Washington’s Real Collapse Isn’t the Third Quarter — It’s the Second
Technically, it is all quarters.
It is one thing to be bad, it is another thing to not know why you are bad.
Think about a ship: it is one thing to recognize that the ship is sinking. However, in the panic, you can sometimes forget to recognize the root cause. Was it hitting an iceberg? Was it being overweight? Was it that large hole created in construction that everyone looked at thought, “This is fine, what could possible go wrong?”
You just want to get off the sinking ship.
When you’re a team like Washington, potentially with multiple root causes, it becomes a challenge to just define the most important of the bunch. Is it the lack of point guard depth? Is it the coaching staff? Is it Cam Whitmore still not passing the ball enough? Is it the pre-destined nature of a tanking season?
To start to answer those questions, you still have to locate the point of impact. Many point to the third quarter, the start of the second half. Maybe we should be looking at the second quarter instead.
The statistics, within a vacuum, make the argument pretty easy: the Wizards are performing the worst in the NBA during quarters 2 and 4 compared to their contemporaries — with their average deficit in the fourth being straight-up abysmal. It is the conversation starter before you get into the meat and potatoes.
The story being told here is that Washington enters each half executing an agenda and as the game progresses, Washington isn’t able to adjust with time. Which, is a pretty fair story to be told. Seems right.
But again, we need that second level of questioning: why is this the case?
Washington opens games incredibly well given the circumstances of their team. Their starters rank 16th in the NBA in points produced (21.0) in the first quarter while recording the second highest three point shooting percentage (44.7%). Washington does partake in the habit of early possession three point looks within the two-man game. And the the simplified sets we often see with the first-team unit can really mask deeper structural issues — at least for a while. When everything is scripted, when the rotations are predictable, when the reads are limited to one or two options, Washington can look competent. They can look organized. They can even look dangerous in short bursts.
Which is kind of why we have to compare things over time — how do things change? Well, we begin to see the stark drop off.
In the second quarter, the Washington Wizards have the worst net rating in the NBA — -18.3. And yes, their fourth quarter net rating is even worse — -29.7. All net rating really is points scored per 100 possessions substracted by the points allowed per 100 possessions. That is not the stat of a team that simply “loses steam.” That is the stat of a team that unravels structurally the moment the game veers off script.
And that’s where the conversation shifts from the players to the architecture. If we separate it by starters versus the bench — which yes, does differ game to game, we get an interesting impression. With the bench, it is somewhat consistently bad.
This isn’t all too surprising. Washington bench often has to absolve the pain and struggles with depth chart. The lack of point guard depth subjects Washington’s bench to operate typically with either fatigued members or “mix-and-match” iterations. Similarly, the recent injuries to the center position have lead to not just smaller line-ups but incomplete line-ups.
The starters, on the other hand, tell an interesting story: we have large variance in their net rating quarter over quarter — even if still generally net negative.
This can tell us a few things, and none of them are particularly flattering.
First, it suggests that the starters aren’t inherently doomed possessions machines. They’re not so limited in talent that the bottom is inevitable. Rather, they are a unit that performs almost entirely in relation to context — the structure around them, the clarity of the asks, the rhythm of the game. When those variables are controlled, they function. When they aren’t, they drift. The variance in their quarter-to-quarter net rating reflects a group that is reactive instead of directive.
Second, it hints at a deeper issue: the starters don’t scale. They don’t translate across scenarios. They are strong in the narrow window where the game-state aligns with the game-plan, and once it bends, their advantages evaporate. That’s not about effort. That’s not about “losing steam.” That’s about the absence of a foundational identity — both offensively and defensively — that can carry them through the jagged parts of an NBA game.
This can maybe be best represented in Kyshawn George. George is, in many ways, the idealized version of what this organization hopes to build around: big, skilled, unselfish, connective, and adaptable. He sees the floor. He makes the extra pass. He can run a handoff, lift from the corner, or initiate a possession when the ball swings to him late in the clock.
In a scripted first quarter, with the starters, George looks polished and poised — a player who elevates the unit by simply making the correct, clean, low-maintenance decisions. He’s an efficient cog in a machine running along a predictable track. Put him in structure and he amplifies it. Put him in order and he harmonizes with it. But in the second quarter? In the fourth? When the game devolves into advantage creation, misdirection, clock management, and improvisation? Things don’t work as well.
