The NBA season is fascinating to me. It lasts so long, the teams play so many games, only the former American "pastime" sport of baseball, before it folded, lasted longer. 

“There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen.” Each NBA season is a segment of a compressed life. The average NBA career is 4.5 years. The average American life is 77 years. Each NBA life is 17 normal person years. Each game of those 4.5 NBA life-years is three weeks of normal life. Every night there are up to thirty different team mini-life segments playing out in public at venues in every major city in America, and in Charlotte. 

Take last night. My team won. That was great. That wasn't what was compelling about last night. It was what was going on with the other team’s three-weeks of NBA life. What the heck was that from Cleveland last night? I would love to have been there as Chris Fedor was to see what he saw, to study the players and the huddles, the interplay and the intraplay, the body language.

In every NBA game there are these team mini-lives that you can see playing out if you watch closely and if you know the teams. Not every team game-life is going to be as dramatic as Cleveland's last night, but there is going to be something, something beyond and above the final score.

As I lay awake before getting up today I wondered if I could reasonably spend, say a week, traveling the NBA circuit from city to city, sitting among the fans, but in really good seats, with a pair of opera glasses and take notes. I have the wherewithal to do it, I have the time to do it, but I don't know if I could or would. I could watch all the night's games over a couple days, read all the local roundups, see if there was anything as significant as what went on with Cleveland last night in Miami. That would be more doable.