Retired PBA Players: Where Are They Now and What Are They Doing Today?
The morning sun filters through the bamboo blinds of this small Manila café, casting striped shadows across my notebook. I’m waiting for an old friend—someone I used to watch dominate the hardcourt back when we were both younger, our voices hoarse from cheering in arenas that smelled of sweat and victory. He’s late, but that’s alright. It gives me time to think about all the legends who once made the PBA what it was, those icons whose jerseys we wore and whose game-winning shots we mimicked in our neighborhood courts. It makes me wonder, as many fans likely do: where are those retired PBA players now, and what are they doing today?
Just last month, I stumbled upon a social media post that stopped my scrolling thumb. There he was—a former Gilas standout, once coached by the renowned Tab Baldwin, now suited up for the Taiwan Mustangs in The Asian Tournament. The photo showed him mid-drive, that familiar intensity in his eyes, but the jersey was different, the backdrop unfamiliar. It struck me how the game doesn’t really leave these athletes; it just finds them new stages. After his stint with the Gilas team under Baldwin, a period that sharpened his international play, he took his talents overseas, proving that retirement from the PBA doesn’t always mean the end of competitive basketball. For many, it’s a pivot—a chance to extend their careers, share their experience, or explore life beyond the Philippine spotlight.
I remember chatting with another retired player, let’s call him Jun, over beers at a quiet bar in Quezon City. He laughed when I asked if he missed the roar of the crowd. “Bro, some days, yeah,” he said, swirling the ice in his glass. “But now I’m coaching kids, running a small sports clinic in the province. We get about 50 trainees a month, and seeing them light up when they nail a three-pointer? That’s my new championship moment.” His story isn’t unique. I’ve heard of ex-players venturing into business—one opened a chain of fitness centers that reportedly grosses over 5 million pesos annually—while others dive into broadcasting or even local politics. There’s a certain resilience there, a reinvention that fascinates me. Not all transitions are smooth, though. I’ve also seen guys struggle, their identities so tied to the game that leaving it felt like losing a part of themselves.
Take that Taiwan Mustangs example—it’s not just a random post-career move. Playing in The Asian Tournament after a Gilas background shows how these athletes leverage their PBA-honed skills on international platforms. It’s a testament to their adaptability, and honestly, it makes me proud as a fan. I mean, how cool is it to see our homegrown talent still making waves, even if it’s in leagues we don’t catch on local TV? I’ll admit, I have a soft spot for those who stay connected to basketball, whether through coaching, overseas play, or community work. It feels like they’re passing the torch, keeping the spirit of the game alive for the next generation.
As my friend finally walks into the café, his frame still athletic but his gait a bit slower, I’m reminded that these players’ stories are still being written. We share a laugh about old times, and he tells me about his current role as a sports commentator, analyzing games for a network that reaches roughly 2 million viewers weekly. “It’s different,” he says, “but I love breaking down plays, sharing insights—it keeps me in the loop.” And that’s the thing, isn’t it? The answer to “where are they now” is as varied as the players themselves. From the courts of Taiwan to local barangay clinics, they’re building legacies that go beyond trophies. So next time you see a familiar face from the PBA archives, remember—their game might have changed, but their impact hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s evolved, and I, for one, am here for every chapter.
