginebra San Miguel’s Justin Brownlee is cursed.
That’s what happens when you time and again conjure magic—when you keep making big shot after big shot, big play after big play, big stop after big stop. That’s what happens when you make it a force of habit to be magical when the stakes are highest, when the game is on the line, when the chips are down.
It is the curse of magic.
Fans expect you to come through. Every. Single. Time. They expect you to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. They expect you to hit every big trey, to make every big play, to never let them down. They get disappointed when you don’t. They get hurt, they question you, they doubt you. They might even turn on you.
Haters wait for you to mess up, to miss, to fail. They want it so bad they wish for it. They pray for it. And they revel if you do. They rejoice. They applaud.
That is the curse of magic. It is the cost of being great.
It is the curse of Justin Donta Brownlee. And it might have finally caught up with him.
Justin Brownlee: Making Magic for Ginebra and Gilas
Almost nine years into his career here in the Philippines, Brownlee has time and again conjured magic, the very first being that buzzer-beating championship-clinching triple against the Meralco Bolts in the 2016 PBA Governors’ Cup Finals. Since then, making magic has been Brownlee’s MO in leading Ginebra to six titles in eight years—four in the Governors’ Cup, two in the Commissioners’ Cup.
He has done the same for Gilas Pilipinas, too, leading the Philippines to a most improbable gold medal in the Asian Games in 2023 and an upset of Latvia in the Olympic Qualifying Tournaments in July 2024. He broke championship droughts (for Ginebra, for Gilas, and for Pelita Jaya in Indonesia). He hit daggers and game winners. He made all the right plays at all the right times. He rose to the occasion like clockwork.
There’s death, taxes, and Justin Brownlee.
He is magic. Magic Brownlee.
He did it again in Game 4 of these PBA Commissioner’s Cup Finals, defying medical logic, getting his dislocated thumb taped up, and willing Ginebra to a series-tying victory against his familiar nemesis in the TNT Tropang Giga. He breathe magic once more into Team NSD in Game 5, towing Ginebra to the proverbial hill with one jumper after another in a furious fourth quarter.
One Final Act of Magic Goes for Naught
Brownlee wasn’t done. In Game 7, with all the marbles on the line—the championship, bragging rights, a shot at redemption—JB fired a triple in the noggin of an ice-cold Paul Varilla to tie the game at 79 with 16 seconds remaining. Ginebra’s defense then forced TNT import Rondae Hollis-Jefferson into a miss to send Game 7 to extra time.
It was Justin Brownlee doing Justin Brownlee things—again.
Only this time, there was no magical ending. The Tropang Giga held firm in OT. They made all the big shots and made all the big stops. And yet Brownlee still had six seconds left to conjure another bit of magic to possibly send Game 7 to a second overtime.
It turns out, he didn’t have any left. Magic Brownlee had no magic trick up his sleeve anymore. It was a painful, cruel ending to what had been a valiant, heroic effort from the beloved Ginebra reinforcement.
Yet to some, it wasn’t enough. To some, Justin Brownlee failed Ginebra. To some, it doesn’t matter that the 36-year-old import emptied out his holster. To some, it doesn’t matter that Brownlee, nine working fingers and all, gritted his teeth, put an entire barangay on his back, and nearly pulled off another act of magic.
The haters rejoiced. The bashers reveled. The nonbelievers cheered. They are all enjoying Justin Brownlee’s fall from grace—especially now that he has lost three straight Finals to a most formidable adversary in RHJ and his TNT crew.
That is the cost of greatness. It is the curse of magic.
It is the curse of Justin Brownlee.
And it may have finally caught up with him.
