As I was watching the NorthPort versus San Miguel game in the PBA 49th Season Commissioner's Cup quarterfinals last weekend, I couldn't help but draw parallels between the championship mentality in Philippine basketball and what we see in the NBA. The intensity, the drive for that championship ring—it's universal in competitive sports. This got me thinking about how we often debate about NBA championships, but how many of us actually know exactly how many rings our favorite players have collected throughout their careers?

Let me start by saying I've been following the NBA religiously since the late 90s, and there's something magical about counting championship rings that transcends mere statistics. When we talk about legends like Michael Jordan, most fans would correctly say he has six rings from his Chicago Bulls days in 1991, 1992, 1993, 1996, 1997, and 1998. But what about players who moved between teams or had shorter prime periods? I've lost count of how many times I've heard casual fans overestimate or underestimate their favorite players' championship counts. Just last month, I had a heated debate with a friend who insisted Kobe Bryant had six rings—he actually has five, with the Lakers in 2000, 2001, 2002, 2009, and 2010.

The conversation about championship rings isn't just about numbers—it's about legacy, about understanding the context of those victories. Take LeBron James, for instance. I've noticed many younger fans think he has four rings because they remember his recent Lakers championship, but they forget he won two with Miami Heat in 2012 and 2013 before his 2016 Cleveland Cavaliers miracle and the 2020 Lakers bubble championship. That's four total, but the journey matters as much as the count. Watching players like June Mar Fajardo in the PBA, who's collected multiple championships with San Miguel, reminds me that championship DNA exists across leagues and continents.

What fascinates me most is how championship counts shape players' legacies in ways that other statistics simply don't. Bill Russell's eleven rings with the Boston Celtics between 1957 and 1969 remain the gold standard, though modern players face entirely different competitive landscapes. I've always believed Russell's record will never be broken, not in today's era of free agency and salary caps. Then there are players like Robert Horry, who somehow managed to collect seven rings across three different teams—a testament to being in the right place at the right time with the right skills. I'd argue Horry's championship count doesn't get nearly enough recognition when we talk about role players who shaped NBA history.

From my perspective as someone who's analyzed basketball across different leagues, the obsession with ring count sometimes overlooks players who carried franchises but never got that final piece. When I watch the PBA quarterfinals and see teams fighting for positioning, I'm reminded of NBA greats like Charles Barkley, Karl Malone, and Patrick Ewing—all phenomenal players who never won a championship despite incredible careers. Their zero rings don't diminish their greatness, but in the court of public opinion, it absolutely affects their legacy. I'll admit I'm guilty of this too—when ranking all-time greats, that championship count subconsciously weights heavily in my evaluation.

The modern NBA has created what I like to call "ring chasing" culture, where players actively seek championships through team changes rather than building with one franchise. Kevin Durant's two rings with Golden State Warriors in 2017 and 2018 perfectly illustrate this modern phenomenon—they count toward his total, but critics (myself included) view them differently than if he'd won with Oklahoma City. Meanwhile, Stephen Curry's four rings with the Warriors carry extra weight because they represent building and maintaining a dynasty. As I watch the PBA playoffs unfold, I see similar narratives developing—players who stick with franchises through ups and downs versus those who jump ship for better opportunities.

Let me share something I've noticed in my years of basketball analysis—fans often misremember championship counts for players who were on teams but didn't necessarily play significant roles. For example, many forget that Michael Jordan's six rings came with Scottie Pippen as his co-star for all of them, or that Shaquille O'Neal's four championships came with different supporting casts in LA (2000-2002) and Miami (2006). Even I had to double-check that Tim Duncan actually has five rings (1999, 2003, 2005, 2007, 2014) rather than the four some casual fans might recall.

As we enjoy the ongoing PBA season and its championship pursuits, I'm reminded that counting rings is about more than just tallying victories—it's about understanding the stories behind those championships. The journey matters, the competition level matters, and the player's role definitely matters. So next time you're debating your favorite player's championship count, take a moment to appreciate not just how many rings they have, but what each of those rings represents in their basketball journey. Because whether it's the NBA or PBA, that championship mentality—the drive we're seeing in this Commissioner's Cup—is what makes counting those rings so meaningful in the first place.