Joel Embiid Is in Trouble: Why the 76ers’ MVP Center Now Faces Injury Concerns, Playoff Pressure and a Shrinking Window to Deliver a Championship

For nearly a decade, Joel Embiid has been one of the most polarizing stars in basketball.

Fans criticize the antics, the trolling, the flopping, the memes. Opposing fan bases say they “hate” him. Some even go as far as to question his actual basketball ability, which is absurd if you’ve watched more than five minutes of healthy Joel Embiid.

Because when he is healthy, he’s not just an All‑Star. He’s arguably the best center in the world not named Nikola Jokić—and some would push that “arguably” pretty hard.

How many big men alive can give you 34 points a night and make it look like a casual Tuesday?

The problem with Embiid has never been talent. It’s availability. The version of Embiid that dominated the league so thoroughly he snatched an MVP out of Jokić’s hands in the middle of the Serbian’s prime has become something close to a myth: remembered, revered, rarely seen for long stretches.

And this season, the unease around his health has hardened into something more serious. The questions about his body are no longer just about rest, conditioning, or timing. People are starting to fear the worst: is his body simply done cooperating?

A Star Born in Fast‑Forward

Joel Embiid’s basketball story has always been about accelerated growth.

He arrived at Kansas as a raw project, new to the game, barely scratching the surface of his potential. He was far from polished. He felt imposter syndrome. But he had something that couldn’t be taught at that speed: he learned faster than everyone else.

By the end of his freshman season with the Jayhawks, NBA scouts had him projected as a potential number one overall pick. One hyper‑coordinated Dream Shake was enough for many talent evaluators to say, “This is different.”

With hindsight, it’s obvious: he should have gone first in the 2014 draft. Instead, injury concerns dropped him to third, behind Andrew Wiggins and Jabari Parker. Wiggins became a solid starter. Jabari, after a series of knee injuries, is now playing overseas and publicly claiming the NBA is “watered down” compared to Europe.

Embiid, meanwhile, turned into a franchise cornerstone.

Slipping to No. 3 dropped him into a city that matched his personality and intensity perfectly. Philadelphia loved him from the moment he began talking about “The Process.” But even with the perfect fit, the beginning was brutal.

Two Years of Waiting and a Personal Tragedy

For most rookies, the waiting starts after Draft Night. For Embiid, it barely ended.

Two full years after being drafted, he still hadn’t played an NBA game.

His foot injury wasn’t healing the way the team hoped. He needed a second surgery. His enormous frame was still growing, complicating the recovery. The Sixers issued optimistic updates. Behind the scenes, there was nothing simple about it.

All the while, the chatter grew uglier. People called him lazy, suggested he wasn’t taking rehab seriously, questioned his mentality.

They did this while he was dealing with something far worse than a broken bone.

During that time, Embiid lost his younger brother in a tragic traffic accident in Cameroon. He had nothing to do with what happened. But grief doesn’t care about blame or logic. It leaves you searching for answers, sometimes even feeling responsible for things you couldn’t control.

He has admitted he considered giving up basketball entirely during that stretch.

Imagine that: before playing a single NBA minute, he was dealing with a destroyed foot, a grieving family, endless public doubt, and the creeping fear that his body might not let him fulfill the potential everyone saw in him.

Arrival—and Instant Dominance

When Embiid finally did debut, he wasn’t just good.

He was everything the hype promised and then some.

The skills were ridiculous: back‑to‑the‑basket scoring, face‑up jumpers, three‑point range, touch, power, footwork. He quickly climbed the league’s hierarchy and almost immediately became one of the best big men in basketball.

The stat lines looked like video‑game creations: 34 points, 11 rebounds, 5 assists, 2 blocks—on high volume and real efficiency. He wasn’t a novelty. He was a force.

Most impressively, he did something almost no one has done since Jokić emerged as the big man of this era: he broke through the Denver star’s MVP stranglehold.

In 2022‑23, Embiid ripped the award out of Jokić’s hands, leading the league in scoring while anchoring a top team. You don’t win MVPs in the middle of another all‑time great’s prime by accident.

He flirted with deep playoff runs too. With Jimmy Butler and Ben Simmons, he was a quadruple bounce away from the Eastern Conference finals—until Kawhi Leonard’s infamous game‑winner in 2019 ended that dream and produced the single most painful shot in Sixers history.

Harden, Hopes, and Another Collapse

Later, James Harden arrived. On paper, it was perfect.

Prime or near‑prime Harden, able to oscillate between scorer and pure point guard, feeding one of the most dominant interior scorers in the game? It worked in stretches. Embiid’s pick‑and‑roll numbers with Harden were devastating.

But again, injuries, conditioning questions, and Harden’s familiar playoff fadeouts kept slamming the door in Philadelphia’s face. Every time it looked like they might finally break through, something went wrong—often involving Embiid’s body.

