When Jayson Tatum speaks about his game, people listen. The Boston Celtics forward has developed into one of the league’s premier scorers, a versatile wing capable of controlling games with his shot-making, length, and poise. But when he took the time to reflect on his own skill set and compared it to a former Celtic, eyebrows were raised. Tatum recently revealed that he had gone back to study Evan Turner’s 2015-16 season with the Celtics, specifically his driving layup and dunk packages. To Tatum, there was something in Turner’s style that resembled his own approach, and in that acknowledgment lies an interesting connection between the modern Celtics star and one of the more underappreciated role players of the Brad Stevens era.
Evan Turner’s time in Boston, particularly that 2015-16 season, was defined by craftiness, versatility, and a patient approach to the game. He was not the kind of player who would fill highlight reels with high-flying dunks or three-point barrages. Instead, Turner carved out his impact with midrange playmaking, attacking the basket with deliberate drives, and finishing around defenders with creativity. At 6’7”, Turner had a size advantage over many perimeter defenders, and he used his frame to shield the ball while gliding into the paint. His package of driving layups and occasional dunks wasn’t flashy in the sense of a high-flying superstar, but it was effective, controlled, and reflective of a player who understood angles and spacing.
That kind of description might sound familiar when thinking of Jayson Tatum. Though Tatum has blossomed into an MVP-caliber scorer and has far more offensive responsibility than Turner ever had, the foundation of their approach shares similarities. Both rely on patience rather than pure speed, footwork rather than raw explosiveness, and a cerebral understanding of how to get to their spots. Tatum’s comparison wasn’t meant to suggest that his game is limited to Turner’s archetype but instead to highlight how elements of Turner’s style echo in his own evolution.
Watching Turner in that 2015-16 season, one could see the nuances that Tatum might admire. Turner was often tasked with being a secondary ball-handler, initiating offense in bench-heavy lineups, and creating looks when Isaiah Thomas was resting. He had a knack for getting into the lane off the dribble, not by blowing past defenders but by using his size and change of pace. Once in the paint, he could extend to finish with his right or left hand, spin into space, or use his body to absorb contact. His dunk attempts weren’t frequent, but when he saw an opening, he had the ability to rise up and finish emphatically.
For Tatum, who often finds himself dissecting defenses in half-court sets, those same principles come into play. He, too, prefers measured attacks over reckless drives. He uses his length and footwork to create space inside, and when finishing at the rim, he often employs finesse over power. Even when he does dunk, it tends to be within the flow of the offense rather than in the form of a chase-down highlight. Turner’s methodical approach to rim attacks may have resonated with Tatum, offering a glimpse into how a bigger wing can thrive without elite quickness but with intelligence and balance.
The comparison also underscores a truth about Tatum’s growth: his game has always been rooted in adaptability. From the time he entered the league in 2017, Tatum was tagged as a midrange savant with an uncanny scoring touch. Over the years, he expanded his arsenal, adding consistent three-point range, improved playmaking, and more aggressive rim pressure. But at the core, he has retained that Turner-like quality of patience in traffic. When he attacks the basket, it is often with a calculated move, a hesitation, or a Eurostep rather than an all-out sprint.
Turner’s film from 2015-16 serves as an interesting study for that very reason. While Turner never had the shooting touch that Tatum possesses, he had to rely on craft to make an impact. His driving layup and dunk packages showcase an older-school wing mentality, where the midrange was just as important as the three, and getting into the paint often meant creating through angles rather than speed. Tatum, who often draws criticism for leaning heavily on midrange attempts, may see in Turner a reminder that such an approach has value when executed well.
Another layer of the comparison is their shared ability to function as secondary playmakers. Turner, during his Boston years, was frequently praised for his ability to serve as a point forward, initiating sets and creating shots for teammates. He averaged 4.4 assists per game in that 2015-16 season, which was significant for someone not playing a primary guard role. Tatum, too, has grown into that kind of facilitator, particularly over the last three seasons as he became more comfortable reading double teams and making quick decisions. Watching Turner orchestrate drives that opened up kick-outs or dump-offs could have provided useful perspective on how to blend scoring aggression with playmaking responsibility.
