A Look Inside the Celtics' Championship Formula

It's been a long, arduous journey to the top for the Boston Celtics; but every misstep spurred an intricate maturation process that ultimately fueled their triumph. Enjoy an extended coronation of the champs through the lense of a Celtics lifer.

By Jackson Boake | June 26, 2024

At last, they’ve done it. The Boston Celtics franchise has captured its illustrious, era-defining 18th banner—usurping the Los Angeles Lakers in the all-time hierarchy.

Boston capped off a 4-1 “gentleman’s sweep” over the Dallas Mavericks with a 106-88 wire-to-wire victory on Monday night. Jayson Tatum dropped a game-high 31 points and 11 assists. Jaylen Brown added 21 points and a suffocating defensive effort versus Luka Doncic, crowning his postseason brilliance with the Bill Russell NBA Finals MVP award.

The Celtics persevered through a dominant, yet polarizing season. “Pundits” weaponized past playoff tribulations to disparage their championship aspirations at every turn. Even as Boston smashed statistical models with their historic two-way production, external perceptions were mired in skepticism.

Their response? Incinerating playoff competition like a hot knife through butter. 

The Celtics cruised to a 16-3 postseason record in triumphs over Miami, Cleveland, Indiana, and Dallas. Losses were dissected, magnified, and extrapolated, but Boston retaliated in compelling fashion each time.

The Celtics' prosperity offers a road map for other team-building ventures. Akin to last season’s victors in Denver, Boston nourished the requisite chemistry to diversify their winning formula and dominate the margins for 48-minute stretches. Patience, introspection, and continuity guided their analytically-driven approach to sustainable success—perhaps spearheading a shift in front-office philosophies around the league while the more traditional “superteam” blueprint fades into obsolescence.

Boston’s Medusa; Dismantler of the Mavericks

Chris Forsberg brilliantly analogized the Celtics’ adaptable, synergistic cast of high-level producers to a “Medusa.” I've put a handy little graphic on the side if you've forgotten what a Medusa actually looks like.

Jayson Tatum is like the face in the middle. He’s the irreplaceable cog whose two-way superpowers are instrumental to the replicability of Boston’s success. Offensively, he’s their most frequent, reliable source of paint pressure. At 6’10” with a tight handle and bruising functional strength, Tatum bullies his way by smaller defenders while skirting past rangier, slow-footed bigs. From there, he perpetuates the offensive melody through ingenious inside-out playmaking.

The Mavericks, quite simply, weren’t able to contain Tatum on the perimeter. He constantly bent the defense out of shape and unlocked Boston’s signature drive-and-kick game. His per-game averages of 7.2 assists, 10.8 potential assists, and 17.6 assisted points created all ranked first amongst both teams in the Finals. 

Few stars are asked to replicate their offensive load on the other end, but Tatum is amongst the exceptions. His unparalleled switchability and positional rebounding are the harmonizing ingredients to unleashing the rest of Boston's devastating defensive core. Why exactly? Because players who can check guards, forwards, and centers enable the requisitive schematic freedom to optimize for your best individual defenders; not your weakest links.

Tatum’s versatility took center stage in the Finals, this time in the form of guarding opposing bigs. His size and strength combatted Daniel Gafford and Dereck Lively II in the post and on the glass, while his length and quickness allowed for Boston to switch perimeter actions with Dallas' top creators. This wrenched the Luka Doncic pick n’ roll—typically a go-to channel for manufacturing downhill penetration, but challenged by Boston’s willingness to crossmatch.

But remember: this is a Medusa. In the same way that Tatum, a walking paint-touch and defensive swiss-army knife, accentuates those around him, the expansive skillsets of his teammates reciprocate the favor by multiplying his strengths while veiling some of his blemishes (relative to other superstars). 

Tatum scraped through a chilly postseason shooting spell. His playoff true shooting aggregated a hair below 55%—a relatively low mark, elevated only by his high volumes as a finisher and foul-drawer. Amongst creation fulcrums who magnetize myriads of defensive attention, many argue that Tatum's shotmaking virtuosity lacks the consistency his rivals.

But Boston is uniquely equipped to weather these droughts, evidenced by the roundedness of their scoring attack. They disperse the arc with shooters, drivers, and savvy decision-makers at every position. Their offensive formula, predicated on locating mismatches, drawing multiple defenders, and bombing three-pointers, is conducive to their holistic style of dynamism. Tatum’s complete skillset and democratic approach unlock advantage opportunities. In turn, his teammates excel as play-finishers with the benefit of a pre-created edge.

Brown is a world-class co-star and Tatum's right-hand man; a terror in transition who blends ferocious slashing with silky touch in the mid-range. He slides perfectly into a “1B” role as a go-to scorer without the burden of conducting the entire offense.

Disclaimer: Here’s my extended Jaylen Brown ramble. He’s earned it.

