Love Letter to Lebron

Dear Lebron James:

The 2011-2012 NBA season opens today with you playing the Boston Celtics. Again. This is exactly how last year started as well. Except instead of playing with Shaq, you’ll be playing against him; and instead of playing with Mo Williams, you’ll be playing with Dwayne Wade, and instead of playing in front of screaming fans, you’ll be playing in front of screaming fans.

Last year, my wife and I looked forward to every game. We gleefully replayed feats that can only be described as inhuman. We savored every win. Especially on Christmas day. It was like getting to open presents twice. We laughed at our son who would don his mother’s headband and proudly proclaim he was “being Lebron”. We went to as many games as we could, and we talked into the night about how the team and season was something ultimately special.

As the postseason of 2010 began, anything short of a championship appearance was simply not enough. The Bulls came and went – barely a speed bump. Charles Barkley inelegantly proclaimed the Cavs would beat the Celtics handily. Game one was everything we expected. Game two was a letdown. Game three proved to us that you were the unstoppable force that nothing could derail. Then... the unthinkable happened. Maybe it was the elbow. Maybe it was the pressure. Maybe it was frustration with the coach. Maybe it was just the Celtics. But for whatever reason, you quit.

Disappointment seemed an inadequate word.

We recovered as only people living in NE Ohio can. Quickly. We watched your documentary. We saw you develop from a young talented boy into a young talented man. We heard the words of your coach and friends and found frank truth and honesty. You lost the championship game your junior year because you and your team had bought the hype. Your coach stared at the camera and said he had lost track of what was important. That he worried about games instead of you and making a better team instead of helping you to become better men. We felt like we were looking through a window into your soul. You were committed. You were driven. But most of all, you were loyal. We knew you would never leave NE Ohio.

Then came your decision.

Disappointment seemed an inadequate word.

My wife actually cried. We didn’t hurl insults as others did. We didn’t agree with the owner of the Cavs. We didn’t and don’t hate you. But we learned something. We learned that no matter what face you put forward, we know you now. The boy that became a man is committed, driven and loyal – to himself.

Good luck on the upcoming season. We’ll certainly miss you in NE Ohio. Maybe you’ll finally fulfill your goal of winning an NBA championship this year. Although, I can’t really say your chances are any better than they’ve been the last two years, considering the Cavs won more games than any other team during that stretch. Maybe that was just because of you, and your former teammates are a bunch of no-names without yours glittering above them in the box scores.

Still, I can’t help but think of your legacy. The great ones all leave their marks – even if they never win a championship. The best to have ever played elevated everyone around them, defied all odds, overcame the obstacles, forged a path out of sheer will, and became known for their play in the biggest moments of the season. What will you be known for? Right now, all I can think of is about twelve minutes. And, ironically enough, you weren’t even holding a basketball.