Then came the 2024 first‑round series against the Knicks, a microcosm of everything that has defined the worst parts of his career.

Playing Through Hell

Embiid entered that series just weeks removed from a meniscus surgery on his left knee. He was clearly hobbled, but still tried to carry the load.

In one surreal play, he threw a lob to himself off the backboard and dunked over New York’s defenders. On the surface, it was a classic Embiid dominance highlight. The aftermath told another story.

Lying on the floor, his hands went straight to his head. His face wasn’t celebrating. It was terrified.

He knew something was wrong.

To make matters worse, he was dealing with Bell’s palsy—a form of facial paralysis that can cause eye issues, headaches, and fatigue. He’d been diagnosed before the series after suffering severe migraines. His left eye wouldn’t fully close, making real sleep nearly impossible.

So he played Knicks playoff basketball with:

A recently repaired knee.
Blurry vision.
Constant migraines.
A body screaming at him to stop.

Teammate Nicolas Batum later said that seeing Embiid’s knee before and after games was “terrifying,” and that he had no idea how the big man was even able to walk, let alone play.

And yet, in a must‑win game, Embiid still dropped 50 points, going 13‑for‑19 from the field.

He finished the series. The Sixers did not. And no one knows exactly how much damage was done to his knee in the process.

Afterward, Embiid admitted that he entered games knowing he had maybe “two good quarters” in him before adrenaline faded and pain took over. He said he wished someone in the organization had stepped in and saved him from himself.

They didn’t. Instead, he put on the cape, again, and his body paid the price, again.

The Summer Gold—and the Bill

It would be understandable if, after that ordeal, Embiid had taken the summer off.

He didn’t.

He played for Team USA, helping lead them to a gold medal in the Olympics. He was one of the keys to the roster, particularly in a matchup against Nikola Jokić and Serbia. There are few players in the world better suited to battle Jokić in the frontcourt than a locked‑in, prepared Embiid.

USA needed him. They got him. He delivered.

But he didn’t give himself what he needed most: rest.

He’s admitted as much. There wasn’t enough recovery between playoff punishment, Olympic obligations, and another long NBA grind. And instead of being celebrated, he got criticized again—this time for choosing to play for Team USA instead of Cameroon or France, with some pundits framing it as “taking the easy way.”

Meanwhile, in Philadelphia, the Sixers loaded up for another run, signing Paul George to a four‑year, $212 million deal to form a new big three with Embiid and Tyrese Maxey.

On paper, this was the cleanest fit he’s ever had.

In reality, his body still wasn’t right.

A Season That Never Really Started

Even with his knee issues, Embiid managed to average 23.8 points, 8.2 rebounds, and 4.5 assists in just 19 games last season before being shut down.

The production looked fine. The way he got there did not.

According to ESPN, he spent the entire year either recovering from or playing through pain. He received multiple injections to control swelling and discomfort. Time didn’t heal anything. It just delayed the inevitable.

Eventually, Philadelphia shut him down and consulted multiple specialists. No one had an easy answer.

By August, reports surfaced that his left knee was in “bad shape,” and there was genuine concern he might not be ready for training camp. Some rival executives even speculated that the Sixers already regretted the massive extension they gave him in September 2024.

The good news: Embiid did show up to camp. He looked noticeably slimmer. He even played in the preseason finale—his first game action since late February.

In 19 minutes against Minnesota, he put up 14 points, 7 rebounds, 8 assists, and 3 steals on 5‑for‑10 shooting, including 2‑for‑4 from three.

He grabbed a rebound, went coast‑to‑coast, and uncorked a long, gliding Euro step to finish. For a moment, it felt like the old Embiid was back.

The stat that really stood out was the eight assists. It was intentional. When asked about his passing afterward, Embiid quipped:

“According to a lot of your peers, I’m not even a top 100 basketball player in this league. So I guess I got to fit in and see where I can help a team win. We got a bunch of athletes. We got to release them.”

It was classic Embiid—funny, petty, defiant. And it was exactly what Sixers fans wanted to hear.

He had Maxey—a budding star. Rookie VJ Edgecombe looked ready to make noise. Quentin Grimes was coming off a 21.9‑points‑per‑game season with Philly. Jared McCain, before his injury, showed serious flashes.

There were mouths to feed. Embiid was ready to be the passer, the hub, the connector.

All he had to do was stay on the floor.

A Body That Won’t Cooperate

His regular-season debut told a different story.

On a minutes restriction against Boston, he went 1‑for‑9 from the field for four points. The rust was obvious. More troubling was the way he moved.

The explosive movements we took for granted were missing. He looked hesitant to leave the floor. Even routine jumps and contests seemed muted. Watching him, you sensed not just pain, but fear—a lack of trust.

Anyone who has gone through serious injury—torn Achilles, ACL, major knee surgery—recognizes the look. It’s not laziness. It’s your brain screaming that any sudden movement could end badly.