This postseason accented a redemption arc for Brown. He vowed to improve upon his flaws that fueled last year’s meltdown in the Conference Finals versus the Miami Heat—a promise echoed by the Celtics’ organization when they inked his monumental $300 million contract the next month. Brown was the subject of heavy criticism deriving from the financial commitment linked to his playoff tailspin.

In big spots, Boston’s offensive attack felt too narrow, or wing-centric, last season. Their guards were overstretched as trusted creators in late-game scenarios, while their bigs lacked the offensive juice to capitalize on mismatches. Celtics’ owner Wyc Grousbeck had an epiphany: changes needed to be made.

“We’re not bringing back the same team,” he stated to President of Basketball Operations Brad Stevens and Head Coach Joe Mazzulla in meetings following the season. Boston swung big that offseason, parting with franchise mainstays in favor of Jrue Holiday and Kristaps Porzingis—a pair of big names fusing immense talent with pluggable skillsets. When the dust settled, the Celtics were loaded.

But how would Jaylen Brown, now heading Boston’s payroll, finetune his game to mesh with his new teammates?

... He did just that: he adapted, sculpting his offensive style to slide seamlessly on and off the ball while ramping up his intensity to carve out defined defensive responsibilities at the point of attack. 

Given the immensely talented roster around him, Brown’s superpowers aren’t always a necessity. In many instances, his scoring punch can be replicated by a combination of Boston’s overqualified supporting pieces. He’s not an analytics darling—the byproduct of his unflattering on/off numbers, skewed by the staggering of his minutes with Tatum’s to offset absences in creation, and his antiquated shot diet (high mid-range frequency, low free-throw rate).

But Brown’s value pops under amplified circumstances, evidenced by his irreplaceable production in the final two rounds of the playoffs. He’s the ultimate ceiling raiser who takes the baton in stride when needed most. In faceoffs with the Pacers and Mavericks, both of which he dominated, his contributions shape-shifted to optimize for stylistic discrepancies between opponents; indicative of the breadth and malleability of his prowess.

Indiana suffers from limited defensive artillery on the wing, and in checking Tatum with Aaron Nesmith, they banked on containing Brown through mixtures of ill-suited matchups. The long-tried strategy of Boston’s opponents has been as follows: exhaust your ammo on Tatum and gamble against Brown’s drawbacks as a primary initiator. 

Judgments such as this, devised from past outcomes rather than present renditions, draw parallels to most external perceptions of Boston’s collective. Brown’s evolution from an all-gas, no-brakes scorer to a multifaceted offensive operator now renders this strategy obsolete. He’s more decisive off the catch, with closeout-maneuvering that has transformed from predestined to reactive. Refined instincts have sharpened his inside-out playmaking off paint touches. His electric first step still marries a killer crossover, but his newfound ambidexterity adds prudence and replicability. Brown’s scoring attack has polished and matured, but not at the expense of its signature gusto.

Brown tallied 29.8 points per game on 51.7% shooting against Indiana en route to his first-ever Eastern Conference Finals MVP award.

But the NBA Finals truly epitomized Brown’s growth. As a singular component of Boston’s staunch defensive nucleus, his individual endeavors against Doncic proved indispensable. Boston’s defensive philosophy deviated from Dallas' other playoff opponents. Rather than churning blitzes and double-teams to combat the artistry of Doncic and Kyrie Irving, they leaned on their season-long principles of rampant switching, intrusive off-ball activity, and a strict reliance on single coverage. A spread dispersion of Boston's defensive ammo cut the facet on Maverick role players by clamping down on paint touches and corner three-point opportunities.

Though the irrepressible nature of Luka-magic often extended beyond his control, Brown’s incessant pressure and suffocating physicality proved disruptive in key moments and visibly wore down Doncic over the course of games. He ramped it up another level in Game 5 by clawing through screens and committing to full off-ball denial. Brown tantalizing defensive upside, visible in spurts over past years, fully materialized against the league’s apex creator under the brightest lights.

That, fused with a consistent outpouring of buckets and assists on the other end, earned Brown the Finals MVP award.

…We’re once again returning to the Medusa analogy. Tatum, not Brown, is the fulcrum; the sun, around which Boston’s identity revolves. But Brown resembles a ravening, gnarly, weaponized snake that grows from the face and lashes at enemies on both halves of the court. A compliment, but infinitely capable of inflicting mass destruction on its own. Tatum initiates the avalanche by searing defenses with drives and pinpointing teammates amidst the scrum, while simultaneously unsealing loads of optionality on the other end, but it's often Brown who wields the dagger.  

This title coronates the prolific Tatum-Brown partnership while also serving as a wonderful testament to their hypercharged, yet role-abiding colleagues.

Porzingis was long-touted as Boston’s “cheat code” throughout the season—an inevitable, multidimensional force who torches mismatches at a ridiculous clip. His scoring from the block, nail, and free-throw areas weaponized a whole new layer of Boston’s offense. Since NBA tracking data was introduced in 2015, Porzingis’ 1.30 points per post-up in '23-24 ranks first (!) amongst qualifying players. As a lethal shooting threat above the break, he also provides a viable counterbalance to Tatum’s gravity as a pick n’ roll/pop ball-handler.

