We Wolves followers–especially the optimists like me–have become experts in one particular facet of the basketball fan’s craft: allowing ourselves to become heartened and encouraged with very little prodding (there’s a cynical, dark underside to this too, but that’s for another day). Kevin Love is a rebounding colossus? Michael Beasley is averaging 27 points/game over a six game span? Darko looks like a real NBA player? The Wolves almost beat the Spurs?! Let’s ignore the fact that the team is 4-13 (make that 4-14) and just, y’know, get excited!
But then there are games like Wednesday’s pedestrian 100-86 road loss to the Mavericks. These games remind you of the yawning gulf that separates our Pups from the top teams in the association, of the oceans of experience and talent between the Wolves and basic competitiveness. These pills are especially bitter because they often closely resemble this Dallas game in one particular respect: the Wolves never really seemed particularly awful and the Mavs were never overwhelmingly great (Dirk Nowitzki barely got out of bed), but at no time did you really feel that the Wolves had even a remote chance at winning.