Hall of Famer Kevin Garnett was among those who publicly called him out, questioning what Embiid had done all summer and suggesting he should have been ready by now.

It made for good TV. It did not reflect reality.

This isn’t a case of a star winging his way through offseason workouts and coasting into shape. Embiid has been at war with his own body for years. He is not “shacking it up” in the summer. He’s trying, again and again, to find a version of himself that can survive an NBA calendar.

Even when he looked relatively healthy this season, you could see the uncertainty every time he hit the deck. Fans held their breath after every fall, wondering: Is this the one?

On November 11, another ominous note: he was ruled out against Boston with right knee soreness.

The left knee has been the main villain. Now the right one, which has had issues in the past, was acting up too.

Nick Nurse didn’t sugarcoat things. He said there was no clear expectation for Embiid’s return—no definitive good news, no soft landing. “Day‑to‑day,” they called it, while also admitting he likely needed “more time.”

Day‑to‑day with no timeline is not comfort. It’s a familiar fog.

Still a Star—When He’s There

Before the right knee flared up, Embiid had played six games, averaging:

19.7 points
5.5 rebounds
3.3 assists

in just 23.3 minutes per game.

The explosiveness was muted. The dunk attempts were rare. He was taking more jumpers, leaping less often and less aggressively. But the skill was still there.

He’d catch the ball at the elbow, drop it between his legs, flow immediately into a screen for Maxey, and the guard would bury a three. The chemistry was obvious.

Even at what looked like maybe 40 percent of himself, he was still one of the best bigs in the league.

His teammates know it. Asked about the team’s ceiling with a healthy Embiid, one teammate smiled and said:

“He’s playing 20 minutes and still having 25 points. With big fella back up there, I think we’re gonna win a chip if you ask me. I don’t care what anyone else got to say.”

Paul George still has game. Maxey has been one of the best guards in basketball. Andre Drummond reinvented himself as a useful big again. Fresh faces like Bona have flashed real potential.

But when the postseason hits, when the game slows and every possession is a half‑court war, none of it matters if Joel Embiid is not on the floor.

He is their ceiling.

What Are the Sixers Supposed to Do?

This is where the conversation turns uncomfortable.

If you’re the Sixers, how do you handle this?

On pure basketball terms, Embiid is still a franchise player. When he plays at 80–90 percent of his peak, you have a realistic chance against anyone. You don’t just trade players like that because you’re nervous.

On the other hand, the pattern is impossible to ignore:

Long stretches of dominance.
A brutal injury or flare‑up.
A rushed return.
Heroic but compromised performances.
Another shutdown.

If it were up to some fans (and some columnists), the answer might be radical: don’t play him until February or March. Keep him “game‑ready” but preserve his knees for the playoffs. Let teams think they’ve figured out the new‑look Sixers, and then unleash a rested Embiid when it matters.

The real world is messier. Sit him all that time and you risk rust, rhythm issues, chemistry disruptions, and a locker room wondering if help is actually coming.

Yet there is a point—if he continues to have setbacks even after extended rest—where the organization will have to confront brutal truths:

Will his knees ever allow him to be the player they’re paying for?
How many more all‑in seasons can you reasonably build around him?
At what point does protecting him from himself mean protecting the franchise from an unsustainable bet?

No one in Philadelphia wants to have that conversation. No one in the NBA does. Everyone wants to see Embiid smiling like he did after that comeback win over the Wizards, enjoying the game as much as anyone in the arena.

But time, and knees, don’t care.

The Human Side of the “Process”

It’s easy to talk about Embiid as an asset: as a contract number, a PER, a usage rate, a medical file.

It’s harder to remember he’s also a person who has:

Grieved a brother.
Spent years waiting just to play.
Carried a franchise and a city’s hopes.
Been publicly dragged for injuries he’d give anything not to have.
Fought his own instincts to play through pain that would sideline most people.

He is not lazy. He is not soft. He is not some villain conspiring to ruin “The Process.” He’s a generational talent whose body has repeatedly failed him at the absolute worst times.

That doesn’t make the Sixers’ decisions any easier. They still have to plan for a future that might not include a fully healthy Embiid. They still have to decide how much to build around Maxey and the young core. They still have to weigh loyalty, potential, medical reality, and a fanbase that wants banners, not medical updates.

But as the discourse swirls—about his conditioning, his summer choices, his durability—one fact remains:

When Joel Embiid is right, there are maybe five players on earth who impact winning more.

The tragedy of his career so far isn’t that he “hasn’t done enough.” It’s that we’ve gotten so little of that version of him.

And as another season hangs in the balance, the question is no longer whether he’s good enough.

It’s whether his knees will ever let us see that greatness consistently again.

In Philadelphia, they’re hoping the answer is yes.

They’ve been hoping for a decade.