As the Jazz the other day were busily trotting out promise and optimism, alongside their young draft picks -- Serbia's own Sasha Pavlovian Dog, or just Dawg, for short, and a kid named Mo from somewhere down South -- in front of the Salt Lake City sports media, I was wondering: How long will Jazz fans, so used to winning, abide all of this nonsense before they start to wig out?
   
The fans have endured nonsense before.
   
Nothing works the patience of people dropping $100 for a ticket like having the center of the future discovered at a Tooele rest stop, banging around trash can lids, fending off imaginary bears. Mix in Jose Ortiz, Walt Palmer, Quincy Lewis, among others, remember that the Jazz's last two draft picks were injured and reinjured before they ever bounced a ball -- they still haven't -- in an NBA game, and underscore the truth that fans' souls have already been tried.