Kevin Love looks as if he is going to be calling Cleveland home for the 2014-2015 season. Love has spent his entire six-year career in Minnesota, longing for a playoff berth at the very minimum. Too bad for Minnesota and Love, the Timberwolves couldn’t clinch a spot in the postseason even once with Love on its roster. Fast forward to summer 2014. Love wants out and LeBron James heads back to Cleveland, thus creating a want for star players such as Love to join him. Love has been rumored to go be headed different teams such as the Lakers, Bulls and Warriors but it’s the Cavs of all teams that have a deal in place with the stubborn Wolves to acquire the all star.

Kevin Love seems headed to Cleveland, will he Kryie Irving and LeBron help Cleveland finally win a title?

In a deal that will send #1 overall picks Andrew Wiggins and Anthony Bennett along with a first round pick, the Cavs somehow got the Wolves to agree. It’s not the Warriors proposition of David Lee, Harrison Barnes and Klay Thompson but it’s a close second right? The Wolves didn’t want to end up like many other teams and call Love on his bluff only to have him leave Minnesota without getting anything back for him. With Love presumably on his way to Cleveland to join LeBron James and fellow all star Kyrie Irving, the question now comes about, which big three featuring LeBron is better? LeBron James, Dwayne Wade, and Chris Bosh or LeBron James, Kevin Love, and Kyrie Irving?  I would also like to point out that although LeBron had much of the spotlight during his time in Miami and it was well deserved but Dwayne Wade was the most crucial player on those teams. The two seasons that Wade played up to his ability the result was a title, coincidence? I don’t think so.

The new big three in Cleveland is much more of a shooting bunch with Love and Kyrie but adding LeBron to that mix with his excellent passing skills should put fear into opposing defenses. Plus this new big three is much younger being that LeBron probably won’t have to worry about any teammates’ knees going out after every game. Many may look at the two big threes and break them down and compare stats and how they predict the new one will do but for me, the answer to the question shouldn’t even be a thought.

Kevin Love has been in the league six seasons; Kyrie Irving has been in for three for what do they have to show for those seasons? Neither one of them has even played in one single playoff game, not one. I understand that neither had much help on their respective rosters but the point remains the same, there is no individual winning whatsoever from either of them. It’s an unfair comparison, but Kobe Bryant carried a team with Kwame Brown and Smush Parker in the starting lineup to the playoffs and almost a playoff series win. Looking at the Miami big three, when LeBron joined Dwayne Wade had won a title with several playoff appearances and Bosh also had a few sightings in the postseason with the Raptors. Of course being fair to at least Kyrie, he has only been in the NBA for a few seasons but the Miami big three was light-years ahead of LeBron’s new one in Cleveland.

The Cavs are on the rise and could prove me wrong but for now at least, LeBrons’ old gig gave him more of a chance to win a title in the next season or two.

Last June, LeBron James was able to finally breathe and celebrate the fact that he had finally won the NBA championship that he had been chasing for years. An NBA Finals win over the Oklahoma City Thunder did the trick and it was James who propelled the Heat to the title, showing that he was the best player in the game. Going into the 2012-2013 NBA season, all eyes were on LeBron and the Heat to see if they could repeat. Now it is playoff time, in the middle of the second round to be exact, and from what we have seen so far this season, if the Heat don’t repeat as champions it should be considered as one of the biggest failures in NBA history.

Chris Bosh will be a free agent along with Dwayne Wade and LeBron James in a few years. Matt and other NBA fans are just counting down the days before the dynasty is broken. By Richard Giles, via Wikimedia Commons

When I say that this season should be considered one of the biggest failures in NBA history if the Heat don’t repeat, I am serious. Just look at their roster, LeBron James, Dwayne Wade, Chris Bosh, the additions of Ray Allen and Rashard Lewis, Mario Chalmers, Shane Battier, Mike Miller and so on. There is no excuse whatsoever that this current Miami Heat team shouldn’t win the championship. There are at least four future Hall of Famers on the team and one or two more that have a chance to make it there. Throughout the course of an NBA season, there are some teams that fail to win even 27 games out of the 82 that are played by each team; the Heat alone had a historic 27 game winning streak at one point. They finished the season with an astonishing 66-16 record, giving them the number one seed in the Eastern Conference and the playoffs entirely. The record was six games better than the second best team in the league and twelve better than the second seed in the East, the New York Knicks.

If the Heat don’t win, it was be the second time in three years that the “Big Three” don’t win the championship and that is just wrong with the roster they have playing on the court. I believe that if they don’t win the title the next two years, which would give them the first, three-peat since the Lakers did it in the early 2000s, they might change the team up in 2014 once Wade, Bosh and LeBron all can become free agents. Think about it. Wade and Bosh aren’t getting any younger. LeBron will just be 30. This is where all the LeBron leaving Miami rumors surface. It’s still years away, and this probably isn’t the time to talk about all that. For now, Miami should be excited about their present crash course with destiny and we should just be thinking about this season and how it turns out. For Miami’s sake, I hope they win the title and live up to the high expectation they’ve created for themselves.

