Scottie Wilbekin autographing a peach-flavored Four Loko. But was everything as peachy as it seemed?

I run breathlessly out of The Center to the CVS on Broad & Hartranft; I need water badly. The cashier at Campo’s who usually hooks me up with courtesy cups got a job as the Blue Man Group’s social media manager. I’m on my own now in terms of hydrating myself, but in every other sense I am one with the city of Philadelphia. It’s Wednesday, November 11, and our Sixers are 6–2. I know, the Cavs weren’t at full health for either game. I know, the Spurs and Thunder are up next. I know, this is a small sample size. I know, Jerami Grant isn’t going to shoot 43% from three forever. But as I sip from one of my 2 for $3 Deer Park water jugs and complain once again about the placement of Nutella Dip-Sticks in the candy isle (put it next to the Nutella), my mind is wandering aimlessly. What if our time arrived earlier than expected?

“One rebound for Nerlens, though? You’re 7 feet tall just put your damn arms up!” I hear as I pace through the streets of Packer Park. The talk is negative and whiny, from a mid-twenties South Philly guy who looks more like a bad comedian on Guy Code than a basketball analyst, but that’s fine. It’s talk after all. For a city deprived of real basketball for quite some time, it feels cool to hear debates about the on-court product rather than just team-building strategies. I finally get to my car, but still feel buzzed from the Dirty Shirleys I was downing earlier. I decide to maybe just check Twitter for a bit until I feel fine to drive. Here’s a sample of what my timeline looked like:

@BillSimmons: Stauskas? Stauskas??? Guys, how do you think Vivek feels right now watching these three point shootouts?

The Sixers have been on fire from three. Not sure how long it’s going to last, but Stauskas, Covington, Hollis, Canaan, and even Jerami can’t miss.

?uestlove was courtside tonight. I chugged a Loko with recently-cut Scottie Wilbekin in Lot F before the game. Franklin also chugged a Loko and then did a 360-backflip. Philly needs a heat check.

@HPBasketball: Uhh…hey, guys? The Sixers might actually…be a contender for a top-4 seed. *hides face*

This tweeting style has always been weird to me. I don’t find this funny, but glad he’s aboard the hype train. It’s early in the season, but this team is impossible not to love. An injured Tony Wroten came off the bench at the end of the game just to slap the hardwood before heading to the locker-room. That’s intensity.

@Sixers: Kendall Marshall with his second triple-double of the season tonight.

Mixed feelings about this one. Of course, I’m thrilled that Kendall Marshall is starting his all-star campaign early. This tweet is extremely boring, though. I miss Max Rappaport. I suddenly feel like the man behind this account is invasive and respond to the tweet “you’re not my dad”.

@Shamus_Clancy: It’s lit

Shamus actually hasn’t tweeted anything except this since the season opener. This seems absurd, but definitely makes a ton of sense. I’m not sure if there is a more appropriate tweet. I throw him the RT, and continue scrolling.

@Sohil_Doshi: Eh, idk. Jahlil still looks out of shape and our toughest games are ahead of us. Wouldn’t get too excited just yet

Of course.

@hoopscritic: Fuck me up fam.

@DerekBodnerNBA: Not saying I WOULD, but Nerlens has to have peak trade value right now. Inching closer to a 5x5 game.

Relax, Derek, let it go. No one is trading Nerlens.

@ZachLowe_NBA: Is nobody talking about Furkan Aldemir pulling down 16 rebounds per-36 thus far?

Just you and I on that one, Zach. Thank God the Sixers brought him back via the hardship exception.

Then, a video shows up on my feed from @CSNPhilly. It’s a highlight of Molly French reporting from the sideline.

Molly: “Now while the entire city may be excited, Brett Brown says that he is still staying the course and not talking playoffs just yet. Development and building a culture is the first priority, but adds that it would be nice if the wins keep coming. Back to you, Marc.”

Marc Zumoff: “Playoffs? I’m talking championship!”

Alaa Abdelnaby: “I am Alaa Abdelnaby.”

All of this is overwhelming. I check the standings and the Sixers are sitting pretty with the second best record in the NBA, right behind the 8–0 Houston Rockets. Moreyball, bitch. Flashbacks begin to arise in my mind. The 26-game losing streak, the Embiid injury, that time I drunkenly bought a pair of giant scissors on Amazon but had no ribbon to cut (unrelated), all of the forgotten faces that put on a Sixers jersey, the incessant jokes from local and national media alike. I’m not sure if this is The Team yet, or if we even have The Guy, but a break from the whirlwind, if even just for a little, feels great.

I’m awoken out of this trance by a guy in a wife beater pissing next to my car. His friends keep calling him “Salvatore”. I’m mostly confused as to why he’s wearing a wife beater; it’s 37 degrees outside. “6–2 mufuckaaa!” he yells as he runs away. What a time to be alive. From the Sixers brass, to the cultish Hinkie/analytics following, to the patient Brett Brown, to the long-time season ticketholders, to young Salvatore, this is something to be excited about.

I turn on the radio to check in on how the city really feels. They’re talking about Sam Bradford. The Eagles are 3–5. This, however, was expected. What wasn’t expected was what came next. “And now with a Sports 94 WIP breaking news update, it appears that a former Sixers’ head coach may be in a bit of a bind.” My ears immediately perk up. Come on, please be what I think it is. “That’s right, I’m reporting live from the Raymour and Flanigan where former Sixer Doug Collins was just caught passed out in nothing but a robe, clutching onto a Royal Ivey nesting doll.” I can’t believe how far the Sixers have come as an organization. I suddenly have the feeling that arises when you spot your ex-girlfriend dating a guy whose favorite hobby is trying to get re-tweets from Barstool writers. It’s two in the morning and I should probably be getting home.

As I pull out of Packer Park and onto Broad, I pass the one and only Sam Hinkie. I want to go congratulate him but he looks surprisingly somber in his car. He has that look on his face that appears when something seems too good to be true; when a body’s joy is overwritten by a crippling fear of its end. The most beautiful music is bleeding out of his speakers. My mind feels like I have never heard this song before, at least not this version. However, my heart feels as if I have known this all my life.

Nelly Furtado, shielding her face in the same way that Sam Hinkie was shielding his inner doubts

(To the tune of “I’m Like a Bird” by Nelly Furtado)

Wins are beautiful, that’s for sure

They’ll never ever fade

This team is lovely but it’s not for sure

That it won’t ever change

And though my stats are rare

And though my stats are true

I’m like a bird, I’ll only fly away

I don’t know where Landry is, I don’t know where JaVale is

(and baby all I need for you to know is)

Our lottery pick is like a bird, watch it fly away

I don’t know where Kings’ pick is, I don’t know where Bellinelli is

The next line is the same as the original version, and speaks right to my soul. “Your faith in me brings me to tears, even after all these years. And it pains me so much to tell, that you don’t know me that well.” He sheds a single tear, lit a Black & Mild Wine (Wood Tip of course), and peels off. He knows that this team is simply overachieving. People all over are ready to label his moves as genius, and his previous doubters are already apologizing. It has only been 8 games, and perhaps Hinkie is one of the few levelheaded thinkers who understand that. It is simply not this team’s time yet. So let’s embrace each moment this season, and truly appreciate the unbridled joy that The Process™ has brought into our lives. One day, this team’s time will come, and all of these wacky, cultish, Gerald Wallace-ish memories will fade into oblivion. Stick around, guys, it’s not time to fly away just yet.