Before he had ever played in a professional game, Sports Illustrated christened him the “Chosen One,” and he had the moniker tattooed across his upper back. Before he had graduated from high school, his games were nationally televised spectacles with him as the preternaturally gifted focal point. Before he was the greatest basketball player in the world, LeBron James had expectations placed on his broad shoulders that would have crushed most men. He was supposed to be a generational talent. He has not disappointed.
I became a big NBA fan at the exact time that LeBron was drafted first overall by his hometown team. It was a great story, the Akron superstar playing his home games in nearby Cleveland — a city that has not won a major championship since 1964. The 40-year title drought was immediately LeBron’s burden to bear, but even as he ascended from hyped and gifted rookie to genuine megastar and from genuine megastar to the unquestionably best player in the world, the rain never came for Cleveland. After seven seasons in Cleveland ended without the champagne shower that the city so craved, LeBron deserted his team and his city to construct a super-team with his friends in Miami.
The night of "The Decision," I was so frustrated with his decision to join the Heat and leave what seemed like a great situation in Cleveland that I thought I would never root for LeBron again. Despite my hesitation, I found myself cheering for the Heat during the very first game of that season. I was demoralized and disappointed when LeBron seemed genuinely scared during that year’s Finals loss to Dallas.
King James was the biggest name in the sport, but he would never be fully validated as having met expectations until he won at least one championship. Fair or not, this was the standard that North American sports stars were held to; Elway finally won his, while Marino did not. Charles Barkley and Karl Malone never did, and their legacy is irrevocably stained in the eyes of most.
LeBron’s Heat went into Boston on the verge of elimination on June 7, 2012, on the precipice of embarrassment and the end of the “Big 3” blueprint. I have never seen somebody dominate a game like that night. He drained contested jumpers and flew into the lane for put-back dunks. He silenced the crowd and sucked the life out of TD Garden. Miami won that game, the series and, two weeks later, the championship that had eluded LeBron for so long.
LeBron won again the next year and is now back in Cleveland attempting to end the city’s dry spell that has now topped 50 years. He may never do it; he is past his physical prime and on the wrong side of 30, no longer acknowledged as the preeminent star in the game. I’ve learned not to doubt him; he has met or surpassed enormous expectations at every turn, and I hope he does it one more time.
King James
