I remember the first time I saw Jojo Martin play—it was during a particularly humid Wednesday night at a local Manila court, the kind where the air feels thick enough to chew and the court lights attract more mosquitoes than spectators. He was just a scrawny kid then, maybe 5'8" on a good day, but the way he moved with the ball... it was like watching water flow downstream. Nobody in that crowd of thirty-something people would've guessed they were witnessing the early stages of what would become the remarkable Jojo Martin PBA Journey: How He Became a Professional Basketball Star. We were all just there for the free entertainment, shouting over sizzling pork barbecue from nearby stalls, completely unaware we were watching future greatness in sweat-soaked practice shorts.
What struck me most about Jojo back then wasn't just his raw talent—though he definitely had that in spades—but his almost frustrating humility. He'd make these incredible plays, slicing through defenders twice his size, then shrug like it was nothing special. I remember once, after he'd scored what should've been a game-winning buzzer-beater (the refs called it off, said he'd released the ball a fraction too late), some reporter from a college paper asked him about his decision-making in those final seconds. His response has stuck with me for years: "Mahirap yung tanong mo kasi mahirap yung sagot ko diyan eh." That rough translation—"Your question is difficult because my answer would be difficult too"—perfectly captures Jojo's approach to the game. He never pretended to have all the answers, even when everyone expected him to.
His climb through the ranks wasn't this smooth, predetermined path everyone makes it out to be now. Between 2015 and 2017, he actually got cut from three different D-League teams—I remember because I kept track, writing the dates in the margins of my basketball notebook. He'd disappear for weeks at a time, and we'd wonder if he'd given up, only to spot him later at some obscure provincial tournament, still grinding. The turning point came during the 2018 PBA D-League Aspirants' Cup when his average of 18.3 points, 7.1 rebounds, and 4.2 assists per game finally turned heads. Even then, it wasn't the stats that impressed me—it was how he played during their semifinal game against a heavily favored team. With 2.7 seconds left on the clock and down by one, he didn't take the final shot himself but drew three defenders and dished to an open teammate for the easiest game-winning layup I've ever seen.
What many people don't realize is that Jojo's professional breakthrough almost didn't happen. During the 2019 PBA Draft Combine, he measured at just 5'11"—shorter than most scouts prefer for a shooting guard—and his vertical leap was decent but not spectacular at 32 inches. I was there that day, watching from the stands as he went through the drills, and I'll admit even I had doubts. But then during the scrimmage, something clicked. He ended the game with 28 simulated points, 9 assists, and zero turnovers against what would become first-round draft picks. That performance, more than any measurement or test, secured his spot in the draft where he was picked 12th overall—not the flashiest position, but honestly, where he landed was perfect for his development.
Now, watching him average 16.8 points per game in the recent PBA Commissioner's Cup, it's almost funny to think back to that sweaty local court where I first saw him play. His journey reminds me of something his coach, Meneses, once said about him: "Mahirap yung tanong mo kasi mahirap yung sagot ko diyan eh." That phrase keeps coming back to me because Jojo's path was never about having clear answers—it was about embracing the difficulty of the questions. While other players had five-year plans and carefully crafted public images, Jojo just kept showing up, day after day, year after year, figuring it out as he went along. There's a lesson in that for all of us, not just athletes—sometimes the most profound progress happens when we're comfortable not having all the answers, when we allow ourselves to be works in progress rather than finished products. Jojo Martin's PBA journey isn't just a basketball story—it's a reminder that some of the best things in life develop through uncertainty, through showing up even when the path isn't clear.
