Embracing the Inevitable Farewell to Joel Embiid's Prime
Hey there, basketball fans and heartbroken Sixers supporters—imagine hitting pause on the glory days of a superstar who redefined dominance on the court. The era of Joel Embiid as the undisputed heart of the Philadelphia 76ers, the driving force behind championship dreams, has effectively drawn to a close. Whether you're ready to voice it aloud (like I am) or still clinging to hope (and hey, that's totally understandable), the reality remains: counting on Embiid to anchor a title-contending squad is no longer in the cards.
And this is the part most people miss—it's not a sudden revelation. In truth, this chapter probably closed quietly some time ago, a sentiment many might echo after reading this. Yet, I believe giving it one final push to confirm its end was the wise move, especially considering how unstoppable Embiid could be at his peak. But here's where it gets controversial: are we honoring his legacy by letting go, or betraying it by moving on too soon?
At the risk of drawing a parallel between two profoundly different experiences—the sorrow of losing a cherished loved one and the disappointment of watching a beloved athlete's decline—allow me to introduce you to a concept called anticipatory grief. I stumbled upon this term in Rebecca DiTore's heartfelt book, I'd Still Choose You (available on Amazon at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D2RQZCR2?ref=cmswrcpuddpTGM1C4PHJQZTDQ7YSXE41, and we discussed it in depth on my podcast at https://www.rightstorickysanchez.com/p/very-important-ricky-pod-remembering). The book chronicles Rebecca's emotional journey as she navigated her husband Mike's fight with brain cancer, a battle he sadly lost in 2022. For context, if you're wondering why this resonated on the podcast, Mike was a dedicated fan of mine, and I followed his story closely after his diagnosis at age 30 as a father of two back in May 2021. I'm sharing this because I like to think Mike, wherever he is now, would be thrilled to hear his name tied to this conversation.
Essentially, anticipatory grief involves mentally processing an impending loss while the person is still present. It's a proactive way to emotionally prepare for the final goodbye, helping you support the individual during their toughest times and offer comfort to loved ones afterward. Think of it as a psychological rehearsal that softens the blow—perhaps like practicing for a big presentation to build confidence, but in this case, it's about grief.
I'm currently navigating this anticipatory grief stage myself regarding Embiid. It's clear he's unlikely to regain anything resembling his pre-injury form from that unfortunate collision with Jonathan Kuminga, except maybe in sporadic bursts. Those fleeting glimpses of the old Joel—the one dominating with his signature dribble-drive moves, sinking tough mid-range shots, or swatting away opposing attempts—sting even more because they remind us of what we've lost. You might convince yourself he's just rusty and needs more playing time to rediscover his groove, but honestly, that consistent, high-level court time isn't happening.
Even if, against all odds, he managed to recapture that brilliance regularly (which seems improbable), the odds of him staying healthy through a full playoff series are astronomically low. We're talking about an extended run spanning roughly two and a half months, and realistically, expecting Embiid to perform at a high level for nearly a trimester's worth of games is utterly unrealistic—kind of like betting on perfect weather for your entire summer vacation.
Moreover, the notion of relegating Embiid to a bench role, like a 'sixth man' or secondary contributor, simply doesn't hold water. As Daryl Morey himself pointed out in his recent podcast appearance (check it out at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8T6-evLUgN8), that's not feasible.
What really underscores this reckoning is the spectacular emergence of Tyrese Maxey, a topic Mike O'Connor explored beautifully in his piece last week (https://www.rightstorickysanchez.com/p/how-tyrese-maxeys-ascendance-should). Maxey has evolved into a bona fide star, surpassing even my wildest expectations. Could the Sixers win a championship with him as their top player? Absolutely, it's a compelling case. I once doubted it was possible with someone like Tyrese Haliburton leading the way, and now look at how feasible that seems.
This shift makes prolonging Embiid's presence under his lucrative contract—a drag on the cap space and roster flexibility for the next five years—increasingly untenable. Squandering Maxey's peak years this way is unfair. And as Mike Levin noted on last night's podcast (https://www.rightstorickysanchez.com/p/121025), it's a 'good problem' to have, albeit one that forces tough decisions.
Over the coming weeks, I'll be working through my own mourning process. Acknowledging that our champion, the embodiment of 'The Process,'—the finest Sixers player I've witnessed in my lifetime (and I'll defend that)—won't deliver another epic championship run like the unforgettable Retweet Armageddon. The player who felt so connected to us, fans, sharing in our highs and lows, remains the same person inside, but externally, he's just not capable of that anymore.
Some days, I might vent frustration at him, the team, Daryl Morey, or anyone in sight. Other times, I'll feel deep sadness. Occasionally, I might deny it altogether. This is all part of the emotional journey, one that's taken over 12 years to unfold—from witnessing Andrew Bynum's knee issues kickstart 'The Process' to now facing the same with Embiid. Even drawing this comparison feels uncomfortable, but it's the reality we're dealing with.
Eventually, the organization will confront the unthinkable: actions we once vowed were off-limits, such as bundling him with draft picks for a trade, salary dumping, or acquiring a lesser talent in exchange. There might even be debates over medical retirement. Whatever path they choose, it promises to be messy and divisive.
The goal of processing this grief now is to position myself—emotionally ready—to respond rationally and honestly when the moment arrives. I'll grant myself permission to feel all these emotions, enabling me to be supportive and constructive for Embiid, the team, and the fanbase.
What do you think, readers? Is trading away a legend like Embiid a necessary evolution for the franchise, or does it feel like abandoning a hero? Do you agree that Maxey's rise changes everything, or should we hold out hope for a miraculous comeback? Share your thoughts in the comments—I'm eager to hear differing viewpoints and spark a conversation!
Spike note: Rebecca DiTore has established a wonderful foundation in Mike's memory called The Small Moments Foundation, dedicated to bringing joy and support to kids and families grieving the loss of a parent or sibling to cancer. Consider making a donation to help out at https://www.smallmomentsfoundation.org/.
