At the beginning of every pre-game availability, the first question for Raptors coach Dwane Casey is an injury update.

Casey hates that question.

Other coaches tell bald-faced lies on this score, since it gives opponents a small match-up advantage. It’s not in Casey to tell a lie. But he doesn’t have to look happy as he kicks himself in the privates.

Some afternoons, he dips his head sadly before he can reply. Other days, he smiles like he’s looking forward to punching someone else in the privates. Most of the time, he sighs a sigh so world-weary, it seems pointless to go on.

He hates that question so much the Toronto press corps has designated one sin eater to ask it every night, in order to focus the hatred. We’re all going to chip in once the season ends so that TSN’s Josh Lewenberg can spend a few weeks recovering in a sanatorium.

On Friday, Casey pre-empted Josh with an announcement.

“We have a player returning. The Raptor’s coming back on the 23rd.”

Because we are all a little slow, someone said, “Which Raptor?”

“The Raptor,” Casey said, enjoying himself just a little.

That’s where we are in this remarkable season — the part where all the warring parties have come out of their trenches to get giddy in No Man’s Land.

It has been five months since the universe’s finest (only?) mascot rationale blew an Achilles in pre-season. Five months of rehab. Five months of scab-mascot, Stripes. Five months of joy deficit at the ACC.

For too many seasons, The Chicken (The Raptor’s nom de guerre) has been the straw that stirs the drink. For a lot of those years, the drink (based on team performance) has been liquid bleach.

For a lot of this year, it’s felt as if God doesn’t want us to have fun on- and off-the-court at the same time.

On Friday night, it was fun. Like, real fun.

Not manufactured ‘LET’S MAKE SOME NOISE’ fun. So much fun that when it got near the end and they started the wave, I did not feel the urge to wade into the stands with a Taser. Even when fans booed — BOOED — after the Raptors failed to push the score into pizza territory, I felt nothing but serenity (the drugs usually kick in around 9:30).

When the on-court product is this good after so many years being that bad, you cannot gainsay how the fans react to it. They’ve earned the right to do whatever they please, even when they’re completely wrong.

We will be able to agree on the proper tone once The Chicken reappears in a week’s time — hysteria.

By that point, Toronto will have hit its magic playoff number (it’s down to five right now). This will begin a triumphal march into the post-season.

The Chicken does not speak on the record. Or anywhere else. But you see him/her/it around.

He/she/it was on crutches for a long while following surgery. Then he/she/it limped around for a while. The limp’s barely noticeable any more.

The gymnastics will be limited. No dunking. No tumbling. More hand-standing than grand-standing.

Casey was drafted in to deliver the return message because, back in October, he was the one who announced The Chicken was out for the season.

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In retrospect, that was the low point of the year. I mean, if you can’t keep your mascot off the inactive list . . .

What a difference in tone this was.

Near the end of Casey’s remarks, one last question was lobbed up at him.

“Does Stripes go down to (D-League affiliate) Bakersfield?”

This was Eric Koreen of the Post, in a tone so deadpan it could not be heard by dogs.

Casey couldn’t even get an answer out.

“Yeah, unfortunately, we’ve got to send Stripes … ” was all he could manage before being overcome by giggles.

“I don’t really look at it as a negative thing, sending Stripes down,” he continued after some recovery. He was fully embracing this now. “It’s a new experience, just like we do with players. They get some experience, try to make the best of it.”

We all stood there, grinning like idiots.

All of us already knew this team was good, long after the team figured it out. But we’ve been burned too many times before. We’re from Toronto. We spend our whole lives waiting for Boston to fall out of the rafters and hit us in the head.

We’re so far past that feeling now.

Who knows what’s waiting in the post-season. Let’s hope for Washington, and prepare ourselves for the Nets or the Bobcats.

But the playoffs are a long way off.

For right now, I’m trying to enjoy an entirely new feeling — that this team and its fans can do no wrong, and that all injustices will be solved by the judicious application of time, rehab and a little bit of faith.

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