The Rise and Fall of Elijah Millsap in PBA: What Really Happened to His Career?
I still remember watching Elijah Millsap's PBA debut back in 2015 with high expectations. Having followed his journey from the NBA D-League to the Philippines, I was convinced we were witnessing the arrival of a game-changing import who would dominate the league for years. His athleticism was undeniable, his defensive intensity infectious, and his scoring ability seemed tailor-made for the PBA's physical style. Yet here we are, years later, discussing what ultimately became a cautionary tale about potential unfulfilled. The story of Elijah Millsap in the PBA isn't just about basketball skills—it's about how specific weaknesses can derail even the most promising careers, and how the free throw line, that seemingly simple aspect of the game, played a crucial role in his Philippine basketball narrative.
When Millsap first suited up for the Alaska Aces, his impact was immediate and electrifying. He averaged 28.7 points and 12.3 rebounds in his first conference, numbers that placed him among the league's elite imports. His defensive presence was equally impressive, with 2.5 steals per game that often sparked fast breaks and momentum shifts. I recall talking to fellow basketball analysts during that period, and we all shared the same sentiment: this guy had the tools to become one of the PBA's all-time great imports. His combination of size, strength, and basketball IQ made him a nightmare matchup for most local players and even other imports. The way he could take over games during crucial moments reminded me of legendary PBA imports like Lew Massey or Norman Black in their prime.
However, cracks began to appear in what initially seemed like a perfect basketball specimen. The most glaring issue, one that would haunt him throughout his PBA tenure, was his free throw shooting. While researching for this piece, I went back through game footage and statistics, and the numbers were startling. During his first conference with Alaska, Millsap shot just 63.2% from the charity stripe. In a league where games are often decided by slim margins, this deficiency became increasingly problematic. I remember one particular game against San Miguel where Millsap went 4-for-9 from the line in a contest that Alaska lost by just three points. Those missed free throws weren't just statistical footnotes—they represented potential victories slipping away, momentum shifting at the worst possible moments.
The reference to State University's five-point win and the Green Archers' free throw struggles perfectly illustrates the broader point about how critical this fundamental skill can be. In Millsap's case, his free throw woes created a strategic vulnerability that opposing coaches quickly exploited. Teams began employing "hack-a-Shaq" tactics against him, deliberately fouling him to send him to the line, especially during crunch time. I witnessed this firsthand during a crucial playoff game against Barangay Ginebra, where coach Tim Cone instructed his players to foul Millsap repeatedly in the fourth quarter. The strategy worked perfectly—Millsap missed 5 of 8 free throws in the final period, and Alaska lost a game they had controlled for three quarters. This became a recurring theme, and it was painful to watch a player of his caliber being reduced to a liability in high-pressure situations.
What surprised me most was that Millsap's free throw struggles seemed to affect other aspects of his game. As his confidence at the line waned, I noticed his aggression in driving to the basket diminished. He became more perimeter-oriented, settling for jump shots rather than attacking the rim where he was most effective. His field goal percentage dropped from 48.7% in his first conference to 42.3% in his second, and I believe this was directly related to his free throw anxieties. Coaches and teammates tried everything—extra shooting sessions, sports psychologists, technical adjustments—but the problem persisted. It was a classic case of the yips, that mysterious psychological block that has plagued many talented athletes across different sports.
The decline accelerated during his stint with the NLEX Road Warriors. By this point, his free throw percentage had dipped to an almost unplayable 58.1%, and teams were fouling him with impunity. I remember having a conversation with a PBA coach who confided that their game plan against Millsap-focused teams was simple: "Foul him whenever he gets near the paint in the fourth quarter." This strategic targeting not only limited his effectiveness but also seemed to wear him down mentally. The joy and confidence that characterized his early games in the PBA were gradually replaced by frustration and hesitation. It was a stark contrast to imports like Justin Brownlee or Allen Durham, whose reliability at the free throw line made them much more valuable in close games.
Looking back, I can't help but wonder what might have been if Millsap had solved his free throw issues. His career trajectory in the PBA serves as a powerful reminder that in modern basketball, especially in import-heavy leagues, weaknesses can be magnified and exploited systematically. While he possessed elite skills in multiple areas, that one deficiency ultimately defined his PBA legacy. The league has evolved to a point where imports need to be complete players—they can't have glaring holes in their game that opponents can target repeatedly. Millsap's story isn't just about basketball—it's about how our greatest strengths can be neutralized by our most persistent weaknesses, and how sometimes the simplest fundamentals can make or break a career. His time in the PBA, while memorable in many ways, ultimately serves as a cautionary tale about the importance of addressing even the most basic aspects of one's game.
