Via: Medical Insurance
Waiting for flight home, but saw this cool infographic at the Hoop Doctors.
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Here’s an understatement; by now, LeBron James’ DECISION has been well raked over.
I don’t need to add to the white noise. But I thought the above front page from the Cleveland Plain Dealer (great newspaper title) was worth a post. Print media still does some things right.
For those who can’t read the small print linked to his right hand – it says “Seven years in Cleveland, no rings”.
For some great analysis of his move to Miami, the way it was handled and the Cavs owner’s public meltdown check out this piece by Joe Posnanski, where I also first saw the above image.
And there’s some fan reaction here. and here
As well as some class Twitter reactions here.
If you were shaken from your slumber early last Friday morning by the walls rattling and the sound of a distant crash, it was probably just a giant falling to earth in a land far, far away.
Until now, Lebron James – or The King to you and me – has danced out a fairytale career in professional basketball, in a swoosh-ified world bubbling with expensive champagne. Though without a title, his was a career viewed under the soft lighting of that wonderful commodity: promise. Until now.
White-hot favourites to see off the rough magic of an old Boston outfit, the best-of-seven play-off series ended late on Thursday night, sensationally, after Game Six, with the Celtics winning 94-85, almost beneath a green tide of raw emotion. James seemed to stand alone from the madding, shamrock-wearing crowd.
Seemingly distilled to a hand-on-hips silhouette, it was like studying an unbeaten and seemingly invincible heavyweight in the very instant he drops to the canvas after shipping his maiden knockout blow. As a veteran Buster Douglas threw his arms to the bleachers in unlikely victory, this was Tyson on all fours pawing the canvas for his lost gum-shield, like a short-sighted man searching for his spectacles.
The cameras trailed James into the locker-room. Perhaps on purpose, he generously offered us the glib image we craved as he peeled off the claret-and-gold vest of his hometown club the Cleveland Cavaliers. It’s unlikely he’ll pull the colours over his head again.
Writers often quote a celebrated line of Guy de Maupassant (the 19th century French writer, obviously) as an example of sharp characterisation in fiction.
It goes: “He was an elderly gentleman with ginger whiskers who always somehow made sure he was first through the door.” It works, right? We get the picture. Though not sporting red facial hair, Lebron fit that description in Boston last Thursday night as he exited hurriedly, through stage left.
In July, he becomes a free agent and a lengthy queue has formed outside his door – as New York, Chicago, New Jersey et al carry with them briefcases stuffed full of expectation, pressure and parochial repercussion.
The Boston fans had not been shy in using the native Ohio boy’s reticence to discuss a move in the summer, as an advantage. Throatily singing Frank Sinatra’s New York, New York and chanting slowly ‘Knicker-bock-ers’ ironically, he was embarrassed between each buzzer.
Asked afterwards if he was indeed to bid farewell to those who needed him most – the town of Cleveland which has earned the unwelcome label of ‘choking-est town in America’ through a pattern of failure in a broad spectrum of sports – without bringing home the title that once seemed inevitable, James offered what Woodward and Bernstein would’ve called a ‘non-denial denial’.
But it does now seem that he will hastily pack his bags, reverse the car quietly out the driveway and leave town late at night like he owes his landlord a month’s rent. And it started, like the best hard-luck stories I suppose, so well.
Particularly as Tiger Woods remains caught between sitting shoeless on a shrink’s chaise-lounge and tugging on a set of spikes, it’s easy to say that James is the outstanding athlete now under the earth’s sun. And it’s probably true.
As Shakespeare’s Henry V said before the Battle of Agincourt: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers. Anyone who ever read Darcy Frey’s The Last Shot or watched the wonderful Hoop Dreams documentary will realise that those 10 men who bounce onto the court every night under the harsh glare of arena lights are indeed the lucky few.
The climb to the NBA is a cruelly meritocratic road. Left behind is a hard shoulder of broken promises and wasted talent.
Clawing through the grades and jumping – almost literally – through hoops for scouts, was never James’ journey, however. Though they call the Orlando Magic talisman Dwight Howard ‘Superman’, it was James that seemed to crash in from Krypton, ready to go. He skipped college and announced he was instead to enrol in the school of moderately hard, on-court knocks – the NBA.
In doing so he set himself on track for silly $50 million contracts and billboard-filling endorsements with Nike.
In a twist that seemed drafted on a Marvel comic drawing board, his local team – the middling Cleveland Cavaliers – had first pick in the 2003 draft and, inevitably, they brought their new franchise guy home.
From that coronation, he has become the east’s counterweight to the LA Lakers Kobe Bryant. He seemed to be the
natural successor to his hero Michael Jordan. If I may hop a cliché off the backboard: the world was at his feet.