For Celtics fans, the notion of Tatum drawing inspiration from Turner may feel unusual at first glance. After all, Turner was a role player, a complementary piece on a team that was still in its rebuilding phase under Brad Stevens. Tatum, on the other hand, is the face of the franchise, tasked with carrying Boston toward championship contention. But inspiration in basketball doesn’t always flow strictly from superstar to superstar. Often, great players borrow from the subtler elements of role players’ games. Kobe Bryant famously studied lesser-known players’ footwork and techniques, while LeBron James has credited teammates and opponents alike for influencing his approach. Tatum’s acknowledgment of Turner follows that lineage.
It also speaks to the culture of the Celtics during Turner’s tenure. That 2015-16 team, though not yet championship-ready, was known for its scrappy, team-first mentality. Turner embodied that, willing to take on whatever role was necessary. In a sense, Tatum’s willingness to connect himself to that era highlights the continuity of Boston’s ethos—an organization where stars and role players alike contribute to the fabric of the team.
From a technical standpoint, Turner’s layup package is especially worth dissecting. He often attacked from the wing or top of the key, driving into gaps created by ball movement. His finishes included reverse layups, scoop shots, and body-contorting moves that allowed him to finish over rim protectors. He used hesitations and in-and-out dribbles to keep defenders off balance. Tatum’s game, while more advanced, contains echoes of those very maneuvers. His Eurostep, for example, is an evolution of Turner’s sidestep finishes. His ability to extend his arms for off-balance layups shows the same kind of creativity that Turner employed.
Defensively, the comparison holds less weight, as Tatum has developed into a strong two-way player while Turner was more situationally effective. But even here, Turner’s versatility—guarding multiple positions, using his length to disrupt passing lanes—could have been an element Tatum noticed. Today, Tatum is tasked with defending top wings and even switching onto guards or bigs, and part of that adaptability mirrors what Turner provided in his supporting role.
There’s also an emotional element to Tatum’s statement. By connecting his game to Turner’s, he bridges generations of Celtics basketball. For long-time fans, it serves as a reminder that every era contributes something to the next, that the grind of role players in rebuilding years sets the stage for stars like Tatum to thrive later. It creates a sense of lineage, where even players not remembered as legends still leave a mark.
Of course, it’s important to acknowledge the differences. Tatum’s shooting ability, particularly from deep, separates him dramatically from Turner. Turner’s lack of a reliable three-point shot ultimately limited his effectiveness in the modern NBA. Tatum, by contrast, has used his three-point range to stretch defenses and open up driving lanes. Additionally, Tatum’s scoring ceiling far surpasses anything Turner reached; Tatum is capable of 40- or 50-point nights, while Turner was more often in the teens. But in the subtleties of rim finishing, pacing, and playmaking, Tatum’s observation makes sense.
For Tatum, studying Turner’s packages may not be about mimicking but about refining. It is about finding reminders of the value of craft, of slowing the game down, of creating with angles instead of brute force. In a league where athleticism often dominates the conversation, Turner’s film offers lessons in patience and technique. And for Tatum, already among the elite, those lessons can provide an extra layer to an already polished game.
Fans might initially laugh at the comparison, but it reflects something deeper about Tatum’s mindset. He is a student of the game, someone who doesn’t only look to the all-time greats for inspiration but finds value in role players whose approaches resonate with his own tendencies. That humility and attention to detail are part of what make him so effective.
Ultimately, Tatum’s statement doesn’t diminish his stature—it enhances it. By crediting a player like Turner, he demonstrates both respect for Celtics history and a willingness to learn from unexpected sources. And for Turner himself, it is surely a validation, a recognition that his craft and contributions, often overlooked in the grand NBA narrative, left a meaningful impression.
As Tatum continues to carry Boston toward championship aspirations, the echoes of Evan Turner’s 2015-16 drives remind us that basketball is a game of lineage, influence, and subtle connections. Every move, every drive, every finish exists in a broader tapestry of the sport. And for Jayson Tatum, finding a piece of himself in Evan Turner’s game is both a tribute to a former teammate and a reflection of his own thoughtful evolution as one of the game’s greats.