//www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ir2TdfSwH8g

Two – minutes, twoooo – minutes,

says the baritone,

and the crowd surfs and swells,

the clock ticks and tells,

the eternal sands of time.

We are made to die.

Each moment and ember of sun light

setting and re – setting;

the dust of our hearts contained.

Until the baritone begs us pardon,

namesake and fame,

by which we do – or don’t deny

implode fracture.

LeBron fades.

Rim, ruckus, ball lies flat on floor;

his name jarbled between one – two

tapping beats of the dribble,

post stop and pop.

Clank.

Is he clutch? Can he kiss and

close? Will he when he can he?

Ride a rafter’s heaven to point

of full explosion —

most valuable, most gifted, most determined,

most strong willed, most groomed,

but what then? why not? why not now?

To whom much is given much is required —

Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh, Spunky Spo and

the part of Riley’s unforgivably plastic

and unmovable hair,

sifting the gold from the grain,

Like time ebbing out a star, creating another,

Before it bursts and falls and blues

depressed in the backdrop

of I shoulda, coulda, woulda…

There is equally a reason why so many fans scoff at the synthetic construction of the Miami Heat. And its not because those fans are simply “drinking hater-ade.” Its because true fans of the game appreciate natural development above truly manufactured assembly.

While the talents of Dwayne Wade, LeBron James and Chris Bosh are as undeniable as the sun rising in the East, the ersatz teaming of the trio is just as contrarily conspicuous as is evident the display their elite skill.

They are roundly rooted against, and rightfully so.  Every unbiased eye wants to see the prognosticator who has the nerve to suppose instant gratification while holding a stacked deck, bust out in the end.

When the Heat are compared to great teams who featured great superstars of years past, the incontrovertible fact remains that the level that the Heat have hyped in plastic has never been seen before.  Call it a factor of today’s free-agency culture if you so choose.  To do so is a cop out on the real underlying themes and bona-fide idiosyncrasies of all-time great winners.

The everlasting royalty of champions that have endured similar burdens all share one abiding trait – losing at the pinnacle didn’t make them look instantly for alternate ways around the obstacle.  They stayed steadfast, and ultimately in the end, reaped the benefits.  This is something LeBron James will never have the opportunity to experience, by his own discretion, due to the decided departure from his native franchise, in which he transparently, hastily and prematurely decreed could never become a winner.

This is the result of his “decision.”  A now artificial attempt by his own naive decree.

The prime example of this true winners dynamic is the plight of Jerry West.  After being unceasingly beaten by Boston and even New York, year after year, in seven straight attempts at an NBA crown, did he strive to team up with the Celtics or the Knicks at any point therein?  No.

That was the last thing a true champion like West ever considered.  On his eight try he finally made good on his crusade, which in his own words, eventually made it all worth it.  And I’m quite sure it truly did.

This is what true champions do.  They don’t relinquish to become some sort of Robin on a team that already has a Batman, they instead, endure, endlessly, and live with the results, without the expense of selling out.

The supposed “best player in the NBA” has never been obtained before through free-agency, in accompaniment with another top 10 NBA player through the same avenues, to already join a team that features a top 3 NBA supernova.  All other great champions past have accrued, wait, there’s that word again, organically.

There is no precedence that can be sited that equals the lengths the Heat have grasped in their effort to fabricate a champion.  The level at which they have reached to tops them all.  This is precisely why fans defy them, and this fact needs to ultimately be recognized and realized, whether you can see through the “modern, free-agency world” smokescreen or not.  It is abundantly evident, staring all in denial square in the face.

All this being considered, there are still fans who want to load their salad with packaged and commercialized ingredients, who’s only purpose is for the sake of getting over on the system at the expense of the authentic element.

I’ll always pay more to have something brought to my plate that was grown and cultured and tended over time – not pay less for something that was thrown together in short-cutting imitation for a cheap bite.

Take it back to the chef.  Thanks.  Check, please.

It seemed to be a hard-fought and physical game. Both teams were playing really hard and it was a close game. I’m writing this actually while it’s still going on. But the TV is off.

The Heat had the ball and Joakim Noah slipped and fell while guarding Chris Bosh. Bosh turned and drove to the basket and was fouled by three Bulls players. Carlos Boozer was the second Bull to get to Bosh and, arms raised above his head, made sure that Bosh wasn’t able to get a shot off. While arms were tangled, Boozer was clearly the stronger of the two and Bosh ended up sprawled out toward the baseline while Boozer stood where he landed, on his feet, with his arms raised.

