Last season the Minnesota Timberwolves ate well.
They ambushed a league that had pegged them for the middle of the pack and stormed their way into the Western Conference Finals before running out of gas against Luke Doncic and the Dallas Mavericks. Their NBA-best defense routinely put a sleeper hold on opponents for most of the campaign, enough to become an identity that the Wolves brandished like a cop knowing a billy club, a taser, and a revolver are in the holster.
It was simultaneously an utter surprise and the opposite of a fluke. Absorbing that reality was a remarkably pleasant experience for anyone associated with a franchise that has been one of least successful and competitive enterprises in all of team sports.
But for those invested in the team (be they fan, media member or front office employee), a high bar was set, not only for achievement, but for the enjoyment and satisfaction stemming from it. It was too easy to imagine that...