Can I say it now? I really despise LeBron James, and I suspect I'm not alone on that one, following last night's pitiful display of unabridged narcissism on ESPN.
Oh, I didn't actually WATCH “The Decision” (and how self-important is that title, by the way?). Then again, I didn't have to watch it, seeing as video clips and audio bites have been making the rounds across our televisions, computer screens and radios in a steady stream of fallout after the fact. Still, the whole episode leaves me feeling like I need to take a shower.
I would say that it “almost” makes me embarrassed to be an NBA fan, but I'm not even sure I was a fan anymore (at least not of the NBA as it is currently constituted). And make no mistake about it, this was embarrassing on a grand scale. I don't know which was worse: watching for the past couple of years as "the King" relieved himself all over the collective upturned faces of his minions until it culminated with last night's retch-fest; or watching those fawning masses not only taking the dousing but sucking it up with a straw while begging for more. Or perhaps most nauseating of all was the breathless commentary of a media that had long ago shed the bothersome bonds of journalistic integrity in its relentless pursuit of the Next Big Thing in the cult of celebrity.
Oh, I've long known that professional sports is big business, that it's primarily about endorsements and paychecks and entertainment extravaganzas more traditionally witnessed with the WWE. I guess that's just part of growing up. But the tripe that millions witnessed last night goes way beyond the pale, even for a sports cynic such as myself.
There's an old Stephen King miniseries called “The Stand” where Jamey Sheridan (yes, that Jamey Sheridan from “Law & Order” spinoff fame) plays a post-apocalyptic devil incarnate in cowboy boots. In one of the penultimate scenes of the movie, the cheering crowds are gathered in Las Vegas to worship Sheridan as he prepares to dismember two innocent sacrificial chumps for the collective joy of his cheering minions. It's a scene of spectacle and an obvious reference to both the crucifixion of Jesus Christ and to modern-day society's immorality and mob mentality. It's also the scene that kept running through my head as ESPN dragged us inexorably closer to the moment of “King James's” self-coronation and pronouncement of the American burg where he would deign to “take his talents”. Turns out, it wasn't Cleveland. Big surprise.
Naturally, the people of Cleveland are devastated. And, no doubt along with the people of New York, New Jersey, Chicago and any other city whose team and hopes were jerked around by this jerk, they are angry. And frankly, it's about time. For at least a year now I've been wondering when the fans of Cleveland were going to stop prostrating themselves and start resenting LeBron. I mean, at what point exactly does a person start to feel a sense of shame at the loss of personal dignity that is required to grovel in an effort to please a fickle, overpaid superstar for whom no amount of fawning would ever be enough?
I feel bad for the fans of Cleveland. I really do. After all, they took that last step in self-inflicted humiliation by creating a musical love letter to LeBron, a “Hymn to Him”, as it were, only to have their affections spurned before a national audience. Called “Please Stay LeBron” (set to the tune, appropriately enough, of “We Are the World”, penned by yet another insulated ambassador of selfdom by the name of Michael Jackson), the heartfelt rendition resembles nothing so much as what passes for Sunday worship by the NBA faithful. But I can't also help wonder if these same fans would've seen LeBron for the selfish megalomaniac he is if he had elected to keep his “talents” in Cleveland. I'm thinking no, but I guess we'll never know for sure.
Still, I have to confess that there's a part of me that thinks the fans of Cleveland brought at least some of this on themselves. I'm hearing more and more of how over the past 17 years or so seemingly everyone in the Buckeye State, from his family to his friends to his coaches, teachers and teammates and other assorted sycophants and hangers-on have done everything in their power to enable LeBron's colossal sense of entitlement. He's been surrounded by a solar system of lesser planets, all willing to simultaneously subjugate their own egos while inflating his. Basking in his glow, they've gladly cloaked his sins for him. Too bad there's not a fart blanket big enough or strong enough to cloak us from the noxious, malodorous cloud now emanating from his gravitational pull.
I mentioned earlier that the hoopla surrounding “The Decision” reminded me of that mob scene in “The Stand”. Something else I remember from that scene in the movie is when one of the few people in the slithering mob stood up to his fellow countrymen in an attempt to stop the insanity, yelling “this ain't how Americans act!”. Maybe not. But it's a fair imitation of how sports fans act. And we all know that we get exactly what we deserve.
Rant over (for now).