But, as well as selling more shoes than Jimmy Choo, Jordan won titles. That’s just what he did.
In fact his championship rings stretch to six fingers. James’ mercury-quick hands are yet to be weighed down by one.
The famous old Celtics – a team that speaks in a broad Southy accent to the traditionalist in all of us – march on. They lead Orlando at the time of writing. And, on Tuesday, the Washington Wizards won the annual draft lottery giving them first dibs on the best pretender to the throne.
The king is dead. Long live the king.
Contact: Adrian.russell@examiner.ie Twitter: @adrianrussell
Watching Kerry’s Kieran Donaghy pluck the ball out of the sky over Thurles today like he was under a backboard, Cork fans might have thought the Rebels could do with LeBron James in and around the small parallelogram this summer.
Luckily, it looks like The King is to leave Cleveland this summer for either New York (the Knickerbockers) or Chicago (Bulls).
If the Nike franchise guy does exit for one of the bigger markets, his last outing as a Cavalier will be a humbling defeat to the Boston Celtics. He has not yet won a championship.
Check out this cool ESPN retrospective on his career to date.
I came across this thanks to Emmet over at the excellent Action81 .
During CBS’s coverage of this weekend’s Final Four semi-finals in the NCAA tournament CBS, the American audience were treated to their president, Barack Obama, take on former NBA star and co-commentator Clark Kellogg in a one-on-one game of H-O-R-S-E – though they played P-O-T-U-S (which stands for President of the United States, as all fellow West Wing nerds will know, of course).
As Emmet explains, ‘the clever thing here is how Obama essentially suckered Kellogg into spotting him a couple of shots, watch and learn folks’.
He didn’t see off the Clinton machine by being a nice guy.
I sadly enough watched some of the anemic NBA All-Star game last weekend where one of the highlights of the celebrities’ court performances was the tigerish defending from hip-hop heavyweight Common.
I missed, however, the undisputed high-point, above, as it occured during a time-out and wasn’t televised.
In short, Benny the Bull – Chicago’s outgoing mascot – decided, quite reasonably, to perform the Single Ladies dance in front of Beyonce’s husband Jay-Z who was sitting court-side with his pal, P Diddy. They weren’t amused. Check it out from 40 seconds in.
Anyone who follows NBA legend Shaquille O’Neal on Twitter is lucky enough to have their mundane, work-a-day lives punctuated by lightening strikes of comic genius – intentional or not – from the Cleveland Cavaliers star.
Now – at last! – someone has made motivational posters for you, reader, from Shaq’s musings. I encourage you to print them out and paste above the office watercooler, next to the ab-crunching machine in the gymnasium or simply leave on the LUAS for random and demotivated commuters to pick up and find a morsel of inspiration.
If you feel you’re ready for the wisdom, you can find the rest here.
I thought we had actually smashed through the looking glass when Tiger Woods and his over-active micky became valid topics of discussion around watercoolers, on bar stools and, weirdly, in golf clubhouses.
But just when you thought the world of sport couldn’t get any weirder, two NBA stars pull guns on each other. And then one of them makes a joke of it (above) in front a shocked audience. Bang bang.
It’s Deadwood meets Curb Your Enthusiasm as the Washington Wizards’ already embarrassing season (in last place, despite high expectations) has spiralled into farce thanks to an armed stand-off which was sparked by game of cards and an unpaid debt.
Essentially, Arenas and Jarvis Crittenton quarrelled over a post-game, in-flight game of poker. Reportedly, Arenas attempted to change the rules to suit himself mid-game and subsequently welshed on the debt.
When Crittenton demanded the $80,000 Arenas apparently owed, the more senior player presented three guns and a scibbled note, reading: ‘Pick one’.
Last night, before the Wizards game, Arenas was surrounded by his teammates as he knelt on the court and pointed his index fingers at them, as if he were firing guns. A photograph, above, shows nearly all the players laughing or smiling.
This is Jimmy Bullard and his Hull City teammates’ celebration for slow learners.
NBA officals went thermo-nucleur today and said the fines would be contingent in part on whether Arenas and his teammates planned it ahead of time.
The player is now under investigation by the feds and local authorities for possible violations of the strict gun laws in the US capital, and evidence is being presented to a grand jury. Because the Verizon Center in a designated “gun free zone” Arenas would be subject to twice the fine or jail sentence if he is convicted.
The Wizards leading scorer says he kept the guns in his locker and took them out in a “misguided effort to play a joke” on a teammate. Gotcha!
Aside from the off-court repercussion, the Wizards could well use this mess to get rid of one of the worst contracts in the league. Arenas’ six-year, $111 million deal could be cancelled by invoking a morals clause, and team president Ernie Grunfeld could break up the rest of the struggling team as the trade deadline approaches.
