What about those Chicago Bills, then? Scores are tied at the bottom of the fourth integer when Dufus Cranberry divests the Boston Carjackers’ side-returner and utterly planks one from the edge of the crimping area, stealing the match-up, right on the honker.

Or something like that. I may be muddling a few of the technical terms. But how often does the NBA land in London? Answer: once a year, at the present rate, and for one night only. So we can be forgiven a little cultural rustiness as we try anew to open our hearts and minds to what ESPN referred to, at least three times in the course of a hectic evening of promotion on Tuesday, as “this wonderful sport of basketball”.

Yes, that’s ESPN, by the way — the American broadcaster that rode to the rescue of Setanta’s Barclays Premier League football package, but has yet to show much interest in duplicating the Irish broadcaster’s brave commitment to the screening of England’s away games. “It’s great to be here,” as ESPN’s advertising campaign has it. Unless it’s Dnipropetrovsk and some opportunistic rights agent is asking for £2 million, in which case someone else can go.

And fair enough, too, especially when you consider what you can see on ESPN on Saturday, namely Russia v Germany, followed by Denmark v Sweden — two potentially gripping World Cup qualifiers with actual consequences, either one of which beats, surely, the prospect of Gabriel Agbonlahor possibly getting a run-out in a team that have already qualified.

The Chicago Bulls v the Utah Jazz at the O2 Arena, though? Now we really are talking ESPN’s language. That was somewhere it was always going to be great for it to be — especially given that it has got an entire season of NBA action to offer us in the coming months. Indeed, what with the NBA promoting itself, and ESPN promoting the NBA and itself, one frequently had the impression, during this week’s broadcast, of having woken up in the middle of a seminar on brand strategy. As ESPN told us: “The game of basketball — it’s long been global, but it’s getting even bigger.” Bigger than global? Exclusive: hoop found on Moon.

More immediately, though: basketball found in London. And apparently, rather like the Moon, the O2 is a bit cold for the sport. Accordingly, we weren’t to worry if the players took a little longer than normal to warm up. As one of ESPN’s untiringly keen commentators pointed out: “It’s not a shooter’s gym.” I seem to remember Gary Barlow saying the same when Take That played there.

Before the Bulls were introduced, a video played, showing a computer-generated stampede taking place through Chicago, the herd eventually turning down a side street towards the basketball arena, only to find their way importunately blocked by a bus marked up with the logo of the Jazz.

So what do the bulls do, confronted by this obstruction? They snort, and paw the ground a while, and then, at the word from the big one in the middle, they charge headlong at the parked coach, splitting it in half and causing it to burst into flames. Is that legal?

Still, at least we were sharing, at that moment, some of the all-important razzmatazz. I attended an NBA game in America once and it was a complete and utter blast from start to finish, largely because the spectacle was founded on the principle that you, as a paying customer, have an inalienable right not to go un-entertained for even a split second.

At even the slightest hint of a break in play, the floor before your eyes would fill with cheerleaders, cast-offs from American Idol, senior dance troupes, ex-pros taking part in hoop-shooting contests and compères in shiny jackets doing lottery draws and rousingly offering opportunities to win cars, homes and, indeed, small countries.

Yet television high-mindedly turns its face away from all this stuff, regarding it as peripheral to the main action, thereby depriving the viewer at home of a potentially rich amusement stream. At one point during the coverage from the O2 we returned from a commercial break to catch the merest glimpse of a woman in a red jacket balancing assorted items of tableware on her foot and then flipping them up on to her head and catching them.

“That young lady,” our commentator explained, “she must have caught a couple of dozen saucers, or whatever — dishes — on her head, while sitting on a very high unicycle.”

He said this in the distracted tone of voice in which you might mention that your train was slightly late. And then it was back to the basketball. Which was fantastic — don’t get me wrong. It’s just that if highly skilled women are catching crockery on their foreheads, don’t people watching on television deserve to know about it? Yes, please, to the hoops. But yes, please, also, to the hoopla.