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Not just another superjock: The intuitive wisdom of LeBron James
LeBron James makes his decision
It was to see LeBron James play in person that I attended, on my 67th birthday this spring, my first live National Basketball Association playoff game since 1962, when my college buddy and I trekked to Boston Garden and plunked down a modest fee, for which we were rewarded with decent seats from which to witness Elgin Baylor of the Los Angeles Lakers score an astonishing 61 points in the championship series against the Boston Celtics.
As involved as I remain with basketball— as a high school coach, an Associated Press stringer and a devoted fan of my son, an all-conference guard at a Division III college— I no longer seriously consider attending NBA games. My sole excursion to Oracle Arena, the renovated home arena of my local franchise, the Golden State Warriors, shortly after its opening, was bizarrely repugnant to me: Being ushered to my appointed seat in a supposedly desirable luxury corporate box reminded me so much of going through a (pre 9/11) airport check-in line that I was reduced to muttering imponderables under my breath about having to catch a connecting flight to Houston.
At Oracle, my seats had been generously provided gratis by Golden State's vice president and former title-winning coach Al Attles, whose acquaintance and near-friendship I valued and had heretofore taken great pains to cultivate. Here was a terrible disconnect: Accepting the gift tickets had become the price of continuing the relationship.
Al understood: "Oh, you remember when it was just about basketball."
A throwback to Robertson
Yet much as I know that the game, especially on the professional level, can never provide me with the moments of transcendent joy that it did for so many years, I've been captivated by LeBron James since I first heard of him as a high school junior (him, not me) and saw him play in a California summer league game. My sole interest in watching NBA games in recent years has been to see James, because there is at every moment the possibility that he'll do something I've never seen anyone do before, or even thought possible.
Along with that came his work ethic, which in my mind recalled that of Oscar Robertson, the greatest player of my era. James made me think of Oscar reborn, with an Oscar-like attentiveness to improving and mastering everything that really mattered between the lines of rectangular confines of his world.
How different, though, is his world than was Oscar's! James had a $95 million sneaker endorsement contract waiting for him when he leaped from high school to the NBA, leaving behind a trail of rumors and press clippings that included his mother's mysterious acquisition of a new Hummer.
After his Cleveland Cavaliers lost to Boston in the playoffs, James said that he had "no plans; we'll see what happens." How dare he be so vague about his next employer when so many people actually know what he's doing! Who was he to say he has no plans? Doesn't he realize that important people want to know! We allow our heroes no private thoughts.
Like King Lear
After James entertained expressions of undying love from six suitors, as King Lear before him had demanded of his three daughters, finally, the day of decision came: July 8, 2010. With carefully constructed but shockingly tasteless pomp and circumstances, King James staged an ESPN spectacular.
In a carefully but poorly chosen locale— the Boys and Girls Club in Greenwich, Connecticut— the casually attired and endlessly boring ESPN announcer Jim Gray teased expectant viewers with a slew of pointless questions, apparently to provide more sponsors with commercial time, and James and the ESPN marketing empire that he now spearheads more time to indulge in platitudes and self-contradictory rationales, all the while crediting the noble influence of James's mother.
The myriad analyses preceding James's final choice had identified five possible rationales upon which he might base his decision. Loyalty would argue for staying in Cleveland, his hometown; making the most possible money would send him to the Knicks, as New York offered the largest market and the biggest stage; maximizing his chances to win a title would propel him to Chicago or Miami.
Winning, and friendship, too
Just before announcing his destination, James stated that the chance to win was primary, leaving only Chicago and Miami as contenders. But Miami offered James another intangible: the joy of playing with his buddies, Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh, which is ultimately what sent him to Miami.
The biggest seeming problem with this choice is simply its short-run unpopularity. Nobody outside Miami is likely to be happy with this choice. In this maximum alienation of fans, James may now rival Kobe Bryant, whose Los Angeles Lakers are still likely to defeat Miami, if the Heat can jell sufficiently to dethrone Boston in the East.
But Bryant"“ whatever people may say and dislike about him"“ has been vindicated by recent history in his insistence on constructing a team that he felt could win while best allowing him to use and display his wondrous talents.
A supportive coach
The other dimension in which James may emulate Bryant is in his desire for a strong coach who can offer non-intrusive support and guidance. Phil Jackson of Los Angeles offers this to Bryant, and Pat Riley's presence in Miami, whether on the bench or in the front office, figures to comfort James, in that Riley"“ like him or not"“ has mentored so many great players over so many years that his accumulated experience is invaluable.
By contrast, James ran things in Cleveland, with coach Mike Brown genuflecting to his superstar's extraordinarily high basketball IQ, giving James free reign to create but falling short of actually coaching him in the way James probably senses that he needs.
We may not like the decision and how it was handled. I too am unhappy with James's choice: I wanted him in New York; wanted him to light up the town, win more titles than Walt Frazier and Willis Reed, make ten fortunes. I'm starved for heroes, aching to find meaning in the game I so love, envious of those who, like my son, simply enjoy athletic greatness for what it is rather than what it might mean.
