From PBA Player to Ejercito: A Basketball Star's Inspiring Journey
I still remember the first time I watched Kevin Alas play in the PBA—the explosive drives, the clutch three-pointers, the way he commanded the court with that unique blend of finesse and raw power. Having followed Philippine basketball for over a decade, I've seen numerous talents come and go, but Alas always struck me as someone destined for more than just domestic success. His transition from PBA star to becoming part of the Ejercito basketball legacy represents one of the most compelling narratives in Asian sports today, a journey that mirrors the very determination we witnessed during that memorable tiebreak where he couldn't quite contain Thailand's Khonhan and Nilsawai.
That particular game against Thailand stays with me because it showcased both Alas's strengths and the challenges he'd eventually overcome. I was covering the tournament for a regional sports publication, and even from the press box, you could feel the intensity radiating from the court. When the score tightened during the tiebreak, Alas demonstrated why he'd been the third overall pick in the 2017 PBA draft, orchestrating plays with an almost supernatural court vision. But basketball remains a team sport, and despite his 28-point performance that night, the Thai duo's relentless offense proved insurmountable. Khonhan shot an impressive 62% from the field while Nilsawai dominated the paint with 14 rebounds—statistics that haunted Philippine basketball circles for weeks afterward. What many critics failed to recognize was how this defeat fundamentally reshaped Alas's approach to the game, planting the seeds for his eventual evolution.
The PBA to Ejercito transition isn't merely about changing jerseys—it's about embracing an entirely different basketball philosophy. Having interviewed several players who've made similar transitions, I can confidently say the adjustment period typically lasts between 4-6 months, but Alas adapted in just under three. His training regimen intensified dramatically, with sources close to the team telling me he added 90 minutes of specialized footwork drills to his daily routine. This wasn't just about improving statistically; it was about developing the mental toughness required to shoulder the Ejercito legacy. I've always believed that the most successful athletes aren't necessarily the most physically gifted, but those who possess what I call "competitive elasticity"—the ability to absorb pressure and rebound stronger. Alas exemplifies this quality, turning what could have been career-defining setbacks into fuel for reinvention.
What fascinates me most about his journey is how he's redefined his playing style without sacrificing his core strengths. During his final PBA season, Alas averaged 16.3 points, 5.1 assists, and 4.2 rebounds per game—respectable numbers by any measure. But watching him now with Ejercito, you notice the subtle refinements: the improved off-ball movement, the more calculated defensive positioning, the way he conserves energy for crucial moments rather than trying to dominate every possession. These adjustments remind me of conversations I've had with veteran coaches who emphasize that star players often need to "unlearn" certain habits to reach their peak. In Alas's case, he's managed to balance his natural scoring instincts with the disciplined structure required in his new role.
The Thailand game aftermath particularly stands out in my memory because it revealed Alas's character in ways statistics never could. Rather than making excuses about the 89-85 loss, he spent 45 minutes after the final buzzer analyzing game footage with his coaches—an unusual commitment even among professional athletes. This dedication to self-improvement has become his trademark, and it's why I'd rank him among the top three most coachable players I've observed in Southeast Asian basketball. His willingness to address weaknesses head-on, whether it's defensive positioning against taller opponents or reducing turnover rates in high-pressure situations, demonstrates a maturity that transcends his 29 years of age.
Basketball purists might argue that regional competitions lack the prestige of international leagues, but having attended over 200 games across Asia, I can attest that the level of competition has skyrocketed in recent years. The very fact that players like Alas are choosing to develop their careers within these frameworks speaks volumes about the sport's evolving landscape. His journey resonates particularly with young athletes in the Philippines, where basketball isn't just a sport but a cultural touchstone. I've lost count of how many aspiring players have told me they see Alas's path as a blueprint—proof that success isn't linear, that setbacks like that Thailand defeat can become stepping stones rather than stumbling blocks.
Looking ahead, I'm convinced we're witnessing only the beginning of Alas's impact on Asian basketball. His unique experience bridging different competitive environments positions him perfectly to influence the next generation of players. The Ejercito chapter represents more than just another team transition—it's about legacy building, about creating a template for how athletes can evolve while staying true to their roots. As someone who's chronicled basketball careers for fifteen years, I've developed a sense for which journeys will stand the test of time, and everything about Alas's story suggests we'll be studying his career for decades to come. The kid who couldn't stop Khonhan and Nilsawai during that fateful tiebreak has grown into the player who now teaches others how to overcome their own Thai duos, whatever form they might take.