After talking with his fellow officials, Joey Crawford went to the scorer’s table and called Boozer for a flagrant foul. My TV was off before Bosh could even shoot a free throw. The Heat were losing by three points (I think) at the time of the foul. I’m sure it won’t be for long…

This is the NBA I despise. Where there is espoused-only toughness. Where 6’10” athletes need protection from the refs. Where a hard foul turns into a flagrant foul and where the refs still don’t have control of the game.

This is the NBA, where Kevin Garnett can spout off a profanity-laced tirade and bully all he wants. Where Rasheed Wallace can call Vladamir Radmonavic “Borat” without repercussion.

This is a league that is all bark and no bite. Where a player’s acting tough is always rewarded and where a player’s actual toughness almost never is.

This is the NBA where a “tough” act that is actually related to the game – basketball warrior protecting his basket – is penalized most harshly.

Listen, I get it. When there are players whose athleticism and star power make them transcendent, you want to give them every opportunity to show that off. To market the game, it is important to have defining slam dunks and plays that maximize a player’s athleticism.

Tell that to Michael Jordan. Jordan was hacked harder than the Boozer foul at least a few times per game in the playoffs. Did we appreciate the game less then? Did it negatively affect Jordan then?

Tell that to Shaquille O’Neal. While he was the most difficult player to officiate, Shaq was fouled harder than Boozer fouled Bosh probably ten times per game. Since Shaq was typically the one left standing, the fouls were almost never deemed flagrant. Again, did it make me appreciate Shaq less? Absolutely not. How many more dominant years might Shaq have had if the NBA was as liberal with doling out flagrant fouls from 1997-2004 as they are now.

I’m not saying a league needs to allow a McHale-like clothesline. I don’t want to get back to the fighting times, when Kermit Washington almost killed Rudy T (for more, read The Punch – a great book).

What I am saying is that I’d love to see how LeBron would actually react when it wasn’t so assured that he’d be protected by the officials. I’d love to see whether Chris Bosh would go into a shell or change his takeoff point the next time he drove to the basket in order to absorb contact.

Unfortunately, today’s NBA doesn’t allow for or require these things from its players. Call it “Namby Pamby” or “weaksauce” or just overprotected, marketing-driven basketball. It doesn’t matter what you call it. It’s the way of the world now.

Miami’s BIG 3 will continue to roll. And I’ll continue to watch hockey — or maybe just keep the TV off altogether. I do live in California, and it is starting to get warmer…

I am a realist with specks of surrealism poking through my veins.  When I see mountains, I see mountains, though I admit, beneath their weighty crouch of pine trees, one can see shadows that resemble crow-dark figures. But the difference between a person like myself and those who dream of trolls and witches, is I prefer reality, whatever the hell that is*.  What-ifs are a futile form of phantasmal thinking. They are as pointless as is asking for charity from the big wig munchers sitting in Armani suits atop the towering buildings of American money trade.  But I must confess, as I grow older, more restless with the direction of Father time, and mount toward a gush of a pre-midlife crisis, the what-ifs linger like tinkling pennies in the piggy bank of the soul. Why, what, when, and how become a blabbing second personality–they control you from the inside-out with illusions of a glittering fantasy world.

Okay, not really. But the build up was quite nice. Writing Fan-Fiction ranks 209th on my list of literary successes, behind a research paper on the mating practices of cockroaches*.  I guess I’m learning to become more intrigued with the futurist perspective, the cruel reality of what the intellectuals call historical luck. So I’ll give this elementary form of literature a shot.

When M.J prematurely bolted from the NBA in 1993, after being crowned with vice-God status, oh, and three consecutive titles, David Stern and co. found themselves swallowed in the belly of “who next.”  David Robinson? Hakeem Olajuwan? Patrick Ewing? Reggie Miller? Shaq? Penny Hardaway? Chris Webber? and the list of plausible courtship’s continued. But none of them fit. For one, Robinson, Olajuwan, and Ewing all split time as the best centers in the NBA. They tore each other apart, night in and night out, passing title hopes to one another like a plate of chicken wings. Miller was just too funny looking to take serious. Shaq was dominant, but didn’t have the “that’s it” factor like his airness. C-Webb was a poor man’s Charles Barkley, and Penny Hardaway, a second fiddle to the big fella.

So as it was, after nearly two years in limbo, MJ stopped the pathetic whiff of the bat,  saving the NBA from the folly of ESPN2 status. But he was 35, and though God can’t be held by the shackles of age, clearly he had only three years left. So for three years the NBA garnered another glory run. We watched MJ’s greatest moments. 72 wins in ’96 and title 4; 69 wins in ’97, a heroic 38 in-game 5 with the flu, and title 5, and then his best, at 38, without a healthy Pippen, he won title 6 in ’98 with a game winner. The replay of the legends final moment paused in our minds forever. We fixated on what he’d given us for fifteen years, yet he wasn’t coming back, so we began to croon over the “what now?”

