LeBron Changes… Everything

By: D.K. Wilson

6/2/2007 6:00:00 PM by D.K. Wilson


Bye-bye Kobe. Can you say Sisyphus?

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What franchise is worth more, the NBA or Nike? Oh, I thought so. Because Bron Bron, the Game One idiot savant with his idiosyncratic way of pounding opposing players with his body on the way to the rack like the cartoon Bam Bam, sloughed off the “idiot” and looks more like Superman in red wine shorts. Thursday night - May 31, 2007 - can now be forever known as, “That Knight” - not for King James, but for Phil.

Yes, last night was the moment Phil Knight was praying for. The 20th-century Gatorade man’s legacy - the legacy partially built by Knight and filmed by Spike Lee - was about to take its final lap and he wasn’t making the farewell look very good; $$$$$$$$$$$$ - yeah, that many to his wife; that blasphemous score of Dwight Howard’s dunk told the observant he was growing old quite ungracefully.

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The still-young man, now growing old in dog years, who made Phil Knight’s Midsummer Night’s dream come true has played 131 more games than any other Michael Jordan look-alike over the past nine years. And, as it is with all athletics, with the passing of time comes someone whose game is the likes of which we’ve never seen before. Yes he’s so much better than Mike, but will only be known for what he was not.

Not poor enough. Not American enough. Not touched by the hype machine at age 12 enough; was he even in this country then? Not Duke at all; did Coach K ever acknowledge his disappointment that he never graced the Southern ivy facade of Durham? Not deferential enough; air balls in the ‘offs at crunch time will do that to the best of fellows. Not knowing enough; the press this time, for their inability to realize what he did in Indiana when Shaq fouled out in the Finals and his ankle was Laker purple but he re-entered the game and - at age 21(!) - made everyone forget Reggie’s six threes; a magic act for sure.

Not alone enough; hard way to be when there’s seven-feet-one-inch and three hundred fifty pounds of gorilla on your back; and the gorilla’s scribes have the nerve to say he’s carrying you. Not regal enough; elope. Not smart enough; Eagle. Not repentant enough; still innocent (since when did bragging about his size and glowing about all the positions you could put yourself into at a party the next night become a defense mechanism?). Not worldly enough; Phil and Shaq are still secretly smiling that he’s third in the order of them. Not leader enough; he can thank Tim Thomas for that one. Not 81 enough; he didn’t do it every game! Not timely enough; had he checked into the Blue Devil den for two or three Final Fours, the distance between him and the Gatorade Knight Man would be just right.

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The anointed villain, Sir Not Enough - and you’re not the top seller of Japanese beef? - had to be in a Maalox moment as he watched Phil’s last Knight and present King swoop in on the wings of his ugly jumper that suddenly fell in e-ver-y time. The seas parted when James made his forays to the hoop. When something was in the way it was a hip or an arm, not a body. Gimmick zones were thrown in to confuse James - Not! - and “respect” the Cavaliers outside shooters; the last time I saw a big shot it was clanking crookedly off the rim, and that was the last time in this series LeBron truly relied on his teammates for anything other than providing the “proper spacing.” By which is meant: stay waaaay out of his way.

Oddly, James did little on defense: two steals and six defensive rebounds in 50 minutes is next to nothing when you’re 6′8″, 245 lbs with the skills of a point guard, a shooting guard, a small and a power forward. But the totality of his Game 5 will be lost. What will be remembered is LeBron James scoring twenty-five straight points - 29 out of 30 to end the game.

Immediately the scribes exaggerated the intensity of Detroit’s double teams and simultaneously lied and reported that Anderson Varejao blocked Rasheed Wallace’s jumper or refused to speak of the foul at all. No one hawked LeBron for 94 feet. No one forced the ball from his hands. No one really called out the officials for sending Antonio McDyess out of the series and making Chris Webber the number two interior defensive stalwart as LeBron drove time after time after time after…

I did say LeBron swooped in, yes? He swooped in and took untold millions from Mr. Not Enough. He swooped in and made ESPN look absolutely, downright, inexplicably brilliant for running that segment on James and his new mentor Warren Buffett a couple of days ago - because now a billion dollars doesn’t look that far away for a 22-year old who owns the professional basketball world and the piece of a shoe company that just two days ago belonged to the 20th century Airman - a piece that will now expand to include and ultimately be usurped by the new and only King.

Meanwhile, the Super Sonics and Blazers talk about planning for the future. In the anti-conspiracy theory of the year, David Stern smiled hugely when his balls were on the line and one rose in Seattle while the other found its way to Portland. The two early entries - Shaq, Jr. Jr. and What Can’t He Do - were sent to never-never land, so perfectly perfect to clear the way for last Knight.

This morning the sun shines brightly on both Niketown and New York City, but not so in Malibu, Chicago, Charlotte, or perhaps a Hilton Head Island golf course; wherever Mr. Man’s Nike clubs presently lie.

For us on the outside of all this, a new divide waits. The “who is who and best” debate will rage even more. And since history has only a history as long as the last fashion cycle - and sometimes even that is a stretch - and image has nearly officially replaced the thing itself, the good money is on the Merlot-colored number 23 whose best season is a normally tempestuous time, the one just after spring and just before summer - the postseason, playoff time.

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D.K. Wilson is a freelance sports writer. He is better known on the internet as "DWil," and writes for Sports On My Mind.

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