The Joel Embiid era, as we’ve known it, is undeniably over. Whether you’re ready to admit it or not, the reality is sinking in: the Philadelphia 76ers’ championship dreams centered around Embiid are no longer within reach. For some, this realization might feel like a sudden blow, while others have likely seen it coming for a while. Personally, I’ve reached the point where I can say it aloud, though I respect those who aren’t quite there yet.
Here’s the part most people miss: this isn’t just about a decline in performance—it’s about the emotional journey of letting go. Truthfully, the writing has been on the wall for some time, but giving it one last shot felt like the right thing to do. After all, when Embiid was at his peak, he was unstoppable. But now, even the occasional flashes of brilliance—those five-minute stretches where he dominates with his signature moves—only serve as painful reminders of what’s been lost. It’s like watching a highlight reel of what once was, knowing it’s unlikely to return consistently.
But here’s where it gets controversial: Is it fair to compare the end of a basketball era to the loss of a loved one? Probably not, but bear with me. The concept of anticipatory grief—a term I first encountered in Rebecca DiTore’s book I’d Still Choose You—feels eerily relevant here. Rebecca’s story of her husband Mike’s battle with brain cancer, which he tragically lost in 2022, introduced me to this idea. Anticipatory grief is the mental process of preparing for an inevitable loss while the person is still present. It’s about finding a way to cope emotionally, to be there for the person suffering, and to brace yourself for the finality of it all. And that’s exactly where I am with Embiid.
I know there’s little chance he’ll return to his pre-injury form, except maybe for a game here or there. The idea of him needing more ‘time on the court’ to find his rhythm feels like wishful thinking. Even if he did, the notion of him staying healthy and productive for an entire playoff run seems almost absurd. And let’s not even start on the idea of Embiid as a ‘sixth man’ or ‘role player’—as Daryl Morey himself hinted, that’s just not realistic.
What’s truly forcing this reckoning, though, is the rise of Tyrese Maxey. His ascension to superstar status has been nothing short of remarkable, and it’s reshaping the Sixers’ future. Mike O’Connor eloquently captured this shift in his recent piece, and it’s hard to ignore. Maxey’s emergence makes the idea of Embiid’s max contract lingering for the next five years feel like a wasted opportunity. You can’t let Maxey’s prime slip away while clinging to the past. As Mike Levin pointed out, it’s a good problem to have, but it’s a problem nonetheless.
So, over the next few weeks, I’ll be processing this grief. The Process—the player who felt like one of us, who carried the hopes of an entire fanbase—won’t be leading us to that championship we all dreamed of. Some days, I might feel angry; other days, just sad. And some days, I’ll probably pretend this isn’t happening at all. But it’s all part of the process—a process that’s taken over a decade, from Andrew Bynum’s failed promise to now, as Embiid’s own knees betray him. It’s a painful comparison, but it’s our reality.
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: The Sixers will eventually have to make an unthinkable move. They’ll have to attach picks to dump his salary or settle for a lesser player. Or maybe they’ll face the awkwardness of a medical retirement debate. Whatever the case, it’s going to be messy. But by going through this now, I’m preparing myself to be reasonable and honest when that day comes. I’m allowing myself to feel all the emotions, so I can be proactive and helpful when the inevitable happens—for me, for him, for all of us.
Now, here’s the question I’ll leave you with: Is it ever truly possible to let go of a player who defined an era, or will Embiid’s legacy always loom over the Sixers’ future? Let me know your thoughts in the comments—I’m genuinely curious to hear where you stand.**
Spike note: In honor of Mike’s memory, Rebecca DiTore founded The Small Moments Foundation, which brings joy and relief to families affected by cancer. If you’re able, consider supporting their incredible work with a donation.
