“I can’t be halfway,” he says. “My life is very intentional. I don’t just do things. [ I act as if ] I have some level of control, and this is sort of where I get in trouble. I’m constantly trying to guard against chaos, if that makes sense. Some of that is good. Some of that means that you’re 34, at the end of your career and you’re still trying to get better.”

The rest of it, he leaves for us to infer, is bad, agonising, fruitless, trying to hold the world up, Atlas-style, when you could just be chilling. “There’s a paranoia to that,” he says.

There is, however, also quite a lot of fruit. For example, last year, at 33 years of age, in his first year with Philly, Mr Redick put up a career-best 17 points per game and earned $23million, leading the 76ers to their first play-off berth in six years. Not that the most meticulous man in the NBA is resting on his laurels. “The minute you’re complacent, you’re gone,” he says. “So, part of this way of thinking is survival.” Part of it may just be how he is wired. Like the way he can’t just work out once or twice or three times a week in the off season. He has to either take two months off, not even touching a basketball, or go two-a-day throughout and risk burning out by the time pre-season rolls around.