Lebron’s Return
There’s More to a City than a Basketball Team
There’s More to a Man than a Single Decision
As those who knew me more than four years ago will attest, I was once a substantial basketball fan. I’ve been a fan of Cleveland sports for as long as I can remember, and the culture of that, the meaning of that, is so ingrained in me that, unlike some who seem to be able to upturn their loyalties at the drop of a hat, I would never be able to pull my roots out of Cleveland’s soil and turn tail on The Indians, The Browns, or The Cavs. Those roots run too deep. However, cheering on Cleveland’s teams and hoping each year that they will win something is an exercise in masochism that many cannot fathom. Anyone out there who believes his or her city is worse off in the world of professional athletics than Cleveland is an ignorant fool who, like millions of others, believe my home is flyover country not worthy of significant attention.
Every single time Cleveland has some epic disaster or glimmer of hope, some soulless ESPN pundit or arrogant sports writer will recap the famous worst moments in Cleveland’s sports history dating back a half century or more. Every time it’s painful. Every time we have lost. Then the memories of caring about something only to have it all stripped away grow more numerous and more potent. If you don’t know, read about The Browns 2002 playoff game against the Steelers and the 2007 Indians ALCS against the Red Sox, and The Cavs against the Magic in 2009, or the inexplicable failures of the best team in the NBA against Boston in 2010, or The Shot, or The Drive, or The Mesa, or Art Modell.
For me though, nothing was worse than The Decision. Writing the words in caps makes my fingers twitch. I still remember the sleepless night following that, the worst sports broadcast I’ve ever seen, and the most painful moment in my lifetime as a fan of these games. Since then, I’ve hardly watched any basketball. I’ve said before, I wish I could just send The Cavs a check for however much money my fandom would be worth to them as a franchise, because I can’t actually stomach watching the games. It’s been four years of shot after shot after shot from garbage selfish players who seem to have no interest in passing, let alone running plays. The only reports that have come from the Cavs have come around draft time, or when they’re in line to get massacred by The Heat, or when Kyrie Irving and Dion Waiters get into a locker room fight. Last year I described Cavs number one pick Anthony Bennett as Patrick Ewing from Space Jam after he’s had his power sapped away. And I keep noticing flaws in the game itself instead of enjoying the excitement of basketball, the fast pace, the insane athletic talent of the players, the glorious moments, high-stakes shots, monstrous dunks, outstanding steals and defensive stops. Now all I see are blown calls and how gut-wrenchingly slow and stupid the game becomes in the final minute.
Biannually I’d say, I seriously question why I care about sports at all, and more frequently than that, I’ll question why I stick with Cleveland teams. Frequently I’ll mock pundits for their biases and lack of statistical analysis on players or the game, searching for narrative answers for things that can be explained away more accurately and easily by pure chance. And when those artificial narratives take stabs at Cleveland teams, players, and fans, my fury for the journalism reaches new heights. But there is a romantic element to sports. Something in the way we coalesce by region to have a contest that is objectively arbitrary, the way we naturally care so much about the outcomes of these contests, indicates that it is unequivocally true that this practice we follow is more than a game. So in answering the first question, why care, I have to remind myself that something out of my control, something so random, and silly –even – from an alien point of view, does matter. Every single day I immerse myself in stories, whether created by others or that I have created myself, and I love to learn about life through those stories, but they’re designed, predictable, and controlled. Sports are wild. I don’t know what will happen. Though, just as with a novel or a film, the conflict contained within breeds understanding, and the outcomes will pull at your heartstrings and bring you closer to those in your life and help you to believe in something more than yourself. When it comes to Cleveland sports, I’m armed with nothing more than naïve faith, hope, and a love for my origin place.
So to have the best athlete I’ve ever seen, an Ohio boy only four years older than me, step off the court and decide that he cares more about himself than his home, and to announce his decision in a way so insulting and so detrimental to Cleveland and the sport of basketball that I could feel the spit flying from his lips, will stand forever as among the worst moments in my memory banks. It happened off the court. This wasn’t about being unlucky. This was a choice. Do I believe in free agency? Of course. Do I think athletes should be largely in control over their own careers? I do. Do I think the promise of more money is a valid reason for an athlete to leave one team and play for another? Yes, I think that as well. And yet, none of these things hold up against my love of Cleveland and desire to see our city triumph. Lebron had the freedom to make the choice he did. He just made the wrong one because our hometown is bigger than basketball. Imagine what it would have been like, had Lebron become a free agent, felt the lure of other cities with nicer weather, fancier clubs, fewer taxes, bigger stars, bigger markets, and said, “No, I love where I’m from, and I meant what I said when I said that bringing a championship to Cleveland is the most important thing for me, and I’m staying here.”
Alas, there’s no justice in sports. There’s no justice anywhere.
Anytime a professional athlete is raised on a pedestal for saying something stupid or racist or horrifying, or doing something violent or otherwise illegal, I ask people, “why turn to your professional athletes on ethics lessons?” Similarly, why ask Bob Costas for his political views? Why look to Tim Tebow to affirm a belief in a higher power or for advice on leadership? Why look to Richard Sherman for modesty? So why did I look to Lebron for loyalty? What else could I do? Without him, The Cavs are the worst team in basketball. With him, we’re the best. I hoped. And he let me down.
Today, Lebron has announced he is coming back and a few people want to know how I feel, myself chiefly among them. I’ve read his statement and in the past, I’ve asked for an apology to the way he treated Cleveland. The closest it seems I’ll get is his admission that he has made mistakes. He expresses anger at the burned jerseys and the four years of booing, but understands where that comes from. What it seems he still lacks the ability to see is that there are the fans like me, who were hurt and disappointed, but didn’t (like my father) add an “ed” and the word “nothing” with black pen to his WITNESS shirt. We took the jerseys and jackets and t-shirts and buried them in our closets with our dreams and tried to turn to other things while the pain dulled. How do I feel about his return? The arm might work again, but the scar is still there.
I really want Cleveland to have a championship, pure and sparkling where our soldiers defeat the opposing armies on glorious white stallions and the banner we raise is untainted, but maybe the world doesn’t work that way. Shades of gray. Fate is twisted. But you know, I’ve been following Lebron’s career since he was a high school kid, and there are worse men to cheer for and to stand behind. In the world of athletics, we’ve got quarterbacks who’ve massacred dogs, small forwards leaping over into the stands and pounding fans in the head, murdering line backers, racist-ranting pitchers, athletes constantly involved in juicing up, boxers and soccer players who bite their opponents, coaches who cheat by spying on the other teams’ defensive signals, and college athletic cults worshipping men who stand by and do nothing while children are raped.
Lebron talks of raising his family, of mistakes he’s made in the past, of growing as a human being and a player, and wanting to make a difference in the lives of people from Northeast Ohio. For all his failures, I think it would be hard to say he doesn’t respect wisdom. He has grown. Clearly. There’s a letter this time, not a party. He doesn’t promise a championship. He promises to be here and to work hard. And for all my brooding sadness, even hatred, I’ve never said he and I aren’t from the same place. This is our home.