And this is where the world got murky. What-ifs clouded the senses. We glorified the likes of Jerry “score twenty on twenty-five shots” Stackhouse, and Grant “got hurt tying my shoe” Hill, as the ones who’d ascend this trialsome period. Because the compass of greatness passed over us with a gray fog of finality, we wandered lost, like the Israelites begging for redemption. Yet along it was not us, or his airness, that would lead us out of this dark place. It was the powers that be: historical luck, a.k.a., the Sam Bowie syndrome.

Draft day, 1996. Pick 1: Allen Iverson. Pick 5: Ray Allen. Pick 13: Kobe Bryant.  The boyish eighteen-year-old face, with pleasurable dimples, and a rail thin body, shyly bumbled to the stage, beneath a veil of lights, and a flutter of pictures. He wears the Charlotte Hornets’ shades of blue on his ball cap, perfectly slack at the side, further admitting to his school boy demeanor.  Charlotte is ecstatic. The cities deflated NBA economy inflates a bit with a keen interest in the High School boy who’s been compared to his airness. Pedestrians walk about the city whispering the what-ifs, the could it be’s, for a team coming off an average 41-41 season, with a superstar wing in Glen Rice.  Still lamenting over the tragedy of losing Alonzo Mourning and Larry Johnson to trades, the city hopes for a revival of the 1994-1995 season which saw the Hornets boast 50 wins. Surely the young kid could evolve into a dynamic threat, creating the most explosive duo in hoops–Bryant the athletic poster child, and Rice, the cool, collect, three-point aficinado,  segwaying the Hornets into a true playoff contendor.

Yet like me, the Charlotte Hornets are realist.  They wagered on Bryant to be a bust like  Harold Minor or Isaiah Rider.  And in so doing, they traded the thirteenth pick of the 1996 draft, Kobe Bryant, to the Los Angeles Lakers for veteran center, Vlade Divac, altering the league forever, and Hall of Fame faces such as Shaquille O’neal, Phil Jackson, Kevin Garnett, Tim Duncan, and Pau Gasol.

But what if the Hornets froze with a premonition of the boys greatness, further tossing historical luck down the philosophical drain? And Sam Bowie acted as the sports George Santyana, reminding Charlotte not to repeat history, but to transcend it with wit and insight? Assuredly the man known as the Black Mamba would be the face of Charlotte, a team with successes and failures, and his legacy slung in blue, not purple and gold.

1996-1997 would be a season of building blocks. Rice would continue as the teams breakout superstar, while Mugsy Bogues runs the show, and Anthony Mason controls the middle.  Bryant would come off the bench for hard-working Dell Curry, at nearly twenty-five minutes a night, and show enough flashes of greatness to replace the veteran Curry the following season.

1997-1998 would be a season in which Bryant starts at the guard position. Rice now thirty, begins to be haunted by the lack of a championship, and chooses to demote some of his shot totals to the nineteen-year-old.  Anthony Mason plays third fiddle, and continues to play as one of the leagues premier do- it- all big men.  David Wesley, Bobby Phills, and Del Curry battle for back-up minutes, and Wesley wins. Phills fades into obscurity and Curry becomes a veteran, on a guard heavy team with little to any usage and retires. Bryant averages in the mid-teens, struggling down the stretch, and the Hornets lose in the 1st round.

1998-1999 was the season of the lockout and first post-Jordan experiment, acting as a minimal launching pad for Bryant. The Rice and Mason injuries allow for Bryant to assert himself offensively as the teams go to guy. Though there are flashes of stardom in the wake of the teams injuries, the youngster still lacks a consistent jump shot, and the assertiveness to tell off veterans like Derick Coleman, and J.R. Reid, who both shoot far too much for players with their lack of offensive abilities. The team misses the playoffs.

1999-2000 was a season of fine tuning the teams direction. Now season four of the Bryant/Rice experiment, the Hornets feel the pressure to make this thing work. Bryant now expects to be the man on a team stacked with paling reflections of one time all-stars. Coleman comes to camp overweight and is nothing more than a seventh or eighth man off the bench. Rice still has the ability to score, but at 33, with brittle knees, and a bad shooting elbow, his percentages drop, as does his demeanor. Mason’s ruptured leg causes the greatest decline, and though he averages a double-double through determination, he is unable to be counted on as anything more than a role guy. Rookie Baron Davis comes excited and both he, and Bryant, give life to a team in steep decline. Bryant averages 20-25 a night, Rice at 17, and Davis around 12, but the team misses the playoffs for a second straight season.

