MINNEAPOLIS – All the noise drenched with foul negativity that coaches preach to ignore, David Adelman absorbs and wrings into a stinking bucket he feels obligated to carry.

“I understand that people want me to crush our guys after losses,” Adelman said Wednesday. “But I’m not going to do that, when I know the temperament of the team.”

So as his players hoisted shots on the Target Center court where a win-or-go home playoff game for the Nuggets will be contested Thursday night, I asked Adelman:

Despite outside pressure to rip his players for basketball sins committed in this playoff series, why did he decide it was unmerited?

“Because I talk to my guys individually and as a team in the locker room. You guys aren’t on our team. They hear my message every day. I have extreme confidence in this team. There’s a reason why these guys won 54 (regular-season) games with all these different lineups. They trust each other,” Adelman replied.

“Yeah, it sucks to play poorly in the playoffs. But that doesn’t mean they’re noncompetitive. They’re competitive. Obviously.”

If the noise is stupid and uniformed, why would any coach feel the need to acknowledge it?

You guys wouldn’t understand … 

When a coach goes there, his ears are antennas for criticism.

And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

The outside noise can fuel a coach and his players, so long as taking a match to the perceived disrespect doesn’t consume them.

During the twists and turns of a long NBA playoff series, adversity is inevitable, redemption is only one big shot away, heroes can spring from the shadows and strength of will can be nearly as important as depth of talent.

This series, between two rivals with a history of annoying each other, has become an even bigger gut check than most postseason battles, because of the gut punches endured by both the Nuggets and Timberwolves from injuries to Aaron Gordon, Peyton Watson, Anthony Edwards and Donte DiVincenzo.

But what’s nearly as compelling to watch is the education of Adelman.

A year ago, when given the lead seat on the Denver bench after the shocking dismissal of Michael Malone only days before the playoffs began, Adelman was a sympathetic figure, doing the best he could under difficult circumstances.

Now, after his first full season as a head coach, Adelman’s seat is considerably warmer. It feels as if the Nuggets’ championship window might already have begun to close, and if another year of Nikola Jokic’s prime is wasted, Adelman will certainly feel the heat.

He bristled after the Nuggets fell apart in Game 4 in a lopsided loss to a crippled Minnesota team that took a commanding 3-1 lead in this best-of-seven series.

“I don’t care what you write. I really don’t,” Adelman said in the aftermath of Denver’s last frustrating visit to Minneapolis. “I know what the team feels. I know what they felt before the game. The narrative doesn’t matter to me. I know the feeling of the group. And I know there’s something in us.”

Standing up for his players is what a good coach does when the scoreboard has them down.

But tone also counts. By underlining with anger that he didn’t care only made it sound as Adelman cared a wee bit too much what knuckleheads like you or me think.

He was testy again after the Nuggets kept their season alive in Game 5. Rather than happily (or even smugly) taking the “W” on the way out of Ball Arena and enjoying the renewed hope his players worked hard to earn, Adelman seemed peeved anyone had doubted an offensive-oriented team that had misplaced its shooting touch for long stretches.

“Offense doesn’t matter,” insisted Adelman, his irritation obvious as the coach interrupted the first question of his press conference following a rousing 125-113 victory by the Nuggets.

While I disagreed with Stan and Josh Kroenke’s choice to entrust what remains of Jokic’s MVP prime to an inexperienced head coach, I also believe Adelman deserves the chance to grow into the job.

Fighting outside noise with all-caps feistiness seems very much like the trap we all can fall into these days.

But Adelman is also the son of a coach. And not just any coach. Rick Adelman played seven seasons in the NBA, then won more than 1,000 games from the bench, twice guiding Portland to the finals.

Those are big sneakers to fill.

And sometimes David Adelman looks like a dutiful son straining to prove that his father’s coaching jacket isn’t too big for him.

While the Nuggets coach might regard my take as criticism, I find it a very human aspect of him learning to find his own voice and deal with the pressures of an unforgiving job subject to constant second-guessing.

With the Timberwolves down their leading scorer and his starting backcourt mate, the momentum of the series has swung so hard that the Nuggets are decisive favorites to survive and advance. 

All Adelman has to do now: Stay calm. And don’t blow it.

But should the Nuggets fail?

Oh, my.

If Denver gets bounced from the playoffs, this would be my friendly advice to Adelman: Mute the podcasts, don’t Google anything related to the Nuggets and turn off your mentions.

The noise could be loud enough to make the coach’s ears bleed.