The most-interesting aspect in the return of Kevin Garnett is to watch the old warrior sliding through the arena lights past Andrew Wiggins, potentially the long-term cure for what has been a sick franchise.
There has been only one truly great player in the 26 years of the Timberwolves, and that was Garnett from when he arrived as a wired-up 19-year-old in 1995 to his departure as a disillusioned 31-year-old in a trade with Boston in the summer of 2007.
Stephon Marbury had a chance to be great, to be Stockton to Garnett's Malone, but he heard odd voices in that noggin of his and was traded at his insistence only 18 games into the abbreviated, lockout schedule of 1999, his third season.
Kevin Love was tremendous in his way, with points and rebounds and eventually shooting range, but he was never a defender, and never one to make witnesses gasp with an athletic play.
That was it in the Timberwolves' first quarter-century of existence: one superstar in Garnett, and then a few rungs below that, Love and Marbury.
I hate the Mount Rushmore gimmick that our friends at ESPN and other outlets break out when sports news is slow and they want to create a nonsensical argument.
That's one good thing about the Wolves' star-crossed history: Nobody ever argues about the franchise's Mount Rushmore.
This is a franchise with a Washington Monument – long and majestic, in the form of first Da Kid, and then as the Big Ticket, and eventually, simply, KG.