Think about the best co-worker you’ve ever had.
They made your job easier. You trusted them when things got hectic, knew they would do their part, and probably got better at your own job because they pushed you. You celebrated the big wins together and complained to each other when you-know-what hit the fan.
Then five o’clock rolled around and you both went home.
Odds are, you weren’t grabbing dinner every Friday or planning vacations together. You worked well together, and that was enough.
For some
reason, that standard has always felt insufficient when applied to NBA stars.
Last week, Jaylen Brown was asked during his introductory press conference in Philadelphia whether he had spoken to Jayson Tatum since the trade that ended one of the league’s longest-running star partnerships.
“Not really.”
Two words were enough to reopen a conversation that followed Tatum and Brown for most of nine seasons. For some, Brown’s answer felt like confirmation. I’m sure plenty of people out there had a reaction in the vein of, “See, I told you they weren’t close!” For anyone who spent years questioning whether two ambitious stars could coexist, those two words probably tasted a lot like vindication.
The problem is that the basketball has always told us otherwise.
Boston spent years watching Tatum and Brown grow together, adjust to each other, endure playoff failures, survive roster turnover and eventually win a championship. Brown never publicly demanded his own team. Tatum never asked the Celtics to choose. Brown has since said he threw his phone across the room when he learned he had been traded, which is a pretty strange reaction for someone supposedly waiting nine years for his escape.
Brown’s latest comments tell us something about where their relationship stands now. How close they were throughout nine seasons together is harder to know.
That still leaves us with a much more interesting question: why did anyone need them to be?
The partnership everyone kept trying to diagnose
The strange thing about the Tatum-Brown coexistence debate is how long it survived while the two of them were actively coexisting.
In January 2022, with Boston sputtering through a frustrating season, Brown was asked directly about the idea that the Celtics might eventually need to choose between their two young stars.
“I disagree. I think we can play together,” he said. Brown acknowledged the team’s struggles, but his larger point was almost comically straightforward: they already had played well together for most of their careers.
He addressed the personal side, too.
“Me and J.T. talk,” Brown said. “As long as I’m on the same page with him and he’s on the same page with me, I think that’s what we’re most focused on.”
Sounds like a solid partnership, right? Still, the court of public opinion required further evidence.
Of course, there were real basketball issues worth discussing. Tatum and Brown occupied similar spaces on the floor, needed touches and were still learning how to create for one another instead of simply taking turns.
Even through all of that, the results were the results. Since Brown entered the league in 2016-17, no player has been part of more playoff wins than his 83. Tatum ranks second with 75. The partnership everyone kept trying to diagnose was quietly becoming one of the winningest duos of its era.
The legitimate basketball questions gradually got tangled up with speculation about what their relationship supposedly lacked. Body language became evidence. An offseason apart became suspicious. Any awkward quote could be stretched into another theory about whose team it really was or whether one of them would eventually demand something bigger for himself.
Then, Boston won the 2024 championship.
Brown took home Finals MVP and called Tatum his “partner in crime.” Tatum responded by saying, “We know we need each other.” Later that night, he explained that neither cared who received the individual trophy because the championship was what mattered.
Brown offered an even simpler summary afterward: “I trusted him. He trusted me.”
Maybe trust was always the more useful word with these two.
Chemistry doesn’t require friendship
The funny thing is, Tatum and Brown are hardly the first great teammates whose personal relationship was more complicated than the mythology surrounding them.
Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen became the obvious shorthand for superstar partnership. They won six championships together, and for years both spoke glowingly about what the other meant to those teams. Jordan thanked Pippen during his Hall of Fame speech and made clear that Pippen was beside him for every title. Pippen later called Jordan the best teammate he ever had.
Then the mythology started peeling away.
Pippen eventually acknowledged that their friendship was never as close as viewers assumed from watching them play together. In a sit-down with GMA’s Michael Strahan in 2021, Pippen said, “It wasn’t what you saw on the court,” explaining that the respect remained even if the personal relationship people assumed was there had been overstated.
Their relationship has become considerably messier since then. Yet none of that changes what happened on the court.
Nobody watches the ’90s Bulls and wonders whether Jordan and Pippen were capable of coexisting. Six banners have a way of quieting those conversations.
Tatum and Brown never reached anything close to that level of historical dominance, but the distinction still matters. Personal closeness and basketball chemistry are related only as much as the players involved need them to be.
What actually mattered in Boston was whether that trust translated to the court, and their championship run offered a pretty useful demonstration. Tatum scored 36 in Games 1 and 3 of the Eastern Conference Finals. Brown answered with 40 in Game 2 and a team-high 29 in the clincher. There was no nightly referendum on whose team it was. Boston needed one of them to take over, and usually one of them did.
By the end, I think they had figured that out. Mostly.
There is no reason to romanticize the relationship beyond what we know. Nine years together in that kind of pressure cooker surely presented challenges, just as any long partnership does. What we can say with certainty is that whatever their relationship looked like away from the court, it never prevented them from functioning at a championship level.
Two people can frustrate each other and still be excellent colleagues. Anyone who has held a job for longer than six months should understand this concept.
At some point, though, we started asking NBA partnerships to satisfy a more public standard. Fans started craving evidence of closeness that had very little to do with basketball. Workout videos together? Encouraging. Vacation photos during the offseason? Even better. Riding a tandem banana boat in the Bahamas? Well, that’s reserved for LeBron and his banana boat brethren.
Tatum and Brown rarely provided that kind of public proof. Instead, they gave Boston what it ultimately craves: winning.
Boston made the choice
That context matters when looking at how the partnership actually ended.
Brown didn’t force his way to Philadelphia. There was no public trade request or summer-long campaign about needing his own franchise. His reaction to the deal sounded much more like someone caught off guard.
“When I first got traded, I just threw my phone across the room,” Brown said during his Philadelphia introduction.
He later described the Celtics as having “packed” him up and admitted he was still processing everything.
None of that proves he was thrilled with every part of his life in Boston, but it does complicate the assumption that Tatum and Brown were inevitably headed toward some dramatic breakup because one of them couldn’t tolerate sharing the stage.
For years, people wondered when one of the players would make the choice for Boston.
Boston eventually made it for them.
Brown’s “not really” answer now gives everyone room to revisit the past and search for clues that were supposedly there all along. We may learn more once Celtics-Sixers games turn every spectator in the building into a relationship counselor.
Even then, the ending shouldn’t be allowed to rewrite the middle.
Tatum and Brown spent nine seasons together. They made repeated trips deep into the playoffs, recovered from some excruciating postseason losses and eventually won the title everyone said they needed to validate the experiment.
Whatever their friendship looked like, the partnership worked.
The partnership was enough
Maybe that’s the simplest way to understand Tatum and Brown.
We spent years looking for evidence that their relationship was warmer, closer or more obvious than what we could see from the outside. Maybe it was, or maybe it wasn’t. From where we sit, we can’t really know.
What we can judge is what happened when they shared a basketball court. There, they survived ugly seasons, brutal playoff exits, role changes and all the noise that followed them over nearly a decade. When the pressure was highest, they eventually figured out how to trust each other enough to deliver a championship.
Brown’s latest comments tell us something about how much they’ve communicated since the trade. How close they were throughout nine seasons together is harder to know. For nine seasons, Tatum and Brown kept answering the question that actually mattered. They trusted each other enough to grow together, lose together and eventually win together.
Personally, I’m taking Banner 18 over bestie behavior every day of the week.