A pair of unfortunate injuries limited Porzingis to just seven games in the postseason, many of which were played in compromised physical condition. Still, his tone-setting, legacy-defining masterpiece in Game 1 of the NBA Finals that forever penciled his name in Celtics lore. He cooked guards on cross-matches, ignited the arena with emphatic dunks, and buried a series of laser-beam triples from just inside the logo—all while deadbolting the rim on the other end. 

Porzingis’ playoff exposure may have been brief, but it wasn’t without a signature performance. 

Oh—and you couldn’t craft a more harmonious fit within Boston’s framework than Holiday and Derrick White. Both guards are spectacular compliments with similar strengths in theory, but are cut for distinctive, differentiated roles on both ends.

Holiday is a point of attack bandit who incarcerated Kyrie Irving for most of the series, warping through ball screens and barricading spread isolations in single coverage. Dallas employs a pick-your-poison offensive formula: either you allow Irving and Doncic the freedom to create 1-on-1, or you send extra help defense and, in turn, unlock their supporting cast by surrendering open catch-and-shoot looks in the corners. Holiday’s defense on Irving, paired with Brown’s aforementioned efforts on Doncic, helped Boston toe a thin line between the two that held Dallas under 100 points in four of five games.

Even with its individual talents, Boston’s defense consists of varied, specialized skillsets that amount to more than the sum of their parts. White defends admirably on the ball, but his strengths are maximized in a roamer-role—a rare niche amongst guards. His NBA Finals defensive checklist:

• Primary matchup was PJ Washington (6’8”)

• Game-sealing chase-down block in Game 2

• Exploded from a two-foot standstill to deny Lively above the rim

• Switched every single ball screen; checked Doncic and Irving in space

Versatility.

Holiday and White are also exceptional offensive players. They soak up increased usage when necessary, but thrive off the ball in capitalizing on the gravity of Boston’s stars. Holiday takes on various forms: he’s a relocation guru who delivers timely cuts, an imposing screener with seasoned roll-man skills, a perimeter threat who drifts into open spaces and cashes threes, and a devastating corner-crasher on the glass. White, meanwhile, is a deep-range flamethrower who can run pick n’ rolls, attack closeouts, and set the table for teammates without ever turning the ball over. Together, Holiday and White make for a dream backcourt next to Tatum, Brown, and Porzingis.

And then there's the glue: Al Horford.

Horford is 38 years old with more tread on his tires than almost anybody. He entered the postseason as Boston’s frontcourt second-stringer budgeted for 20-25 minutes per night. But even in his advanced age, Horford’s efficiency (3.7-1 AST:TO, 65.0% TS) and savvy defensive chops have aged like fine wine.

These contributions whiplashed from luxury to necessity the moment Porzingis went down.

Accordingly, “Big Al” maintained his steadying two-way presence as his playing time dilated. He inched near 40 minutes on select nights—an impossible ask for 99% of 38-year-old bigs, but not Horford.

Pitching into Boston’s switch-everything scheme against Dallas in the Finals was Horford’s tallest task. Because the Celtics are so loaded with defensive stoppers, their opponents relentlessly seek out pressure points to attack. Doncic and Irving were no different. Dallas employed a rinse-and-repeat offensive formula in Game 1 of spamming ball screens with Horford’s matchup to force him onto the ball, then clearing out islands of space for Doncic isolations. This was a tried approach that yielded great results in the series prior against Rudy Gobert.

But Big Al is a different beast. Doncic wins through craft, not burst—but he met his match in Boston’s cagey veteran. Doncic exhausted his inventory of crossovers, stepbacks, body bumps, and head fakes, but Horford didn’t bite.

NBA tracking data marked Doncic at 1/8 on FGs with Horford as the nearest defender in Game 1. As the series progressed, Dallas sought out other outlets for offensive creation. 

Some other notes: Mazzulla (certified sicko) coached his ass off. Sam Hauser chipped in some huge minutes as an isolation defender (?) and movement shooter. Payton Pritchard capped an awesome season with a pair of magnetizing half-court heaves. Xavier Tillman legitimately swung a Finals game. The Pacers had no answer for Oshae Brissett’s pinch-center minutes in Game 2 of the Eastern Conference Finals. Luke Kornet is fun.

Unequivocally, Boston posed unique challenges for a Mavericks team that was somewhat rigid in its identity. But that’s what makes the Celtics so special: the shape of their attack oscillates with each game as opponents simply run out of counters. Most teams struggle going off-script, but Boston doesn’t even have a script.

The strength of Boston's collective, hardened from a series of failed exhibitions and the invaluable lessons that accompanied, is what makes the Medusa.

And in true Medusa form, it turned Dallas to stone.