For now, the concern has to be for the player, even here, even in Manhattan, where so much hope — real, imaginary, virtual — has been tied up in the vision of Kevin Durant wearing an orange “35” against a classic white Knicks uniform opening night next year. Or across the East River, where lately a renewed hope casting him in a black “Brooklyn” jersey has arisen, too.
We are not savages, after all, certainly not of the category of the guttersnipes in the Toronto crowd who Monday cheered when Durant crumpled to the floor, something clearly amiss. Later, we would learn that it was as was feared: an Achilles injury, severity unknown until he slips into an MRI tube Tuesday.
So yes: the first positive vibes must go to Durant, who could’ve skipped the rest of the Finals with a nine-figure summer awaiting and his team with one foot on the golf course already.