This top-heavy state has prompted some concern. Segments dedicated to the NBA’s competitive imbalance have become staples of sports-talk television shows, and after Durant’s signing in Golden State, the commissioner Adam Silver weighed in, saying, “I don’t think having two ‘superteams’ is good for the league,” and suggesting that future bargaining agreements may be designed to prevent such teams from forming. For the near future, though, the age of the superteam holds, presenting fans with a challenge. Why, and how, do you follow a season-long story when you know the final chapter?

For starters, you cherish the twists, even if they might ultimately prove inconsequential. Last Tuesday’s opening slate of games held to protocol at first, with the Cavs collecting their championship rings and then rolling over the New York Knicks, but a showdown between the Warriors and the San Antonio Spurs held some surprises later in the evening. In front of their rejoicing home fans, the Warriors started sluggishly and wore down as the game went on, eventually losing by 29. Durant and Curry played up to their standards, combining for 53 points, but the veteran Spurs bothered the rest of Golden State’s stars on defense and outworked them for rebounds, and the opener in Oakland ended up a dud.

It was a small stumble, by definition—one loss in an 82-game schedule—but in a modern sports-media landscape that runs on crisis, no problem is too minor to go remarked on. “I’m sure the story tomorrow will be, ‘[Durant] broke up the chemistry and we can’t win with KD,’” the Warriors forward Draymond Green predicted after the loss, and the real responses ranged from superteam schadenfreude to analytical deep dives. “So, The Warriors Got Their Asses Kicked,” read the headline of one delighted Deadspin recap, while The Ringer declared, “The Warriors Have 81 Games to Address Their Achilles’ Heel.” Both articles proposed well-considered causes for the ignominious opener, but each also seemed inspired by the fan’s fundamental thirst for drama. The conclusion of the latter—“An NBA season that was supposed to be a coronation from the very beginning just got a lot more interesting”—seemed more of a wish than anything, quietly tempered by a phrase a few sentences earlier: “It’s easy to overstate things.”

Overstating, after all, is one way fans have of getting by when the ultimate outcome seems a matter of course. No team will be perfect, and so imperfections are seized upon as evidence that things might not be as set as they seem. It’s an old and well-honed drill, applicable to everything from an early-season upset loss to reports of tension within the locker room. In this way, the year is presented as a series of vital challenges, instead of a long wait for a probable ending.

There’s another, less practiced method of dealing with championship predictability: Don’t focus so much on the championship. The major American leagues tend to share a “title or bust” ethos—ask the four-time Super Bowl loser Buffalo Bills or all the teams that lost to Michael Jordan in the Finals how beloved they are for falling short—but other sports in the U.S. and abroad have discovered the appeal of celebrating various tiered accomplishments. Teams incapable of championship contention in college football can still challenge for conference titles, and those unable to do that can win regional rivalry games; depending on circumstances, either of those can render a season an absolute success. European soccer clubs, meanwhile, have all manner of major and minor ambitions to pursue: In domestic leagues, the international Champions League, various scattered short tournaments, and nicknamed games against certain hated opponents.