Game five of the NBA Finals is here, and, with everything on the line, hope springs eternal for Cleveland. It has to.

In the same way that Grimm’s Fairy Tales endlessly recycles a few well-worn plots, like “princess is rescued,” or, “sly mammal murders old lady,” professional sports is more often than not an accumulation of tropes — “the aging star bids farewell,” or “the Four Horsemen crush the opposing team.”

For Cleveland in 2016, there’s no narrative more potent, none more laden with probable psychic harm, than “prodigal son returns home to end his people’s suffering.”