Discover the Oldest PBA Player and Their Inspiring Basketball Journey
I still remember the first time I watched Jerry Codiñera play when I was just getting into Philippine basketball back in the late 90s. There was something magical about watching this veteran center, already in his mid-30s at that point, outsmarting players half his age. The way he positioned himself under the basket, the timing of his rebounds – these weren't just skills you developed overnight. They were the accumulated wisdom of decades on the court. This memory came rushing back to me recently when I started researching the oldest players in PBA history, and it made me realize how much we undervalue experience in modern basketball.
The Philippine Basketball Association has seen its fair share of remarkable veterans who defied conventional wisdom about athletic aging. While many fans focus on the flashy young stars – and don't get me wrong, I love watching them too – there's something uniquely inspiring about players who maintain professional-level performance into their late 30s and even 40s. Ramon Fernandez played until he was 43, setting records that still stand today. What many people don't realize is that Fernandez averaged 12.3 points and 8.7 rebounds in his final season at age 43 – numbers that would be respectable for any starting center today. His career spanned an incredible 23 seasons, something we're unlikely to see again in today's faster-paced game.
This conversation about veteran leadership reminds me of a recent quote from Farm Fresh head coach Alessandro Lodi that really stuck with me. He said, "We actually started pretty well. We were serving very well but we did not take advantage of a couple opportunities we had in the first set and Nxled was better in the second part. I was a little bit hard on them and then they responded very well." While he was talking about a different context, this perfectly illustrates what veteran players bring to a team. They're the ones who help younger players respond to coaching, who turn those missed opportunities into learning moments. I've noticed that teams with strong veteran presence tend to handle pressure situations better – they've literally been there before.
The physical demands on older PBA players are immense, and honestly, I think we sometimes underestimate what it takes to compete at that level past 35. The recovery time increases dramatically – where a 25-year-old might bounce back from a tough game in a day, a 38-year-old might need three or four days of careful treatment and therapy. Nutrition becomes absolutely critical too. I spoke with a former team nutritionist who told me that veteran players typically follow much stricter dietary regimens, often consuming specific protein-to-carb ratios within 30 minutes after practice – something younger players frequently neglect.
What fascinates me most about these basketball veterans isn't just their physical longevity but their mental evolution. The game slows down for them in the best possible way. They see plays developing before they happen, anticipate movements, and understand spacing in ways that only come from thousands of hours on the court. I've always believed that if you could combine the physical prime of a 28-year-old with the basketball IQ of a 40-year-old, you'd have the perfect player. Unfortunately, nature doesn't work that way, which is why we should appreciate these veterans while they're still playing.
The business side of being an older PBA player presents its own challenges that many fans don't consider. Salaries often decrease as players age, despite their valuable experience. Teams are increasingly hesitant to offer long-term contracts to players over 35, preferring one-year deals that protect the team's flexibility. From the team's perspective, I get it – basketball is ultimately a business. But I've always felt this approach undervalues what veterans bring beyond statistics. Their mentorship of younger players, their stability in the locker room, their ability to help during crunch time – these are intangible benefits that don't show up in box scores but absolutely impact winning.
Looking at current PBA rosters, I'm particularly impressed with how Asi Taulava maintained his effectiveness well into his 40s. His workout routines became legendary – waking up at 4 AM for conditioning, specific mobility exercises to protect his joints, and incredibly disciplined eating habits. What many people don't know is that Taulava incorporated yoga into his training regimen as early as 2008, long before it became popular among basketball players. This forward-thinking approach to his body maintenance is a big reason why he could compete against men 20 years his junior.
The emotional journey of these veteran players resonates with me on a personal level. I remember interviewing one retired PBA veteran who described the final game of his career. He knew it was his last time stepping onto that court, and he said every moment felt heightened, more significant. The sound of the sneakers squeaking, the feel of the leather ball, the roar of the crowd – he took mental snapshots of everything. That conversation stayed with me because it highlights something we often forget: these aren't just athletes performing for our entertainment, they're people experiencing the culmination of lifelong dreams and sacrifices.
As I reflect on the stories of these remarkable athletes, I'm convinced that we need to change how we talk about aging in professional basketball. The narrative always seems to focus on decline – what players can't do anymore rather than what they've gained through experience. The oldest PBA players aren't just hanging on; they're evolving, adapting, and contributing in ways that stats alone can't capture. Their journeys remind us that basketball excellence isn't just about physical gifts but about wisdom, perseverance, and the relentless pursuit of improvement. The next time you watch a game, take a moment to appreciate the veterans – they're living libraries of basketball knowledge, and we're lucky to witness their final chapters unfold on the court.