And third, the statistics reinforce that Washington’s issues aren’t about one position, one player, or one decision. They are systemic.
If you wanted the case against Brian Keefe as a head coach, it has always been his management of player minutes. It has been something that has plagued him throughout his two and a half seasons as a head coach.
Not to bring up an old name but in Deni Avdija’s 43 point breakout performance against the Pelicans in 2024, Washington lost the game as Zion Williamson attacked a fatigued Avdija in isolation1 as Keefe struggled to find a way to get his saving grace rest. Fun fact: CJ McCollum was also participating in that game.
This season, rotation management — not to the same fatigue degree — still remains an issue as highlighted against the Detroit Pistons. Washington entered the fourth quarter with a 96 to 87 lead thanks to a very aggressive third quarter with all starters recording 7 or more minutes of action. CJ McCollum entered the fourth having played 28 minutes, Alex Sarr right behind him with 24 minutes played. This was no match to Cade Cunningham — who played the entire third quarter due to the Pistons’ roster availability.
But the real problem came with Kyshawn George — not because of what you are thinking. He re-enters the fourth quarter with just under 8 minutes to go and three fouls. In the next three minutes, he records two fouls — a loose ball foul and then a consequential fifth foul onto Cade Cunningham as he drives to the basket.
Brian Keefe had to adjust — re-entering McCollum and Cam Whitmore into the contest with an 8 point lead that was already beginning to dwindle. Washington would now have to spend the final four minutes of the game playing chicken — finding the right time to bring George back into the game.
And, well, we know how the rest of that game went.
But it would also shine a magnifying glass on other line-ups thrown together in that game — how George would get his third foul having to guard Ron Holland on the perimeter with Tre Johnson re-entering the game in the second quarter.
That quarter saw 7 substitutions sets with 8 total changes. On paper, that volume of adjustment suggests a coach searching for matchups, trying to patch holes, attempting to navigate foul trouble and shaky lineups. But in practice, it painted a different picture: a team without a stabilizing spine, a rotation without hierarchy, and a coaching staff reacting to problems rather than anticipating them.
Just last night, Washington would watch as the game completely fell out of their control in the second quarter — albeit a depth chart riddled with injuries. Despite five sets of substitutions in the second quarter, Washington could not find a inch of comfort. And to no surprise, the lone player that could would be Bub Carrington, the iron man playing the entirety of it — recording 9 points and 2 assists in the second.
Carrington’s steadiness in that stretch wasn’t just about scoring. It was about clarity. He knew what he was supposed to do, how he was supposed to do it, and where his outlets would be. His minutes had definition — and therefore, so did his impact. And when a team is this structurally fragile, the players who provide even a sliver of definitional certainty tend to look like lifelines.
On the contrary, a player like Kyshawn George would fluctuate between roles — substituting in for Malaki Branham at the 3, substituting back out and then returning for CJ McCollum and then adjusting once against when McCollum would re-enter the game minutes later.
The second quarter is the NBA’s great equalizer. It’s the point where starters begin to stagger, where scouting reports start to adjust, where the opposing bench tests your depth, your flexibility, your principles, your ability to problem-solve. It’s where coaching matters. It’s where roster cohesion matters. It’s where structure matters. It’s where habits matter.
It’s the first moment in a game where you no longer get to hide. And Washington fails that moment — routinely, catastrophically, and in ways that reveal the truth beneath every other stat you could dig up.
Their pace of play compounds this to a degree that can sometimes become borderline unstoppable. It is not a surprise that Washington’s pace is at its highest in the second quarter — a reality of a team operating with their collective heads cut off.
The second quarter exposes that Washington does not yet have a working identity. Not a real one. Not one that withstands lineup changes, foul trouble, fatigue, or disruption. It exposes how fragile the offensive ecosystem is without a stabilizing guard. It exposes how much of the defense is reliant on length and effort rather than principle and anticipation. It exposes how quickly the Wizards can lose the plot when a game stops being about the thing you practiced and starts being about the thing you must figure out on the fly.
And if you want to blame the coaching staff for this, there’s a really good argument for it.
I would never intentionally include a clip of Deni Avdija getting bullied because I am petty. I would never do such a thing.