*Dr. Rodolfo John Ortiz Teope, PhD, EdD, DM
Before the rise of today’s Indian and Chinese chess powerhouses, the Philippines delivered a historic one-two punch: Eugenio “Eugene” Torre became Asia’s first grandmaster in 1974, and Rosendo “Bali” Balinas Jr. followed as its second in 1976. Two Filipinos opened an extraordinary chapter in Asian chess. Their achievements gave our country something precious to believe in: our players could sit across from the world’s strongest and belong.
I was eight years old when I started playing chess and became a Torre fan. For a boy discovering the possibilities hidden within sixty-four squares, he gave the game a Filipino face and a dream worth pursuing.
Years later, I remember hearing about an international grandmaster tournament in which Torre drew with another Filipino, Rosendo Balinas Jr. I no longer recall the tournament details, but I remember my curiosity. Who was Balinas?
There was no Google then. During the 1980s, finding answers meant visiting libraries, searching newspapers, and hoping a book or magazine carried his story. Information was difficult to find. Every game I discovered felt like meeting someone I wished the country had introduced to me much earlier.
I studied his moves with fascination. To my developing chess mind, his play seemed methodical, sometimes unorthodox, and always worth another look. I would return to a position and wonder what he had seen that I had missed. Through those printed moves, I came to admire the man behind them.
A recent encounter brought those memories back. I spoke with Alcindor Yap, a student chess player and the son of movie actress Katrina Paula. He spoke enthusiastically about great players from abroad, mentioning Mikhail Tal and Garry Kasparov. When our conversation turned to Philippine chess, he mentioned Eugene Torre. Then I asked him about Rosendo Balinas.
“Who is he?” he replied.
I felt a quiet sadness. I could hardly blame Alcindor. He had learned about the players whose stories had reached him. Here was a Filipino chess enthusiast who knew foreign legends and had yet to discover his own country’s second grandmaster. One conversation cannot represent an entire generation, but his question stayed with me. It became another reason to write this article.
Balinas was a lawyer, chess writer, national champion, and Olympiad medalist. At the 1966 Havana Chess Olympiad, he scored 15½ points from 20 games and earned the individual silver medal on board three, behind former world champion Mikhail Tal. In the 1967 Meralco simultaneous exhibition against Bobby Fischer, he was the only one of ten participating Filipino players to secure a draw.
At the 1968 Meralco Open, he shared the highest score with Yugoslav grandmaster Svetozar Gligorić, both finishing with 12 points from 15 games. His career also included victories over Bent Larsen, Lev Polugaevsky, and Lubomir Kavalek. These were achievements worthy of a lasting place in Philippine sporting history.
Then came Odessa in 1976.
Held in what was then Soviet Ukraine, the tournament brought together fifteen players, including formidable Soviet competitors and accomplished foreign masters. Balinas entered with a listed rating of 2365, below many leading participants. He finished outright first with 10 points from 14 games, one full point ahead of Vladimir Savon and Lev Alburt.
His record comprised seven wins, six draws, and one loss. Although Jan Plachetka defeated him, Balinas remained unbeaten against his Soviet opponents.
His crucial victory over Savon, the 1971 Soviet champion, came in round thirteen. Playing White, Balinas won a sharp Benoni encounter after 38.Qxh6. Draws against David Bronstein and Georgi Tringov completed his championship run. Odessa brought him the grandmaster title and secured his place beside Torre in Asian chess history.
A Filipino had entered a strong international tournament on Soviet soil and finished alone at the top. Somewhere in that result is a story every young Filipino player deserves to know: ability, preparation, and courage can carry someone far beyond what a rating or reputation might suggest.
Yet I wonder whether Philippine sports has given Balinas a place in its memory equal to his accomplishments, and how much further he might have gone with stronger, more dependable support.
Some people I have spoken with recalled occasions when Balinas had to raise funds to compete in strong international tournaments. Others suggested that personal differences and internal politics affected his opportunities. These are personal accounts I cannot independently verify, and I cannot establish anyone’s motives.
Still, they leave a painful question. How much of a gifted player’s strength is spent finding a way to reach the tournament before he can even sit down and play?
We cannot know how many more championships Balinas might have won with greater assistance. Consistent support, however, could have given him more opportunities to prepare and compete. His documented achievements alone justify our recognition, whatever uncertainties remain about the circumstances surrounding his career.
Wesley So’s later experience offers a sobering reminder. His transfer to the United States federation was approved in 2014. In public accounts, he described concerns about dependable support and disputes over recognition of his achievements. His decision involved several circumstances, but his testimony shows how institutional conflict can weigh on a player’s future.
Philippine chess must learn from these experiences. Personal rivalries should never determine who receives an opportunity. Federations, clubs, and sports institutions should work together on training, competition, and player development. Selection and financial assistance should follow transparent standards. Players should be able to seek opportunities without being drawn into factions or made to carry the consequences of disagreements among officials.
The board already provides enough battles. Our players deserve unity and support around it.
For Balinas, that responsibility includes meaningful national recognition.
As of November 2026, the published Philippine Sports Hall of Fame roster does not list him. Although tournament records have described him as a Philippine Chess Hall of Fame inductee, that is separate from the Philippine Sports Hall of Fame administered by the Philippine Sports Commission.
I believe Rosendo Balinas Jr. deserves a place in the Philippine Sports Hall of Fame. His record warrants a thoroughly documented nomination and fair consideration under its rules. The chess community, sports historians, and his supporters can work together to assemble his tournament results, games, writings, and contributions to younger players.
That effort should also reach beyond an award. His games belong in lessons for young players. His story belongs in accounts of Philippine sports. A child should be able to ask who Balinas was and find an answer that conveys both the achievement and the person.
For his family, such remembrance would carry a meaning no tournament score can measure. The country would be remembering someone they knew as more than a grandmaster: a loved one whose absence they have carried through the years.
Balinas died on September 24, 1998, at fifty-seven. He can no longer hear his name announced or feel a grateful handshake. Whatever recognition we give him now will arrive too late for him to receive it. But it need not arrive too late for the country to remember.
I think again of that young boy searching library shelves, and of Alcindor asking me, “Who is he?” Between those two memories lies the reason this story matters. One child struggled to find Balinas; another had yet to discover him.
His family and devoted supporters have kept his memory alive through memorial tournaments and continuing tributes. They should not have to carry that responsibility alone.
For too long, it has felt as though Balinas has been left at the edge of our sporting memory, his name growing quieter as the years pass. Let us give his name a lasting place in our national memory, in our books, and in the dreams of young players.
He gave the Philippines a reason to hold its head high. After all these years, may his country finally look back and say: “We remember you, Bali. We should have said your name more often.”
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