Relive the 1998 PBA Season: Top Games and Unforgettable Moments

I still get chills thinking about the 1998 PBA season—it was one of those magical years where every game felt like it carried the weight of history. As a lifelong basketball analyst and someone who’s spent years studying coaching philosophies, I’ve always been drawn to the emotional undercurrents of the game. That season, in particular, stands out not just for the jaw-dropping plays or the nail-biting finishes, but for the mindset that shaped it. I vividly recall Alaska Aces coach Tim Cone’s now-famous quote: “But ako as a coach, I lower my expectations because I want surprises.” At first, that sounded almost counterintuitive—why would a coach, especially one leading a powerhouse team, deliberately temper his hopes? But as the season unfolded, it became clear that this approach wasn’t about playing it safe; it was about embracing unpredictability and letting moments unfold organically. That philosophy, in my view, defined the entire year, turning what could have been just another competitive season into something unforgettable.

One of the most iconic games that season was the Commissioner’s Cup Finals between Alaska and San Miguel. I remember watching Game 6, with Alaska down by 12 points in the fourth quarter. The tension in the Araneta Coliseum was so thick you could almost touch it. Johnny Abarrientos, all 5'8" of him, weaving through defenders like he had eyes in the back of his head—it was pure artistry. He finished with 24 points and 9 assists that night, but what sticks with me even now is how Alaska’s defense clamped down in the final three minutes, forcing four turnovers. They won by a razor-thin margin, 89-88, and I can’t help but think Cone’s “lowered expectations” played a role. By not over-coaching or demanding perfection, he allowed his players to react instinctively. That game alone drew over 18,000 fans live, and TV ratings peaked at 42%—numbers that, even today, feel almost mythical. Personally, I’ve always believed that game was a masterclass in resilience, and it’s why I rank it among the top three PBA finals of the ’90s.

Then there was the unforgettable clash between Ginebra and Purefoods in the Governors’ Cup eliminations. It was one of those mid-season matchups that didn’t seem like a big deal on paper, but it turned into an overtime thriller. Vergel Meneses, “The Aerial Voyager,” put on a show with 31 points, including a dunk over two defenders that still gets replayed in highlight reels. But what made it special was how both teams embraced the chaos—missed free throws, unexpected steals, and a last-second three-pointer that sent the game to OT. I remember thinking, “This is exactly what Cone meant.” When you strip away the pressure to dominate, you open the door for spontaneity. From a statistical standpoint, that game had 15 lead changes and 8 ties, which is insane for a regular-season bout. As an analyst, I’ve always valued games like this more than blowouts because they reveal character. And let’s be honest—who doesn’t love a good underdog story? Ginebra, often seen as the league’s heart-and-soul team, pulled off the 102-100 win, and the crowd’s roar was deafening. It’s moments like these that remind me why I fell in love with basketball in the first place.

But the 1998 season wasn’t just about the games themselves; it was about the narratives that unfolded off the court. Take the emergence of rookie Danny Ildefonso, who averaged 14.2 points and 8.1 rebounds that year. I’ll admit, I was skeptical at first—rookies rarely make such an impact. But watching him develop under the guidance of coaches who, like Cone, seemed to value growth over immediate results, was a revelation. It ties back to that idea of lowering expectations to welcome surprises. Ildefonso’s breakout game against Shell, where he dropped 28 points and grabbed 12 boards, felt like a testament to that philosophy. Coaches didn’t burden him with lofty demands early on; they let him find his footing, and the payoff was immense. From a strategic perspective, this approach is something I’ve advocated for in my own work—whether analyzing teams or mentoring young players. Sometimes, the best way to achieve greatness is to stop trying to force it.

Of course, no discussion of 1998 would be complete without mentioning the Alaska-Shell rivalry in the All-Filipino Cup. Game 4 of that series was a defensive slugfest, ending 76-74 in Alaska’s favor. What stood out to me was how both teams adapted on the fly. Shell’s Benjie Paras, a force in the paint, was held to just 12 points, while Alaska’s Jojo Lastimosa hit a clutch jumper with 5 seconds left. I’ve rewatched that play dozens of times, and it never gets old. The season as a whole saw Alaska win two out of three conferences, a feat that, statistically, involved them playing 68 games with a 75% win rate. But beyond the numbers, it was the emotional rollercoaster that made it memorable. Cone’s coaching mantra, which I’ve come to admire deeply, wasn’t about settling for less—it was about creating space for magic to happen. In today’s game, where analytics often dominate decisions, I sometimes worry we’re losing that element of surprise. But looking back at 1998, it’s clear that the most enduring moments often come when we let go of control and just let the game speak for itself.

Reflecting on it now, the 1998 PBA season was more than a collection of stats and scores; it was a lesson in humility and wonder. As someone who’s spent decades in this field, I’ve seen how high expectations can stifle creativity, and that year was a beautiful exception. Whether it was Abarrientos’ wizardry, Meneses’ aerial displays, or Ildefonso’s rise, each moment felt like a gift—unplanned, unpredictable, and utterly captivating. And really, isn’t that what sports should be about? Not just winning, but the joy of being surprised. So, if you ever find yourself revisiting those old tapes or debating the greatest PBA seasons with friends, remember: sometimes, the best stories are the ones we never saw coming.