They’ll figure it out. That’s the saving grace, the silver lining, the safe word. It’ll all work out, eventually. When and where eventually refers to is a matter of debate, but the scientific consensus and gallup polls all point to the inevitable. The Warriors could play like dogs for a month. They could play like Varejaos for two. But at some point in the next few years, Rey will become a Jedi, Daenerys will reach Westeros, and the Golden State Warriors will win another NBA title. It is known.

Of course, the frightening beauty of sports is that we don’t really know. We never really know. Season 70 of the National Basketball Association does not have to follow the script. Not when it’s covered in red marks and notes from LeBron James’ personal ghostwriter, trying desperately to shoehorn in another twist.

"So, down 7, ten seconds to go, LeBron hits a fadeaway 8-pointer over Steph and KD…"
"Wait, there’s no such thing as 8-pointers."
"Yeah there is. 3-pointer, plus the free throw, plus 4 technicals on Draymond Green."
"Ah, got it."

And it isn’t just LeBron with the rewrites. It’s Kawhi and the zombies of San Antonio. It’s the Russell Westbrook revenge tour, with Steven Adams on bass. It’s Father Time’s asshole step brother, Uncle Injury, looming over everyone.

So no matter how we couch our worries, or tell ourselves the good guys will prevail in the end, there will always be doubt. We will make mountains out of Mo Buckets and turn David West into a molehill. A statue of Andrew Bogut will be built outside the area. Somewhere, a solitary fan will spend two seconds missing Harrison Barnes. This is the ugly, pernicious side of doubt. It will creep into your soul and mark its territory.

Yet doubt can be a good thing. Too much or too little, and we have no reason to watch. But the right amount provides a mix of hope and suspense, the same fear and anxiety you feel from years of watching historic collapses, underdog victories, and Lannisters paying their debts. It’s what has me glued to the edge of my seat, butt clenched, prizing every possession, fretting over the most meaningless of breakdowns. Doubt is what allows me to act like a drunken fool should if someday become when.

So when the Warriors struggle, part of me feels the need to embrace that. To enjoy the growth and character arc of this roster as they figure this shit out. And no matter how much of a grind this past week has been, no matter how many reactionary comments and shitposts I’ve been reduced to, I do think I’ll be able to see the team with perspective, and appreciate the struggles, doubts and fears as necessary steps toward a satisfying conclusion.

Eventually, anyway.