Joe Alexander does not talk about professional sports the way most former players do. There is no nostalgia in his voice, no romantic framing about brotherhood or bright lights. Instead, there is something far more unsettling: a blunt description of chronic pain, psychological rewiring, and what he calls the true root of ruthless competitiveness.
What separates Alexander from many former pros is not his stat line, but his philosophy.
In a viral Instagram video, he describes professional athletes as ‘essentially injured all the time,’ arguing that the hostility fans see on the court often stems from years of accumulated damage.
“I played professional basketball for 15 years, and what really got me there was learning the roots of ruthless competitiveness. And it’s not what you think.”
“As a kid, you’re lied to about competitiveness. You’re told you should hate losing and love winning. You’re told to give 110 percent, and that as you get older, you’ll naturally get better at competing. That’s not true.”
“Professional players go through a very unique process, one we almost engineer within ourselves. First, you need to understand that when you see a bloodthirsty pro on the court, that hostility is often a direct result of chronic bodily pain from injuries sustained over the last decade. What you also need to understand is that professional athletes are essentially injured all the time.”
“This begins when we’re teenagers. Being in chronic pain 24 hours a day, refusing to rest or stop training, rewires your brain, your spine, and your central nervous system. You become something different. You don’t return to who you were before.”
“Imagine a 90-year-old person who cannot sit, walk, or sleep without pain. They are in pain all day, every day. Over time, a kind of fatalism sets in. They don’t want to do it anymore. They don’t want to keep playing this game called life because it isn’t fun. There is no relief.”
“In many ways, that is the process professional athletes begin going through as teenagers.”
“The fatalism that develops shows up on the court like this: I am a wounded animal. There is no escape from this pain. So on my way out, I’m taking all of you with me. Your teammates. Your coach. The refs. The fans. Everyone.”
“All the pain I’ve endured from training for 10 years will be visited upon you, the people who think we’re here to play a game. I am not playing a game anymore. I’m done playing games.”
“Nobody who has been in chronic pain for 10 straight years, 24 hours a day, is playing anything. So when I show up, you may be playing basketball. I am acting out something else. A wounded animal syndrome. A fatalism that says I’m already dead in this pain, so you’re all coming with me.”
“That is the root of ruthless professional competitiveness.”
“So the next time you say you want to be a professional athlete, that you want to be a ruthless competitor, understand this: the idea that our competitiveness comes from loving the game or chasing championships is simplistic and naïve.”
“Ruthless competitiveness comes from five, ten, fifteen years of chronic pain. And once you go through that rewiring process, you do not come back the same.”
According to him, chronic pain begins in the teenage years. Playing through injuries, refusing rest, and training relentlessly rewires the brain and nervous system. In his words, you do not return to who you were before.
That perspective reframes competitiveness entirely. The common narrative suggests elite athletes are driven by love of the game and hatred of losing. Alexander calls that simplistic. He believes ruthless competitiveness grows out of living in pain for five, ten, or fifteen years without relief. The result, he says, resembles a wounded animal mentality. There is no escape from the discomfort, so the aggression becomes survival.
In another Instagram video, Alexander also revealed that for 15 straight years, he never took a true offseason break.
“I played professional basketball for 15 years, and after every season, I never took a single day off. In fact, I never took a minute off.”
“My rule was simple. Before the whistle blew in the fourth quarter of the final game, I had already mentally started training for the next season. And once the whistle actually blew, when the season was officially over and everyone was shaking hands and celebrating, I would go straight down to the locker room and start lifting weights or running on the treadmill immediately.”
“Coaches and people in the media probably thought I was just blowing off steam. They assumed I had extra energy or that I was emotional after the game. That wasn’t it. I was starting my offseason.”
“A lot of guys would head straight to vacation. They’d talk about catching a flight in the morning, going to the beach, heading to an island somewhere. That was the mindset. The season is over, now it’s time to relax.”
“Not me.”
“My offseason began the second the season ended, and I did that every year for 15 years straight. Of course, part of it was about keeping my body and my skills sharp. You want to stay in shape. You want to make sure you don’t lose momentum.”
“But that wasn’t the main reason.”
“The main reason was cultural. You have to build something inside yourself that says there is nothing more exciting outside of basketball. I was not looking forward to free time so I could do other things. I was looking forward to having more time to train.”
“When the season ended, I was excited because now I could finally do the workouts I really wanted to do. I didn’t have to worry about team practice schedules or game travel. I could challenge myself in different ways. I could push my body even harder.”
“That’s what I was most excited about.”
“Yes, it helped me stay in shape. Yes, it kept my skills sharp. But more importantly, it reinforced a belief system. It reinforced the idea that basketball wasn’t just my job. It was the only thing I was dedicating my life to.”
“When I was given free time, like during the offseason, I didn’t fill it with vacations or distractions. I filled it with more workouts and more basketball. That seamless transition mattered.”
“For 15 straight years, there was no pause. No reset. No break. The season would end in the fourth quarter, the whistle would blow, and my next season had already begun.”
“That was the standard I set for myself.”
Before the final whistle of his last game, he was already mentally in the next season. When teammates planned vacations, he went straight to the weight room. What coaches interpreted as emotional release was, for him, the beginning of offseason training.
That level of commitment sounds admirable on the surface. It is also revealing. Alexander admits it was cultural as much as physical. He wanted to build a mindset where nothing outside basketball felt more exciting. Free time was not freedom; it was more time to train.
There is something both impressive and troubling in that admission. The same standard that fuels elite performance can hollow out identity beyond the sport. Alexander suggests that once the rewiring happens, there is no easy return to normalcy.
Alexander, born in Taiwan and raised in the United States before later representing Israel internationally, was selected eighth overall in the 2008 NBA Draft by the Milwaukee Bucks. He later spent time with the Chicago Bulls before his NBA career concluded. Across two NBA seasons, he averaged 4.2 points and 1.1 rebounds in limited minutes, appearing in 67 games.
On paper, that resume looks modest. His career, however, extended far beyond the NBA.
Alexander played professionally for 15 years, competing across multiple countries and leagues, including stints in Russia, Israel, Italy, Turkey, France, South Korea, and Iran.
Teams such as Maccabi Tel Aviv, Dinamo Sassari, Hapoel Holon, Besiktas, ESSM Le Portel, Ironi Nahariya, Jeonju KCC Egis, Maccabi Rishon LeZion, Maccabi Haifa, and Hapoel Jerusalem that became part of a journey defined less by headlines and more by survival.
He officially stepped away from professional basketball in 2023, closing a chapter that spanned continents and cultures.
His career may not include All-Star selections or championship rings, but his testimony offers rare insight into the cost of professional athletics. Beneath the spectacle, endorsements, and highlight reels lies a reality that many fans rarely consider. Chronic pain, psychological strain, and an all-consuming commitment are often the true engines behind what we label as greatness.
In that sense, Alexander’s most important contribution may not have been on the stat sheet, but in pulling back the curtain on what it actually takes to endure 15 years at the professional level.
