Boston had this series. That’s really the only place to start.

Up 3-1. Up double digits in Game 5. At home. And somehow it turns into a Game 7 loss and a first-round exit. Final score: 76ers 109, Celtics 100. Season over.

That’s what makes it bad. Not just losing — how it happened. This wasn’t a matchup they couldn’t solve. They had control of it for four games. Then they just… stopped being the better team. Possession by possession, that edge disappeared.

And yeah, Tatum being out in Game 7 matters. Of course it does. But this didn’t start there. Game 5 got away from them. Game 6 got worse. By the time Game 7 rolled around, it already felt like Boston was the one chasing.

That’s the part that sticks. This is a 56-win team. Same core that’s been deep in the playoffs for years, already won a title together. You expect a level of control from that group, especially when they’re up 3-1. Instead, it turned into yet another series where the three-point shot becomes their downfall.

So the question isn’t some dramatic “blow it up” thing. It’s simpler than that. When the game tightens up, what do they actually trust? Because in the postseason, the three hasn't been a reliable answer.

This Wasn’t Supposed to Be the Problem Round

Let’s back this up a bit. Tatum tears his Achilles in the second round last year and misses the first 66 games of the regular season. That’s normally the kind of thing that resets your expectations overnight. You go from contender to “just get through the year.” Coming into the year, I think a lot of Celtics fans felt that way.

It didn't take that long for those expectations to start coming back.

Jaylen Brown took on a different kind of responsibility, and it showed up everywhere. The scoring jump to 28.7 wasn’t just volume — it was how they got it. More downhill, more pressure on the rim, more possessions where he was clearly the first option instead of the fallback. This was his team now. They leaned into him, and for the most part, he delivered.

What kept the whole thing from wobbling was the defense. That never really left. Around 107 points allowed per game, still one of the better units in the league, still switching everything, still making teams uncomfortable night in and night out. Even when the offense got a little clunky, they could grind games out because they trusted that end.

And then there’s the roster part of it, which could’ve easily gone sideways. No Kristaps Porzingis. No Jrue Holiday. No Al Horford. That’s not minor turnover — that’s core identity stuff. Instead of trying to replace it one-for-one, they pieced it together. Queta gave them size and energy. Boucher brought some versatility. Garza soaked up minutes. Younger guys like Hugo Gonzalez and Jordan Walsh weren’t perfect, but they didn’t sink them either.

By the time the regular season ended, it didn’t feel like a bridge year anymore. It felt like a team you had to take seriously.

So going into the playoffs, the expectation wasn’t some media-driven hype cycle. You win 56 games in the East, you’ve earned real expectations. Simple as that.

And early in the Philly series, it looked like they were going to meet them.

Game 1 in Boston: 123-91. Not even competitive. Embiid didn’t play, and it showed. Tatum looked comfortable in his first playoff game back — 25, 11, and 7 without forcing anything. Brown added 26, the defense swarmed, and Philly just didn’t have enough creation without their best player.

Game 2: 111-97 loss. Still no Embiid. This one was more about Philly’s guards. Maxey and Edgecombe combined for 59 points and Boston shot 26% on a whopping 50 three-point attempts. It didn’t feel like a shift — more like a missed opportunity to go up 2-0 with the opponent short-handed.

Game 3 on the road: 108-100. Again, no Embiid. This is the one you’re supposed to take, and they did. Both Jays at 25, controlled most of the night, closed it out late. Up 2-1, still firmly in control.

Game 4: 128-96. Embiid comes back after the appendectomy, and Boston still runs them off the floor. He had his moments, but Boston dictated everything — pace, spacing, shot quality.

At that point, it felt like Boston had an answer for everything the Sixers threw at them.

When Embiid Got Right, Everything Changed

And then it all unraveled in ways that felt painfully familiar.

Game 5 back home: 113-97 loss. Philly flips the script behind Embiid's 33. He looked comfortable in the offense again after missing all that time. Boston, meanwhile, shoots an abismal 40% from the floor, and again under 30% from three.

Game 6 in Philly: 106-93. Tyrese Maxey goes nuclear with 30, Paul George resurges for 23, and the Sixers play their most complete game of the year.

Suddenly it’s 3-3. The Garden crowd for Game 7 is electric, but you could feel the tension. Tatum’s knee stiffness keeps him out — another gut punch after he’d been easing back in. Brown drops 33 trying to drag everybody, but it’s not enough. Embiid does Embiid things — 34 points, 12 boards, 6 assists in the closeout. Maxey adds 30 with 11 boards and 7 assists, including those back-breaking plays late when Boston had a chance to to mount a comeback.

