Dwyane Wade watched Kevin Durant against Memphis, and it was like watching a flailing man drown, wave after wave crashing upon him until he had no breath to give. Durant averaged 29 points, 11 rebounds and seven assists per game in the series that ended his season. Those were not merely better than the averages Durant posted in this, the best regular season of his young life. Those were not merely better averages than the ones that just won LeBron James his fourth NBA MVP award. Those were better averages than the ones that represent Michael Jordan’s entire career. But Durant’s season is over now, and Wade watched it happen through what felt like a rearview mirror.

Legend leader Pat Riley, equal parts shaman and mobster, told this story at the Heat’s Family Day, symbolically enough. He was trying to explain with a parable why he — and, by extension, the entire Miami Heat organization — had so publicly told Boston general manager Danny Ainge to shut the bleep up. Family Day. Shut The Bleep Up. Seriously. Riley was not smiling in any way while reliving this.

This is as redundant as it is obvious: LeBron James is the most valuable basketball player running and jumping and dribbling atop this globe. There will be a ceremony to commemorate this Monday, but this MVP is anticlimactic as a formal announcement, calling everyone together to tell them something they already know. Hear ye, hear ye over here ye, we’re going to gather around to remind the king that he is a king. More interesting than this ceremony is the forgetful way we arrived at it, and how we did so with forgiveness and appreciation, no less.

Let us marvel in open-mouthed awe at this magic trick the NFL unveils annually, waving a wand over a hypnotized audience to much applause when all this league is really doing is just selling your hope right back to you. Well, that’s not fair, actually. That’s not all the NFL is doing. It is also conspiring as a monopoly with a corrupt NCAA cartel to create a free-labor minor league for its multibillion-dollar industry, plus signing up gladiators who are dying earlier and in more pain than the rest of us. But we lap this NFL Draft up every year like thirsty hounds at a bowl because you won’t find a lot of introspection at the biggest and best parties.

Stronger than ever, Miami’s basketball kings begin the playoff defense of their throne this evening against the Milwaukee Bucks, who for what little remains of their season will be the equivalent of a meatloaf in the wild. Given that they lost this season more than they won, though, Milwaukee’s best players have been unusually yappy for a meatloaf. Guard Brandon Jennings guarantees the Bucks will beat the Heat in six games, and teammate Monta Ellis says he is Dwyane Wade without the championships, which is not unlike a musician saying he is Jimi Hendrix without the guitar. Alas, the loudest bark usually belongs to the dog that is most scared. In this particular jungle, the most skilled and successful hunters tend to approach prey more quietly.

Twenty questions with the Miami Heat’s Shane Battier:

The evolution of LeBron James took another seismic step last week in Boston, the loud and historic place The King had again come to conquer. Champion Jason Terry tried to get in the way of what was coming with LeBron. All of it. The basketball. The fast break. The game. The desire. The force. The streak. The future. And, for his efforts, because of the size of the moment and the size of the momentum, Terry was left flat on his back in the key, looking like he should be surrounded by yellow police tape and a chalk outline.

It is difficult to see things clearly in this purgatory. Your eyes are filled with the odd combination of hope and mistrust. A man betrays a woman for a decade, she’ll be armed with skepticism when he shows up with flowers and chocolates promising yet again to change. But here’s the thing: Dolphin fans want so badly to believe in this kind of romance, which made last week feel like wowing and wooing despite all the baggage and scars, and now anyone who cares about this team is stuck between wanting to think things are fixed and not trusting the people doing the fixing.

Twenty questions with the Miami Heat’s Ray Allen:

The faith fracture is so profound that the Marlins find themselves in an unfathomable predicament today and going forward. It is bad enough when your customers don’t trust you to be competent; it is another thing entirely when they don’t trust you to be moral. But both? You’d have more luck drawing fans to your new ballpark by combining Food Poisoning Night with kick-you-in-the-groin coupons.

Scream. It’ll make you feel better. Complain. It’ll release the poisons. Throw a justified temper tantrum in public, like the University of Miami’s president did last week, and feel stronger as consensus gathers behind you with uncommon support. Purging outrage can feel good when it doesn’t feel bad. But then slink back to your corner, defeated, and realize that your path is littered with beaten screamers and complainers and temper-tantrum throwers who expired exhausted without ever making so much as a dent. And then wait for the fear to return.