An hour before the Washington Wizards’ final home game of the season, fans were already lining up outside Capital One Arena in the heart of downtown DC. This was not, on paper, an event that demanded punctuality. The Wizards were the worst team in the NBA, their season had been written off almost as soon as it began, and by April the only standings that mattered were upside down.
The inducement was a black Wizards T-shirt, free to the first 15,000 fans. This figure seemed, given the state of the team, optimistic. The Wizards’ home games had the second-lowest attendance in the league and the ill-fitting promotional shirts seemed poor consolation for the fans still willing to show up. But by the time I made it inside, the boxes were being emptied at a brisk pace.
The Wizards were playing the Miami Heat. Or rather, some version of the Wizards. Several of the names that might have persuaded a casual fan to buy a ticket were resting, or nursing prolonged injuries.