Trade Joel Embiid for a Philly Cheesesteak, Extra Onions and Hold The Tears

Image Credit Violin, Ri Butov

The Only Big Man Who Falls More Than Stock Prices

Joel Embiid, the Philadelphia 76ers’ crowned “Process,” has now spent a decade in the NBA, and what does he have to show for it? Not a championship ring, not even a consistent playoff presence. Instead, he’s mastered the fine art of sideline lounging, dramatic injuries, and, most recently, channeling his inner wrecking ball against the reigning rookie sensation Wemby while managing to argue his way into an ejection. If you’re a Sixers fan, you’re probably wondering: are we paying for an MVP or an extended audition for the next season of The Real Crybabies of Philadelphia?

Let’s rewind. Embiid entered the league as a towering, dominant center with a physique to make opponents tremble. Except instead of shattering backboards like Shaquille O’Neal or being a paint bully like Wilt Chamberlain, Joel apparently thought, Why crush the rim when I can clank three-pointers like a discount Steph Curry? For years, he wandered the perimeter like a lost puppy, as if he forgot his massive frame was built for one thing: physical dominance. Spoiler alert, Joel—it wasn’t built for fadeaway threes or late-game dribbling escapades.

And then there’s the injuries. Oh, the injuries. If the NBA gave out MVP awards for Most Valuable Player in a Suit, Embiid would have an entire trophy case by now. It’s almost like his bones are made of papier-mâché and his tendons are held together with scotch tape. But do we get humility from Embiid? An acknowledgment that maybe, just maybe, he should focus on staying on the court? No, what we get is more whining, more excuses, and—brace yourselves—an unhealthy amount of tears for a man his size.

Take last night’s game against the San Antonio Spurs. Facing Victor Wembanyama, the league’s future, Joel decided it was the perfect time to remind everyone that subtlety is not his strong suit. He bowled over Wembanyama like a freight train with no brakes, earning himself a technical foul and a trip to the showers after he couldn’t resist arguing with the referee—a female referee, mind you—like a toddler denied candy at the checkout aisle. Bravo, Joel. Bravo. Nothing says leadership like getting ejected because you can’t keep your emotions in check.

And yet, here we are. The Sixers are stuck with a player who, while capable of putting up MVP-caliber numbers, is as reliable as Wi-Fi on a plane. Sure, his stat line looks shiny and impressive when he’s on the court, but how often is that, really? And even when he is healthy, he’s more likely to be found flopping onto the floor than dunking over defenders. If Shaq was the Diesel, Embiid is the Prius—with a flat tire.

So, Sixers, here’s some free advice: trade him. Not for another player, not for draft picks, he’s not worth it. Let some other sucker, we mean GM take on this burden . Trade him for a couple of Philly cheesesteaks and maybe a soft pretzel. Heck, throw in some Tastykakes for good measure. At least those are consistent and won’t whine when they don’t get what they want. You deserve better, Philadelphia. You’ve endured enough with your revolving door of failed big men. Don’t let this saga drag on any longer.

Joel Embiid might have been The Process, but the process is clearly broken. Let’s cut ties and save ourselves the heartache.