2000-2001 was a new beginning. The Rice/Bryant experiment did not work. Rice is dealt to a playoff team in need of a shooter, as is Mason, gone to free agency.  The pick up of Jamal Mashburn gives the team a much-needed offensive punch at the swing position. Bryant continues to shine, and records his second straight all-star appearance. He averages 25-28 points a night, while Davis continues to grow into a good point guard, though his shoot first attitude perturbs the star Bryant.  Both have a slightly poor relationship, and the friction causes the quiet tempered Mashburn to fade far into the background. The team makes the playoffs but fails to get anywhere but the second round.

2001-2002 was the final recordable season. Season six for Bryant, and the cities lack of drawing power for big name free agents, causes him to seek a new home. They still have the trio of Bryant, Davis, and Mashburn, but they are unable to upend the Eastern Conference elite: Pacers, Sixers, and Nets. Davis is nothing more than a poor shooting eighteen point, six assist point guard, and Mashburn is on the steady decline. Bryant averages 30+, but has become the same type of player as a Vince Carter or Tracy McGrady, a shoot first player with few playoff credentials.

2002-present has been a vague unreadable sign. Bryant, McGrady, VC, Iverson, Duncan, Garnett, Shaq, Wade, Bosh, Nowitski, and Durant all battle for superstar supremacy. It is fair to say, at this point, there would be no comparison between Bryant and Lebron. Lebron would clearly be the best of the best, lacking playoff successes. Duncan would probably have six titles to his name, and Garnett two. Bryant gets caught in the free agency fray much like a McGrady  or a VC, and continues to experience nothing more but all-star appearances and playoff losses.  Though a phenomenal athlete and tremendous scorer, Bryant is a poor man’s Dominique, nothing more than a top thirty to fifty player of all time.

The problem with WOW & Fan Fictionites, is they live in a world with little to any REAL credential*. It is creative in that it feeds the never-ending need to enslave oneself to something born far from reality. But what greatness is there in a world nobody cares about*? As I sit back, sipping on a beer, shooting the shit with friends, I am amazed at the tremendous ability life has to shape things with the hard and near impossible decisions. We all have made piss-poor choices, shoot, choices meant to be regretted over. But in the regret, we become better people, and learn how to fruitfully shape the real world. We will no longer (hopefully not) concern ourselves with our Bryant for Divac swaps, because whether we are the recipient of greatness or not, we’ve given ourselves over to the great collective–a fabric of souls interconnected by the dominoes of our lives.

I’d trade Bryant for Divac full well-knowing the kind of player he’d become.

For every Bryant there’s a Divac, both serving their place in the ying-yang world of sports.

Divac: hard-working, playoff contender, smart, and the greatest flopper of all time.

Bryant: five time champion, Olympic champion, top ten great of all time, top five scorer of all time, thirteen time all-star, one time MVP, and the list continues to mount.

The greatest flopper of all time lends itself to a round of merry humor– which we all need.

But if the Kobe accolades say enough for the name of reality, then, who the hell wouldn’t make that trade, and who would possibly have the guts to re-arrange the beauty of such greatness?

–Luke Johnson

Everything in the world of history is a mystical equation. And every equation has a variable. We are trained to solve the variable X-factor through basic deduction, arithmetic, and logic. Take away the numeric value to its right or left and divide the sum total by X. The answered NOW breathes in life, becoming more and more tangible, as the ability to solve the paradigm reveals itself.

Like a spring flower, our answered world grows in its vibrancy.

Life’s dominoes begin to fall one by one, aligning into our new normal. All interpretation becomes a reflection of what Quantum Physicists call a mirrored image–our new normals interpretation of current circumstance: time and space. But according to Albert Einstein’s theory of relativity, time is boundless and void of the boundary points of mathematics: X, Y and Z.

So where are we and why? We don’t really know.

This is where imagination becomes crucial and comes into play. Our emporium of memories are the elements that drive us into Einstein’s boundless dream-like state. The world tips, lilts, rocks, and the fathomable presence of NOW is lost in the surreal.

So we float.

Everything became surreal in the NBA after last summer’s shopping spree, and I believe we are in the most confusing shift between superpowers. In the midst of this all, the media has sounded like quaking tabloid writers spewing asinine hot topics.

Were not the Spurs too physical and too potent for the defending champion Lakers? Not if a 99-83 blowout at the hands of the Lakers two nights ago has anything to say about it.

So what NOW?

We know that we are top heavy with teams like the Bulls, Mavs, Thunder, Heat, Magic, and Knicks.

The Lakers, Celtics, and Spurs are still the elite of the elite. But what does that mean in an upside-down environment? It means I would abstain from betting the house, boat, or wife in Las Vegas.

A blockbuster trade involving Carmelo Anthony and Chauncey Billups to the Knicks made things, shall we say, interesting. All of a sudden the Knicks have become a serious contender; a team that could knock off an over confident one, two, or three.