The New York Post is currently giving the Tiger situation front-page blanket coverage. Last year, I was in New York when the Giants’ Plaxico Burress was enduring the same treatement.
He was sentenced to jail time for taking a loaded handgun into a nightclub and accidentally shooting himself in the leg. He also faces a significant league suspension upon his attempt to return to the NFL. Could the same be in store for Arenas?
Like the majority of NBA players, Arenas has a rash of tattoos all over his body. On his leg, he boasts what he calls Mount Blackmore – depicting Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Nelson Mandela, and Barack Obama.
Obviously, two of those men, were killed by gunfire. It remains to be seen, if Arenas’ career recovers from this pistol-whipping.
Ok, normal service resumes after a lot of end-of-year stuff that kept us ticking over during the Christmas period. Normal service, around here, means video footage of Kobe Bryant’s weekend, obviously.
Is the great man losing his touch. He got swatted by mere mortals in the last two Lakers games. Via (Hoodoctors)
The King grabs a quick snack after netting. Shaq hobbled a couple of chicken nuggets.
With a mere six minutes left the big showdown at the weekend between the league-leading Lakers and the Miami Heat, the Lakers were up by nine points. Then, however, Dwyane Wade single-handedly brought the Heat back and even helped them take the lead with under 30 seconds left. But then our man Kobe checked in.
With Wade wrapped all over him, down two points, in the Staples Center, Bryant shoots an amazing off-balance, fade-away three-pointer to win it. It’s pretty epic stuff.
Frank Sinatra – As Time Goes By
One of the greats announced this week that he’s calling it a day. Allen Iverson is set to hang up his tats and leave the NBA a duller place.
An unbelievable player for the 69ers, ‘AI’ – who was quick to defend the ‘hip-hop’ culture of the league’s players, summed up everything that middle America grew to hate about the organisation with his heavily-inked arms, perceived bad attitude (check out his press conference) and busy social life.
Rick Reilly – then of Sports Illustrated – once challenged the prejudice against Iverson (and there was a major of racial element to this reputation, I think) with a piece that introduces an unnamed player, detailing his many (real and often unpublicised) virtues and achievements until – taddah! – the curtain is dramatically drawn back, leaving the haters spluttering cornflakes all over the diner counter.
There was however, the inconvenient truth; Iverson’s long rap-sheet. One incident in 2002, was brought to mind today when I gave pause for taught on ‘The Answer’.
As some might be prompted to remember a summer passed by the delicate scent of a late grandmother’s favourite flower in bloom. Or two faint bars of an old song might bring to mind a tide of happy memories, I found myself back in Wildwood, New Jersey thanks to Iverson.
A summer pushing shopping trolleys around a car park, wasting weeks arguing about Saipan (I’m missing half a tooth) and drinking cheap, warm beer ran parallel to the Philadelphia star’s own downward spiral.
In a sequence of events that ODB would have been a bit embarrassed about telling Method Man, Iverson threw his wife out of thier luxury home. And then the next night went around to his cousin’s house – I love that detail – with, allegedly, a weapon to look for soemone he thought was a love rival or something. The details are sketchy in my mind, I must admit. I think he got off in the end.
I’ll miss the crazy bastard.
*Yes, I know he’s actually a free agent and hasn’t played for the 69ers in years.
I’m sooo over Thierry Henry. Cork is flooded, I’ve no running water and I broke my Sky remote control last night. There are more important things then World Cups. Really.
There was plenty of sports action stateside over the weekend. First of all, check out Kobe Bryant, above, nail this shot from BEHIND the backboard. I didn’t know you could do that.
Then on Saturday, Nate ‘Kryptonite’ Robinson – one of the most vivid characters in the league almost scored an OG, basically, when he shot into his own basket just after the buzzer. Robinson’s responce to Knicks coach Mike D’Antoni’s inevitable rage? “What? What?!”
I came across this on the Knicks website this week ahead of their opening NBA game with Miami. Check it out – they ask the squad for their favourite songs – or as they put it ‘the greatest song ever made’. Just like Monday Night Soccer, some even sing to illustrate the point.
Let me, if you will, allow me to be Simon Cowell for a moment.
First of all, the dude is dead. He was the King of Pop. I get it. But Michael Jackson is now disproportionately represented amongst basketball’s hot young talent. It’s not what he would have wanted.
Danillo Gallinari? The Jay-Z/Rihanna combo? I wasn’t waiting on that one. It’s like Ronan O’Gara going for a Wu Tang joint.
Finally, Nate ‘Kryptonite’ Robinson is the only one who came out with a bit of credit. He picked some classic hip-hop that he obviously genuinely loves. Thoughts, anyone?