There are several different experiences within the experience of attending a live NBA game. For most, the best part of being in the arena is just that—being in the arena. You get to be part of the crowd and feel the ebb and flow of the game. You get to stand and cheer and yell and maybe catch a free t-shirt. You get to talk yourself into that $2 cup of cheese for your hot pretzel.

For a select few, however, the live NBA experience is different, and by “different,” I mean “better.” If you’re in a suite, you get to go hard on the buffet and pretend that everyone else doesn’t hate you. If you’re close to the court—really close, like five or fewer rows back—you get to appreciate how absurdly big and fast NBA players are. You get to realize that, nope, there was never any way that I could have made it out there; and yep, I might literally die if I were thrown into a game for 30 seconds.

I wasn’t sitting in a suite or courtside for the Cavs-Bucks preseason tilt. I was, however, fortunate enough to be in another section of the court that offers its own unique experience. Thanks to a friend’s generosity , on Tuesday night, I was fortunate enough to sit right by the Cavs tunnel.

I didn’t realize this until the contest had actually started, but I had never sat this close to the court at an NBA game. Things are a little different down there. For one, security is tighter, because they have to be. It only takes one dunderhead hopping the railing to set off a league-wide incident.

Before the game started, I leaned over the railing to get a look into the inner sanctum of The Q. I wanted to know what went on back there. I wanted to see how the walls were painted and if the team huddled up before running onto the court. I wanted to see if there was a visible aura coming from the locker room. I wanted to see if there was a smoothie guy on call or a hot towel press ready to go.

Instead, a security guard immediately told me to step back and clear the stairway. Well, he didn’t tell me so much as he gestured at me with disdain. No hard feelings though. I get it. Everyone has to act cooler when they’re that close to the action.

You notice different things when you’re close to the game. The players actually look like people and not video game characters. You can see their facial expressions and make out the logos on their shoes. You get to see Campy Russell’s earpiece and Damon Jones’ sweatsuit and Rich Paul’s iPhone and Sir CC’s gloves. You look up and realize that the still-yet-to-be-unveiled Humongotron hangs over the court like the alien ships over the White House in Independence Day.

You can see who’s talking during timeouts and who’s sitting next to each other on the bench. This whole team just looks so darn friendly and happy to be around each other. New faces and old exist in harmony. LeBron, Kyrie, and Tristan all sat this one out, and they spent the game smiling on the bench and photobombing Joe Haden. Once the established players—Andy, Miller, Marion, Dion—were done for the night, they joined them in cracking jokes and checking out the Cavalier Girls.

It wasn’t all laughs and grab-ass, though. The vets were still invested, at least by preseason standards. Kyrie pulled A.J. Price aside during a timeout. Mike Miller offered advice to Joe Harris , his spiritual successor. Andy advised Alex Kirk. They wanted this win, and were locked in when the game got tight. When Price, Harris, and Chris Crawford hit shots to put the game away in the fourth quarter, the whole team leapt off the bench.

Free from the shackles of Brazilian social mores, there were three-goggles aplenty, including a set of three-goggle bunny ears on LeBron, put on by Kyrie. This team is adorable.

While I would love to believe the contrary, it doesn’t necessarily mean anything that these guys are getting along so well. It’s the preseason, which by nature does not matter. What will matter is how this team functions when some feces inevitably hits the fan. We’ve seen happy-go-lucky Cavs teams before, like the 2009 squad that took pregame portraits before games:

Now, this is not to say that THOSE GUYS DIDN’T WIN A TITLE BECAUSE THEY DIDN’T TAKE IT SERIOUSLY AND THIS TEAM SHOULD TAKE IT SERIOUSLY OR THE SAME THING WILL HAPPEN TO THEM. I have yet to find the statistics equating too much fun to playoff losses. Last I checked, fun is okay. I bet the Spurs even have fun sometimes, at least for like 20 minutes before Pop shuts it down.

But I digress. We don’t need to get so worked up this early.

More than anything, when you sit near the Cavs tunnel, you think about the few times that the team runs in or out of it. You imagine that it’s your big chance to say something to these guys and they’ll actually hear it. It’s your shot to finally express your appreciation or offer the perfect piece of inspiration. You’re 10 feet away! LeBron’s right there! Now is your time to shine!

And then the whole team goes by faster than it took you to read this sentence.

And yet, I learned about the Cavs watching them semi-up close. LeBron is obviously the most popular kid in school, and he carries himself that way. He’s heard his name screamed so many times that he’s numb to it. I suppose this isn’t news, but it was instructive to see it live. He’s friendly with the team and the staff, but he isn’t going to shake every hand thrust at him. He can’t, really.

Anderson Varejao, however, might be the nicest guy in the NBA. He’s the kind of guy who knows the name of everyone working at the arena. He dapped up security guards as he came through the tunnel and joked with the ballboys at halftime. He probably sends everybody Christmas cards and shares recipes for salgadinhos. He’s just a mensch, through and through.

For me, the single coolest moment of tunneldom came as the Cavs were coming out for the second half. Two boys, no more than 10 years old, were leaning across the railing opposite me. They extended their little hands as far as they could, hoping to touch their heroes, if only for a moment. A graze would suffice—something, anything, just enough to be able to tell their friends the next day. Touching a pro athlete is better than meeting the president when you’re a schoolboy.

They shouted hopefully as the waves of Cavs ran by:

Kevin! Kevin!

Shawn! Mike! Delly!

Kyrie! Dion!

LeBron! LeBron! LeBron please! LeBron!

Their hands were left hanging. Their heads hung, too. They looked back down the tunnel. Players were still filing out. The kids stretched their little arms out further.

Andy!

The longest-tenured Cavalier heard them. He lifted his head. He saw them. He nodded and smiled at them. He reached up and high-fived them, their little hands like silver dollars in his. And just like that, he was off, to do his job on the court.

I saw Anderson Varejao make those two boys’ night. They stared at each other, mouths open. They were unable to make complete words, just prepubescent screeches of joy. And just like that, they were off, to tell their parents what just happened.

There are many different experiences within the experience of attending a live NBA game. If you’re lucky, you’ll see one like that.