Even smaller trades can shift time’s mirrored world. When the Celtics rid themselves of Kendrick Perkins in a deal to Oklahoma City for an underachieving swing in Jeff Green, questions arose. Are the Celtics tough enough NOW? A team who had lived on its brutal team defense now has to rely upon a thirty-eight year old Shaquille O’Neal to anchor them defensively.

Most critics believe Perkins will act as the cog defensively that will help the Thunder deal with Western bigs like Pau Gasol, Andrew Bynum, Tim Duncan, and LaMarcus Aldridge. Yet can we really have faith in a team relying upon two teenagers in the world of stardom? It has yet to be seen if Kevin Durant or Russel Westbrook can hit the big shot.

Who really knows? Still twenty games away from the most talked about postseason in recent history, die-hard fans are feeling more insecure and unsure than ever before.

…

Security is a gift, and boy do I miss it.

It was mortgaged last Summer when the NBA’s star faces tip-toed elsewhere like dancing ballerinas, creating what scholar Malcolm Gladwell calls a tipping point: A tipping point is the moment when an idea created by either a large corporal entity or an individual, spreads to the masses. It’s a non-discriminatory personality that can be better understood by humanities need for evolution because everything “new” at some point becomes old and stagnant. Humanity tires of the old.

I guess the NBA God was sick of Lakers vs. Celtics, and so he decided to blow our minds and flip us off in the process.

If LeBron James had stayed a Cleveland Cavalier, it is fair to say much of this shift would not have happened. Whether you like the guy or you don’t, LeBron James is a very powerful athlete on and off the court. He is the association’s fault-line star, with the power to change the league.

On the court, the 6’8, two-hundred-sixty pound point-forward is athletically in a world of his own. His developed jump-shot has made him nearly impossible to guard. Blend in his power-forward like strength, his explosive speed, forty inch vertical, and you have a machine that cannot be stopped.

Well, you do; just ask him to deliver in the clutch…

LeBron is a fan favorite. He is the highest paid player off the court with various endorsement deals. He interviews well, which is something lacking in today’s athlete, giving him a like-ability that is a key component to a tipping point. This is what Malcolm Gladwell refers to as stickiness in his book The Tipping Point, making the evolution taking place as painless as possible. There is no tipping point without the stickiness (like-ability) of an emerging idea.

Does not a fad proceed what was at one point stylistically original?

****

It is hard to believe Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh did not know about LeBron’s desire to complete the ‘trifecta’ in South Beach. Wade and LeBron have been close friends since splashing on the scene together in 2003. And I don’t know about you, but my friends and I talk. Also, considering LeBron had a more than a productive situation in Cleveland, it would be hard to believe he went into the South Beach Experiment without knowing first that Wade and Bosh would join forces with him there.

Whether or not Wade is the better of the two (he is), he played second fiddle to LeBron in last season’s free agent fray. For most of the 09-10 season, Wade had hinted he would like to go back home to Chicago, joining a potent squad with the talent that has now become Derick Rose. His situation was average in Miami, and at twenty-eight, Wade with a lot of miles on his smaller 6’5 frame, was in need of making a decision that would alter his hall of fame career forever.

Chicago made an offer right away. Bosh had already made it known that he would leave Toronto.  Who would blame the guy?  He also made it known he would be comfortable as a secondary role alongside either LeBron or Wade. Spending seven years in the wasteland of Toronto, the lengthy perimeter-oriented forward had learned life the hard way in the NBA, that he was nothing but a second rate star.

Now he is nothing but a Horace Grant. Ouch.

Just because Bosh and Wade co-mingled their visits with Chicago together, does not mean they were intending to couple on the same team. I think it is fair to say that the league was awaiting LeBron’s decision before big names like Wade, Bosh, Amare, and Boozer landed elsewhere. If you notice the trend, every time LeBron visited one of his top picks–New York, Jersey, Miami, or Chicago; Wade and Bosh setup meetings a couple days afterward. It was almost as if they were gauging LeBron’s visits. It’s like a high-roller shop-around for a lap dance at a club. His first pick decides she wants to ride his richer, better looking friend, so he goes after her slightly less attractive twin.

The South Beach Experiment was the biggest heist in league history, a three headed Godzilla in the making, one that has ended up in lack of the “balls” needed to win big games. As of today the Heat are 1-9 against the top five teams in the NBA. And yet somehow it was LeBron who not only altered careers forever but changed our perception of the league with a trend as cheesy as an eighties horror flick.

“Attack of the Sporting Threesomes!” coming to a theater near you.

Everything from this point on fell into place. LeBron to Wade to Bosh to Amare to Boozer.

Amare signing with the New York Knicks for max dollars before the LeBron signing was like the Knicks dangling a piece of raw beef in front of a starving dog. The Knicks wanted LeBron and had made that known all along. So signing a dynamic piece like Amare gave them the thundering bargaining chip they needed when wooing the King.