A Style That Didn’t Hold Up

The style of play is something this team has to figure out a way to fix, because it didn’t come out of nowhere. All year, this team leaned into the math — spread you out, move it, hunt threes, trust that over 48 minutes they’d get enough clean looks to win. And most nights, they did. It’s why the offense looked so smooth for long stretches of the season.

But playoff basketball isn’t played over 82 games. It tightens up. Possessions slow down. Teams stop giving you the easy stuff and start asking, “what do you have when the first option isn’t there?” Philly answered that question by making everything a little more uncomfortable. They switched more, they got into bodies, they stayed home on shooters just enough to force tougher looks, and they were fine living with Boston's tough shots.

And that’s where it flipped. The same shots that feel automatic in January start feeling a lot different in a tied fourth quarter in May. And it went urther than the misses — they seemed to come at the worst times. Empty trips when Boston had a chance to stretch a lead. Quick misses that let Philly run. Stuff you simply can't have in the playoffs.

The supporting cast is part of it too, and this is where the regular season can be a little misleading. Guys like Pritchard, Hauser, Queta — they all had real value over 82. They fit the system, they made shots, they kept things steady. But in a series like this, roles shrink. You’re asked to do less, but do it perfectly. And when the pressure ramps up, that's not an easy task. A couple missed shots, a late rotation, and suddenly you’re on the bench.

That puts more and more on the main guys, and you could feel that in this series. The offense got a little more stagnant, a little more reliant on Brown creating something out of nothing or Tatum (when he was out there) having to win tougher matchups. Instead of bending the defense and kicking out, it turned into more standstill possessions.

Defensively, it wasn’t a disaster, but it stopped being an advantage. Early in the series, Boston could control things and live with the results. Once Embiid got comfortable and Maxey found rhythm, that changed. Maxey got downhill with ease, and Embiid got to his spots without as much resistance.

And the frustrating part? None of this is brand new. For as good as this Celtics team has been over the last five-plus years, the one thing that has consistently been able to stop them is the three-point shot turning on them. Not talent. Not effort. Not some grand issue with Tatum and Brown. When Boston makes enough threes, the whole machine looks impossible to deal with. When those shots don't fall, the offense can start to look shockingly ordinary for a team this good.

That’s been the theme in their last four playoff exits. This series against Philly, last year against the Knicks, the 2023 East Finals against Miami, and the 2022 Finals against Golden State all had the same ugly trend: in the games Boston lost in those series, the Celtics shot under 29% from three. That’s not a small cold spell. That’s the foundation cracking. And it’s not like they stopped taking them, either. They still averaged 40-plus three-point attempts per game in those losses, which tells you everything about how committed they are to the numbers, even when the math is punching them in the face.

That’s the real issue. This team goes as their shot goes, and for the most part, they've been willing to live with that. Sometimes it looks brilliant. Sometimes it looks like the cleanest, smartest version of modern basketball. But in these playoff exits, it's also been their demise. When the threes stop falling, they haven’t always had enough easy offense to balance it out.

That doesn’t mean the Celtics need to abandon who they are. The title in ’24 showed everyone that the approach can work with the right roster. But it does mean they can’t keep pretending this is just bad luck every time it happens. At some point, four playoff exits with the same problem becomes a pattern.

This series was just another reminder that Boston’s biggest opponent isn’t always the team they're playing against.

Time to Fix What Keeps Breaking

This offseason has to be about real change — but not just swapping role players and calling it a fix. The roster tweaks matter, sure. They need more physical wings, more reliable size, guys who don’t disappear when the game slows down. But that’s not the real issue. The real issue is philosophical.

This team has fully bought into their shot selection — at times to their own downfall. But the key part here is that the mindset didn’t start with Joe Mazzulla, so just changing the coach doesn’t feel like the answer.

If anything, you start looking higher. Brad Stevens is the first place my mind goes — not as blame, but as the architect of everything in this franchise. Because somewhere along the line, this organization decided this is who they are: shoot a ton of threes, trust the math, live with the variance.

That’s what has to change. Not completely abandoning it — but there has to be another layer. More pressure on the rim. More ways to manufacture points when the jumper isn’t there. More willingness to adjust when they see the shots aren't falling.

Tatum and Brown are good enough to win with. That’s already been proven. But whatever it is — philosophy, system, identity — that keeps pulling this team back? That has to either evolve or be removed entirely.

Because if it doesn’t, none of the other changes are going to matter. You’ll just end up right back here again.

All stats courtesy of NBA.com.

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