Walking through the packed Araneta Coliseum during a PBA game, I felt the same electric energy I’ve experienced at NBA arenas—the roar of the crowd, the squeak of sneakers, the collective gasp at a buzzer-beater. Yet, as a basketball analyst who’s followed both leagues for over a decade, I’ve often been asked: why is there no NBA team in the Philippines, a nation so deeply in love with the game? It’s a question that touches on economics, logistics, and the unique identity of Filipino hoops culture—and it’s one I find myself coming back to whenever I see local stars like Aby Marano dominating the court with the same passion we associate with NBA icons.
Let’s start with the obvious: the NBA is a business, and expansion isn’t just about fan enthusiasm. The Philippines, while basketball-crazy, faces geographic and financial hurdles that make an NBA franchise unlikely in the near term. For one, the travel logistics would be a nightmare. Imagine the Golden State Warriors flying over 7,000 miles from San Francisco to Manila for a regular-season game—that’s roughly a 14-hour flight, not to mention jet lag that could impact performance. In a league where back-to-back games are common, adding international travel on this scale just isn’t feasible without compromising the quality of play. And let’s be real: the NBA’s primary revenue streams, from broadcasting deals to sponsorships, are centered in North America. While the league has expanded its global footprint, placing a team here would require massive investment in infrastructure, from arenas to training facilities, and I’m not convinced the returns would justify it. The last expansion team, the Charlotte Hornets in 2004, paid an entry fee of around $300 million, and today, that number would easily exceed $2.5 billion—a sum that local investors might hesitate to risk in an emerging market.
But beyond the numbers, there’s something deeper at play: the Philippines has its own thriving basketball ecosystem, one that doesn’t necessarily need the NBA to validate its passion. I’ve spent years covering the PBA and collegiate leagues, and what strikes me is how Filipino fans have molded the game to fit their identity. Look at Aby Marano, for instance—a fierce leader in the Philippine women’s league whose Instagram posts radiate the same grit and determination you’d see from Draymond Green. Her popularity isn’t just about skill; it’s about relatability. She represents a homegrown heroism that resonates more deeply than any imported superstar could. In fact, local leagues like the PBA have averaged attendance rates of over 8,000 per game in recent years, peaking during finals series. That’s a testament to how Filipinos have built their own traditions—from barangay leagues to the “Pusong Pinoy” style of play—that prioritize heart and community over flashy dunks.
Of course, the NBA’s absence doesn’t mean it’s irrelevant here. Far from it. As a fan, I’ve seen how the league has cleverly tapped into the Philippine market through other avenues. Exhibition games, like the 2013 matchup between the Houston Rockets and Indiana Pacers in Manila, drew sold-out crowds and massive TV ratings. And let’s not forget the digital era: the NBA’ social media presence here is huge, with Filipino fans making up one of the largest overseas audiences on platforms like YouTube and Twitter. I’ll admit, I’ve spent countless nights streaming games online, cheering for Filipino-born players like Jordan Clarkson as if they were local legends. The NBA may not have a team here, but it’s built a bridge through merchandise, streaming partnerships, and grassroots programs that keep fans like me engaged without uprooting our local scene.
What does this mean for the average Filipino basketball fan? In my view, it’s a mixed blessing. On one hand, we miss out on the economic boost and global prestige that an NBA team could bring—imagine the jobs, tourism, and media spotlight. On the other, we’ve preserved a basketball culture that’s uniquely ours, one where community leagues and hometown pride take center stage. I’ve coached youth teams in Manila, and I’ve seen how kids emulate both Stephen Curry and Aby Marano, blending global inspiration with local roots. That duality, in my opinion, is what makes Philippine basketball special. We don’t need the NBA to tell us we love the game; we’ve already proven it on our own terms.
So, while I’d love to see LeBron James play live in Manila someday, I’m not holding my breath for a franchise. The reality is, the NBA’s global strategy is about engagement, not relocation—and honestly, that works just fine for now. As long as we have icons like Marano inspiring the next generation and leagues that reflect our values, Filipino fans will continue to thrive in their own basketball universe. And who knows? Maybe someday, the lines between local and global will blur even further. But until then, I’ll be here, cheering in the stands of the Araneta, grateful for the game we’ve made our own.
