LILLE, France — Bewilderment set in within minutes after the opening tip. I had never experienced an environment that resembled this, in any sport, at any competitive event.

I’m not talking about crowd noise. I’ve covered SEC football. I’ve been in louder stadiums.

But in terms of sheer joy? I was stupefied by Team USA vs. Serbia at the Paris Olympics.

First, to clarify: This was the group stage opener, which Team USA eventually won 110-84, not the semifinal rematch that turned into an instant classic. It’s probably relevant context that neither team was in danger of elimination from the tournament at this point, that spirits were high regardless of what the result was going to be.

Still, my prevailing memory will always be the slow realization that came during the first quarter.

I was there on vacation, not business, hence the elapsed time between attending the game (July 28) and finally sitting down to write about it (Aug. 9), which I’ve been meaning to do as a sort of delayed postcard to Denver Post readers. (I’m not even sure this qualifies for a Lille dateline anymore, but it looks cooler that way.) I was traveling to London for the first time, and the group stage of the Olympics was located an 85-minute train ride away through the Chunnel — convenient enough for my girlfriend and me to go hang out in France for a couple of days.

Anywho, waiting this long to write about an event is almost always a cardinal sin. People don’t want to read about something that’s not even relevant anymore. But I got lucky this time: Thanks to my procrastination, a lesson from France feels twice as apropos to the moment.

Team USA started slow. The Serbians smelled blood, or complacency, it seemed. They jumped to a 10-2 lead. In my section, I was surrounded mostly by Serbian fans who made the trip across Europe. They were ecstatic.

Even during the interruptions in their momentum. Two minutes in, Nikola Jokic committed a turnover. The ball found LeBron James in transition with nobody pursuing him. I missed the slam dunk because everyone around me was suddenly rising to their feet in anticipation. A smorgasbord of European fans — Serbs, French, other neutrals — pumped their fists and hollered and high-fived one another. I was baffled.

Team USA’s second basket was even more rousing: a Steph Curry 3-pointer. As soon as he squared up to shoot, the entire section stood in unison again, thrilled by the spectacle and unconcerned by the ramifications on the scoreboard.

By the time Kevin Durant checked into the game and started shooting lasers out of his eyes, it had finally dawned on me that I was witnessing a spiritual experience for overseas spectators — that most of them had probably never seen James or Curry or Durant with their own eyes. That this might even be their only chance.

Might as well cheer like it, regardless of national allegiance.

I was reminded of those fans and their gleeful recognition of basketball royalty this Friday when I opened Twitter (usually a big mistake) to find people litigating whether Nuggets fans should’ve been rooting for Serbia or Team USA in the semifinal. Should Jokic’s contributions to Denver outweigh love of country? Should the American big men who are Jokic’s foils in the NBA be regarded as opponents again in this context, or should the jersey they wear take precedence? Should basketball fandom ultimately be about loyalty to a team or a player?

I actually think those are pretty fascinating and nuanced questions, though the danger of social media is that they are reduced to fodder for name-calling and general vitriol.

I know people who’ve casually rooted against Team USA at these Olympics — but only in basketball, not other sports — because their default mindset is to cheer on an underdog. The tradition of the American superteam is as Goliath-ian as it gets; I can see how that might eliminate the spontaneity of victory, and therefore the enjoyment. I also have friends who were previously indifferent to Olympic basketball but got invested in it this year, entirely because of the “Last Dance” element for LeBron, Steph and KD. Anyone who’s watched their careers over the last 15 to 20 years can attest there’s an emotional quality to them uniting for the first time as gray-haired teammates. And they captured unforgettable magic in the final moments of Thursday’s comeback, each contributing clutch moments to a 95-91 win over Serbia.

I’ve read social media accounts from Coloradans who experienced a crisis of fandom during that comeback, suddenly not wanting a gold medal to slip through Jokic’s fingers. I know others who had no crisis at all. They were comfortably backing Serbia. Durant himself logged on to poke fun at that faction of “cornball” Nuggets fans — if nothing else, an amusing reminder that all of this is entertainment. It’s not that serious.

So my mind drifts back to Lille, and the Europeans who wanted Serbia to pull off an upset but couldn’t resist the delight of a LeBron dunk. The basketball enthusiasts who wore random vintage NBA jerseys that had nothing to do with either national team. The pocket of my section that eventually started loudly cheering every time Joel Embiid did something good, seemingly for no other reason than to cancel out the boos of the French. The fans of Japan two days later who took out their phones in awe to film a home-crowd rendition of “La Marseillaise” during a timeout, even though Rui Hachimura had just been blasphemously ejected. (I filmed it, too. Felt like I was in Rick’s Café Américain. Catchiest national anthem by far.)

And the travelers from Serbia who were sitting next to us one evening in the town square, eagerly wishing specifically for a Serbia-USA rematch later in the tournament. Sure, that would probably be a death sentence for Serbia, but wouldn’t it be awesome to see Steph one more time?

The most refreshing part of the atmosphere around Lille was the passion for basketball that left self-seriousness at the door. That’s a bigger distinction between the Olympics and the NBA than any rule difference if you ask me.