LAST Thursday, April 10, the martial arts community — though many may not yet realize it — lost one of its quiet architects. A man whose voice may not have echoed from stadium rafters, but whose influence thundered through every fighter he touched. His name was Ray Mathews Pacio Duclayan.
Many may know him as the uncle of ONE Strawweight MMA World Champion Joshua Pacio. Some knew him as Pastor Ray, shepherding a congregation in San Fernando, La Union. Others called him Coach Ray, the man who laid the very groundwork for the rise of not just Pacio, but his “blood brothers” Jahn Serbo and Aaron Posawen.
But to me? He was simply Uncle Ray.
And if you’ve ever had an “Uncle Ray” in your life, you know exactly what that means. The man was just a call away, always ready to talk about anything under the sun — from faith to foot sweeps. He would hit me up daily, never running out of thoughts, questions, or ideas. Ending a conversation with him? Let’s just say it often required the discipline of a referee breaking up a clinch.
We talked endlessly about martial arts — technique, philosophy, and application. Uncle Ray wasn’t just a student of the game; he was a scholar, an explorer, an innovator. Disagree with him? Sure. Debate him? Absolutely. But even in dissent, there was always room for laughter. Because that’s who he was — constructive, thoughtful, open. Old school on the surface, but forward-thinking in essence.
He studied the sport relentlessly. Deep dives into methods, scouting unknown athletes in obscure regions, and then — like a mad scientist discovering fire — he’d rush to share it. In chats, on Facebook, wherever he could find someone willing to listen and learn.
Now, I know what some of you might be thinking: “Why write about a man the industry barely knows?”
Well, maybe that’s the problem. Maybe the industry should know him. Maybe it’s time we start celebrating the minds that move in silence — the ones whose dedication never came with hashtags or headlines.
Because Uncle Ray? He was the embodiment of what Philippine MMA coaching should aspire to be — uncompromising in passion, bold in ideas, fearless in critique. He’d roll up his sleeves, train with the young blood, and wasn’t afraid to call out mediocrity when he saw it. And yes, he was so passionate, it often got misread.
He didn’t just build athletes — he built people. He poured into ministries and mats alike. And to someone like me, a journalist who often walks the fine line between the spotlight and the shadows, Uncle Ray never made me feel like I didn’t belong in the room.
His absence? It leaves a silence I don’t know how to fill.
I’ll miss those marathon conversations. But I take comfort knowing he’s now in a place where joy is unspeakable, likely deep in discussion with the Author and Finisher of our faith.
To Uncle Ray’s family, I offer my prayers and deepest condolences. In this season of sorrow, may we find the purpose behind the pain. And may we remember: the world may not have known him like we did — but it is undoubtedly better because he was in it.
(For comments or questions, reach the author at nissi.icasiano@gmail.com or visit his Facebook page at www.facebook.com/nissi.icasiano.)
