At some point this season, Ricky Rubio might dribble behind his back and flick a no-look pass to Kevin Love, who might drain a three-pointer from the corner, eliciting what might be an ungodly roar from what might be a sold-out Target Center.
Until that hungered-for and entirely plausible hope becomes reality, the star of the 2012-13 Minnesota Timberwolves might be a man of a certain age wearing a suit jacket, but not always a tie, who sits over by, and benefits by sartorial comparison to, team owner Glen Taylor.
When Rubio recovers from knee surgery and Love from the NBA's first-ever knuckle-pushup multiple fracture, Rick Adelman stands as this team's reason to believe.
When's the last time you could say that about a Timberwolves coach? I'll save you time. You don't have to look it up. The answer is: never.
Never before has a Timberwolves coach mattered so much.
Bill Musselman was a fine grinder of a coach, but it was his job to goad the baby Wolves to 20 victories a year. The Wolves pretended to no serious aspirations in place when Mussy ran the show.
Jimmy Rodgers was to coaching what cats on YouTube are to acting.
Sidney Lowe was neither the problem nor the solution.