I figured it would make a lot more news and noise, that it would make for hot debate on radio and cable TV shows, the kind on which entire afternoons are devoted to the discussion of who’s the best eighth man in the NBA’s Western Conference. 

But I didn’t hear a thing. 

Perhaps our standards are so diminished that such news doesn’t make noise, but Sunday in D.C. the Bucks’ “Greek Freak” Giannis Antetokounmpo — among my favorite NBA players for his skill, classy style and sense of humor — left me flat. 

The game was all but over, a few seconds left. Milwaukee was up six with the ball, when Antetokounmpo, after grabbing a rebound (his ninth) dribbled the length of the court, totally undefended, until he reached the basket, where he suddenly stopped. 

Then, with about one second left and still undefended, he tossed up “a shot” clearly designed to create for himself an offensive rebound, as he threw it beneath the basket, under the rim, in order to easily catch the ball … 

… and provide himself with his fourth triple-double of the season … 

… as if he needed such to affirm his greatness. 

It appeared to be what it appeared to be: A cheap, cheesy display of excessively self-serving conduct, antithetical to professionalism and, or so I thought, to Antetokounmpo. 

How did he even know he needed one more rebound to complete the feat? And once he knew, why did he care so much that he made a public pig of himself? 

Naturally, due to diminished standards and frightened pandering, the fellow calling the game on the Bucks’ TV network and fully realizing what Antetokounmpo was up to, delightfully declared, “I love it!” 

Really? Loved it? 

But ill-gotten gains are now frequently indulged — even applauded — to best endear oneself to the young and desensitized. 

That final rebound, however, was removed from Antetokounmpo’s permanent record by the league, as per NBA rule: For a field goal attempt to count as official, the player must shoot “with intent to score a field goal.” 

Thus, what Antetokounmpo should’ve dismissed as a matter of his class, professionalism and dignity, was entered into the “Annals of Why Even Bother?” as a self-inflicted wound. 

Bottom line: Antetokounmpo left this fan extremely disappointed. 

That same uneasiness has been tethered to DJ LeMahieu since he won the 2016 NL batting title with the Rockies. Frequently, during his four seasons with the Yankees, team and national broadcasters have spoken of that accomplishment. 

But we were never told the significant side story: In order to protect his lead over the Nationals’ and former Met Daniel Murphy, who was out with an injury, LeMahieu did not play in four of Colorado’s last five games. 

So, provided the opportunity to emulate Ted Williams, who in 1941 batted .406 and nobly eschewed the opportunity to take the last game off to ensure .400, LeMahieu traveled the far easier, but far more disappointing, road. 

Tuesday, another disappointment: 

While watching an NHL game, Henrik Lundqvist, one of the classiest to play any sport in New York, again appeared in one of those sports gambling ads. 

He again reminded us that he’s now in the business of accepting money to encourage hockey fans — suckers — to lose their money investing in a business predicated on customers losing their money. 

But just as “the small” of the back is found opposite “the large” of the stomach, such disappointments are the flip-sides of wishful expectations. 

Great idea to have legalized gambling on pro wrestling. That is an idea the WWE seems to be pushing, just in case roller derby and “Duck Dynasty” create gambling revenue, I suppose. 

First, think of the money to be saved on investigating fixed wrestling matches as they’re scripted in advance. Not fixed? That’s when to demand an investigation! 

Then, think of all the fun prop bets, such as the life expectancy of Wrestlemania headliners and the amount in millions that Vince McMahon annually will pay to settle sexual misconduct claims. (My tout: parlay the Under with the Over.) 

And drug-testing will be strictly prohibited as per pro wrestling’s zero intolerance policy. 

Former Islanders defenseman Thomas Hickey, now a contributor on the team’s MSG telecasts, gave it his best Dizzy Dean on Thursday, when he noted that a player had been “drug into the play.” 

As the voice of the St. Louis Cardinals, Dean made Midwestern schoolteachers wince with his butchered English that included players who “slud into third.” 

Our cherished pursuer of recorded truths at @BackAftaThis has again found FS1’s Colin Cowherd guilty of Francesa-ism — revising his own history to make himself sound like Malarkyious, the All-Seeing, All-Knowing genius. 

Last week, Cowherd championed Ravens QB Lamar Jackson as an extraordinary talent: “The dude is special!” 

After Jackson was drafted in 2018, Cowherd dismissed him as just “another Tim Tebow,” “a project” with limited skills. 

Other than loyalty, I’ll never figure how Georgetown figured Patrick Ewing would make a good head coach. His sense of the game as a Knick seemed extremely limited, as he eschewed creativity in favor of routine. 

With Ewing as the Knicks’ center, any brief notion of running a fast break or even an up-beat offense was given the ix-nay. 

Ewing’s defensive rebounds were almost invariably followed by handing the ball to the point guard, who slowly dribbled down court while Ewing set up near the basket, always calling for the ball. 

As an art genre, he was an adherent to the Minimalist Movement. He was never schooled to be a total basketball college coach — and it showed. 

Hey, didn’t recognize the Canadiens on Thursday on MSG versus the Rangers. The Habs were wearing red, white and deep blue uniforms instead of their sacré powder blue ensembles. 

It seems that wherever Michael Irvin goes and whichever network he works for, he’s soon left to explain that there’s no fire attached to his trail of smoke. 

More neat stuff in Bill Sullivan’s second book about the early Mets, “Long Before the Miracle,” available via Amazon. 

Galen Cisco, for example, 1962-65: “The first game I pitched for the Mets I threw 162 pitches. One hundred, sixty-two! And Casey Stengel never even asked if I was tired.” 

Then there was 1964-65 infielder Bobby Klaus, who played college ball for Illinois where a teammate was pitcher Ray Nitschke, the fabled Packers middle linebacker who later was elected to the Pro Football Hall of Fame. 

Sullivan last month called Ron Hunt, who wrote the foreword to this book and was the first Mets-raised All-Star, to wish him a happy 82nd birthday. 

Wouldn’t it be smarter and certainly safer for big ticket players if MLB, in its current state, just skipped spring training and started the season at a given date rather than risk all these preseason injuries? 

I was raised to think of spring training as a time to get into shape rather than hope to return by mid-June.