Woo all you want. According to Andy Stevens on fansmanship.com, when you are wooing the King, you are wooing a “kingdom of clutch bricks.” Over the last week LeBron has wilted under the pressure. His Heat blew a twenty four point lead to the Orlando Magic, and lost numerous close games in which LeBron, like a pizza delivery boy in training, was unable to deliver on time.

It is interesting that Chicago never really made headlines when it came to signing LeBron. Though they were one of LeBron’s top choices, they courted Wade and Bosh as a duo. It makes me wonder if LeBron made it clear early on that he did not want to play with the Bulls. If so, the Bulls were trying to dismantle a powerful menage a twa. A triage that would be impossible to beat.

Uncertain and in need of a scoring big man, the Bulls did the smart thing, ditching the sweepstakes by signing Carlos Boozer; a guy who had toyed with the idea of signing in Miami with Wade early on. Boozer has solidified the Bulls, a group of team players who have the gel, firepower, and defense to terr Miami and many other elites a new one. They are the victors in this all, losing out on Bron, Wade, and Bosh, but as of today, with a core of Rose, Boozer, Noah, and Deng, are 3-0 against the Miami “Meat”.

Had LeBron stayed in Cleveland, I believe either Amare or Bosh would of paired with him there. This would have made the Cavs a bigger threat in the postseason and kept them at the top of the Eastern Conference food chain. Wade would of signed alone in Chicago, becoming the face of a fresh franchise. Bosh or Amare sign with the Knicks for top dollars. Boozer stays in the Western Conference and signs with his third choice, the Thunder.

Boozer in Oklahoma City voids the trade for Perkins because the Thunder as a small market team would be unable to take on his large contract extension. Therefore he stays in Boston, making our lives a lot easier because the Celtics are still, well, the tough-nosed Celtics.

…

Humanity relies on our greater purpose. We purport to have control over our circumstances, but life would say otherwise. Natural disasters, life decisions: good or bad, death, commerce, and history, creates a difficult and unsolvable equation. In the world of sports, things are the same. One player, just ONE, has the power to gamble away everything we knew or know. So let it take you, and dangle upside down. The dizzying merry-go-round of the world will, like a magician, continue to fool you.

Just because LeBron James has the power to shake the entire league, does not mean he is worthy of mention in the talk of all-time greats. Weren’t the Backstreet Boys a mentionable name in music in the late nineties? In and of the same, as of now LeBron, like Dominique Wilkins or Vince Carter, is a living highlight reel. Nothing more. His significance as a player took a nose-dive when he cowered as the face of a franchise and jumped ship to be a fellow juggler in a circus parade.

And as of now he can only juggle one, losing.

Take the L.A. Lakers for example. The greatest “coach” of all time, Phil Jackson, aka “zen master,” does about as much coaching as a cow. His low gruff voice, and quirky communication style, whispers a total of ten words during your average ball game, while Kobe demands the basketball from every player not named, well…Kobe.

It doesn’t get more awkward than this.

Is it fair to say, in today’s NBA, the central component to winning is rooted in the player of the hour, and less about set, or the God forsaken defense. Jackson’s eleven rings have been pieced together by two mainstays, one of which Jackson would rather not have exposed. The first of these large pie pieces is his “superior” triangle offense. A set that is more simplistic in its orientation than an episode of Blue’s Clues. This equation of basketball has been at the forefront of all his title teams, yet the truth of the triangle offense is that Phil never conceived of it. It was Tex Winter, his long time assistant in Chicago, who stole the set from USC’s great coach Sam Barry, and evolved into the faster paced NBA game.

Too bad Tex is ugly. @owenmain, gotta want it.

The triangle runs through its big man. It’s fond of a point-forward to bring the basketball up the floor, with the guard angled strong side corner, and the big, stationed on the strong side block. The point guard drifts to the weak-side three point region, while the power forward sets up weak-side, ten feet from the hoop, awaiting a possible alley-oop, or offensive rebound.  It is a set that my Junior High girl’s basketball team mastered in a matter of minutes. Not shittin’ you.

The second piece, one of which Jackson would love to leave locked in his coaching vault, is the long list of stars who have driven his ship to greatness: Jordan, Pippen, Shaq, Kobe, and Pau, to name a few. These players define the simplicity of his life; a lack or where-with-all to deliver momentary on the fly operatives, affecting the game as a whole. For Jackson it was simple–give the greatest player in the history of the universe the ball, M.J., or one of the most dominate big men in league history, Shaq. If not, let Kobe create, or Pippen and Pau bail you out.

Yet he has been glorified for every one of his eleven rings.  In today’s sports world money talks more than matter, and world-championships scream dollars signs, endorsements, new arenas, and top notch free agents. Whether or not a coach stumbled into the situation,  he becomes the face of both sporting and economical successes. He’s awarded a heafty contract extension, and his job as a coach, takes on a life of its own. With a multi-million dollar deal, he rivals players for dollars made; the house, the car, the women; and learns to  self-preserve his good-life, rather than coach and govern his club.