But that's my problem, not LeBron's. When all is said and done, is the combination of personal happiness, the chance to play with one's friends, and a secure franchise run by a powerful and successful executive with championship coaching experience such a bad basis for a decision?
As involved as I remain with basketball— as a high school coach, an Associated Press stringer and a devoted fan of my son, an all-conference guard at a Division III college— I no longer seriously consider attending NBA games. My sole excursion to Oracle Arena, the renovated home arena of my local franchise, the Golden State Warriors, shortly after its opening, was bizarrely repugnant to me: Being ushered to my appointed seat in a supposedly desirable luxury corporate box reminded me so much of going through a (pre 9/11) airport check-in line that I was reduced to muttering imponderables under my breath about having to catch a connecting flight to Houston.
At Oracle, my seats had been generously provided gratis by Golden State's vice president and former title-winning coach Al Attles, whose acquaintance and near-friendship I valued and had heretofore taken great pains to cultivate. Here was a terrible disconnect: Accepting the gift tickets had become the price of continuing the relationship.
Al understood: "Oh, you remember when it was just about basketball."
A throwback to Robertson
Yet much as I know that the game, especially on the professional level, can never provide me with the moments of transcendent joy that it did for so many years, I've been captivated by LeBron James since I first heard of him as a high school junior (him, not me) and saw him play in a California summer league game. My sole interest in watching NBA games in recent years has been to see James, because there is at every moment the possibility that he'll do something I've never seen anyone do before, or even thought possible.
Along with that came his work ethic, which in my mind recalled that of Oscar Robertson, the greatest player of my era. James made me think of Oscar reborn, with an Oscar-like attentiveness to improving and mastering everything that really mattered between the lines of rectangular confines of his world.
How different, though, is his world than was Oscar's! James had a $95 million sneaker endorsement contract waiting for him when he leaped from high school to the NBA, leaving behind a trail of rumors and press clippings that included his mother's mysterious acquisition of a new Hummer.
After his Cleveland Cavaliers lost to Boston in the playoffs, James said that he had "no plans; we'll see what happens." How dare he be so vague about his next employer when so many people actually know what he's doing! Who was he to say he has no plans? Doesn't he realize that important people want to know! We allow our heroes no private thoughts.
Like King Lear
After James entertained expressions of undying love from six suitors, as King Lear before him had demanded of his three daughters, finally, the day of decision came: July 8, 2010. With carefully constructed but shockingly tasteless pomp and circumstances, King James staged an ESPN spectacular.
In a carefully but poorly chosen locale— the Boys and Girls Club in Greenwich, Connecticut— the casually attired and endlessly boring ESPN announcer Jim Gray teased expectant viewers with a slew of pointless questions, apparently to provide more sponsors with commercial time, and James and the ESPN marketing empire that he now spearheads more time to indulge in platitudes and self-contradictory rationales, all the while crediting the noble influence of James's mother.
The myriad analyses preceding James's final choice had identified five possible rationales upon which he might base his decision. Loyalty would argue for staying in Cleveland, his hometown; making the most possible money would send him to the Knicks, as New York offered the largest market and the biggest stage; maximizing his chances to win a title would propel him to Chicago or Miami.
Winning, and friendship, too
Just before announcing his destination, James stated that the chance to win was primary, leaving only Chicago and Miami as contenders. But Miami offered James another intangible: the joy of playing with his buddies, Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh, which is ultimately what sent him to Miami.
The biggest seeming problem with this choice is simply its short-run unpopularity. Nobody outside Miami is likely to be happy with this choice. In this maximum alienation of fans, James may now rival Kobe Bryant, whose Los Angeles Lakers are still likely to defeat Miami, if the Heat can jell sufficiently to dethrone Boston in the East.
But Bryant"“ whatever people may say and dislike about him"“ has been vindicated by recent history in his insistence on constructing a team that he felt could win while best allowing him to use and display his wondrous talents.
A supportive coach
The other dimension in which James may emulate Bryant is in his desire for a strong coach who can offer non-intrusive support and guidance. Phil Jackson of Los Angeles offers this to Bryant, and Pat Riley's presence in Miami, whether on the bench or in the front office, figures to comfort James, in that Riley"“ like him or not"“ has mentored so many great players over so many years that his accumulated experience is invaluable.
By contrast, James ran things in Cleveland, with coach Mike Brown genuflecting to his superstar's extraordinarily high basketball IQ, giving James free reign to create but falling short of actually coaching him in the way James probably senses that he needs.
We may not like the decision and how it was handled. I too am unhappy with James's choice: I wanted him in New York; wanted him to light up the town, win more titles than Walt Frazier and Willis Reed, make ten fortunes. I'm starved for heroes, aching to find meaning in the game I so love, envious of those who, like my son, simply enjoy athletic greatness for what it is rather than what it might mean.
But that's my problem, not LeBron's. When all is said and done, is the combination of personal happiness, the chance to play with one's friends, and a secure franchise run by a powerful and successful executive with championship coaching experience such a bad basis for a decision?
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