That is until he stumbles, ala Pat Riley post- 2006, and thus the coaching is dead.

This is why Jackson won nothing when Jordan retired. In 1993-1994, a season with Pippen at the head of the food of chain, the Bulls were man-handled by the superior Knicksin six in the 2nd round. Jackson’s zen-abilities, would have been better suited for a naked hippie commune in the surrounding mountains of Santa Cruz, then they would (take a breath and ahhh…) coach.  Had it not been for Jordan’s return, Jackson would of periled in defeat, and become the face of self-help healing courses.

His inabilities as a coach–communication and relateability–created a problem in 2004, when his Lakers lost to the Pistons, a group of better coached role guys, in the finals. Jackson’s means of self-preservation were evident when he he stepped down after the finals defeat then wrote a book, “The Last Season,” in which he lambasted the players he’d loved the last three title years. It begged the question, whether or not Phil was saving face for not only a debacle, but one in which he was at the helm of. The poorly written re-telling aimed its attack at Kobe Bryant (who trust me, I know had a part in it, but…) looking to pass the blame toward one of the greatest players this league has ever seen.  Jackson’s book earnings are disputed, but have been placed in the ballpark of five to ten million dollars, not to mention, his ass-kissing gestures in the book, mainly thrown at the Buss family, acted as an incestious form of career insurance, further flowering his enormous life savings.

Funny how, just five years later, a championship, new contract, and the pride of his league best tenth ring, changed things. Jackson is to “the boy who cried wolf” as Kobe is to…Jordan? Hmmm.

Across the country, another hyper clown is making headlines. Eric Spoelstra, otherwise known as “coach Spo” has been ring leading a circus parade, the Miami Heat, with dance grooves, circa drug ring mid-70’s. He’s had the “difficult” job of winning with the likes of three superstars in Bron Bron, D-Wade, and Bosh, all three, who would be the face of a franchise anywhere in the world.

With every win, spunky “Spo” becomes prouder of his club, not to mention his players. I’m sure Juwan Howard, the five minute a night washed up big man feels the love too. Or Eddie “Gan’sta” House, believes in himself because of coach Spo’s love for not only his star-children, but his middle class role guys.

Well…not so fast. During the team’s suprising 9-8 start, D-Wade made headlines when he proclaimed Spo to be “not my guy, but my coach.”  The small statement sent shock-waves through the organization because it proved Spo was not only unable to gain the respect from his players, but had the lack of gumption to move his team in the direction he saw necessary. It also asked the question of whether or not today’s NBA players are coachable? It would seem no, considering the NBA is now more of a drive through of entertainment than it is the patience of fine dining.

Larry Brown is a perfect example of a guy who loves to coach. He expects his players to run his sets, his plays, his defense, and come to practice.  But it is this expectation that has made him a journey man in the world of professional basketball. His puritanical approach to a team sport has led to many of his firings by a league looking for athletic players to excite a crowd feigning for entertainment, and the slick backed hip-hop moguls (dub Jay-Z’s “Empire State of Mind“) to lead them there.

On February 9th, in a one point win over the red hot Pacers, Bron Bron rose above three defenders to hit a go ahead jumper with thirteen seconds to play. His line: 41pts, 13reb, 8ast, 3stl, were evident of his dominance. But he had Wade and Bosh both wide-open, closer to the hoop. The obvious play was to deliver the ball for a better shot, to two superstars, mainly Wade, a one time champion, top five player today, to win the game. But Bron was feeling it, and took the shot with confidence. As he hit it, Spo could be seen jumping around like a grammar school fan, with eyes as wide as dollar coins. Which was disappointing.

For many of us who’ve watched enough basketball to know what the hell we’re talking about (your cue to exit this article if you don’t), the best player on the Heat the first forty four minutes is Bron, but in the last four, is clearly Wade. He’s led a team to a title, made big plays on the biggest stage, and hits free throws with better consistency. But Wade is now second fiddle to a corporation in Bron Bron, who sells more jerseys, tickets, shoes, and clothing. Because of this, Spo’s ability to coach was tossed out the window, and the entity of El Brondo, ran him over like a freight train.

Lucky for Spo, he delivered. After the game he was quoted, “Bron’s motor was insane tonight.” Really, insane? What a word choice. He sounds like a braces wearing sport’s fan, more passionate about a player, than he is a cool collect coach. I wouldn’t be suprised to see Spo in Cancun this summer, with a Bron jersey slung on his short, stubby white physique,  dropping ‘dope’ and ‘fly’ like a  wannabe ‘partna’.

Get out.

–Luke Johnson

luke@fansmanship.com