King Me: LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers Are Champions

Posted on by Owen Sanborn

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I came into The Finals with the notion that the Golden State Warriors were going to dispatch the Cleveland Cavaliers in five games; not because I have an innate hatred for LeBron James spewing within me, but because of what my eyes told me. Golden State was going to be able to exhale after being ran through the gauntlet by the Oklahoma City Thunder, and playing Cleveland was merely a formality en route to cementing one of the greatest — if not the greatest — single season in NBA history.

For the first two games, my instinct hung true. But then, the pendulum of the series continued to swing on a whim, culminating in Draymond Green’s thrust towards James’ man region in the later stages of Game 4.

“We’ve just got to get one. Let’s get one,” James told the media after the game 4 loss.

Game 5 proved to be the christening of the Cavaliers’ belief that a comeback was a distinct possibility. James and Irving put on a superlative display of basketball excellence — a Batman and Robin comic book come to life in all respects, and the stage was set for a return to Oakland a few days later if Cleveland could take care of business at home.

Game 6 does not really warrant a recollection, as the game was never in much doubt from the onset. J.R. Smith’s no-look lob to a freight-training James is the perfect visual for the rolling snowball that was the Cavaliers heading into last night’s duel.

 Game 7

“Two of the best words ever,” James told the media of a potential Game 7.

On a personal note, I always try to refrain from the gnawing practice of exhibiting my rationales with hyperbole. With that said, last night’s Game 7 will go down as one of the three best basketball games in NBA history, and likely the greatest game of my generation.

Game 7’s are not traditionally the most aesthetically pleasing. Nerves are on full blast, adrenaline is the enemy, and sphincters tighten in the waning minutes if the game is any semblance of close. But that is what makes them such a delight to take part in live — the wills of the participants and fans are palpable, making even casual viewing a stressful ordeal. Something huge is at stake.

In the game’s origin, both teams fought the initial barking of nerves. Klay Thompson and Stephen Curry both overshot 3-pointers that they would often make in their sleep, and the Cavaliers bricked any shot that was not hoisted within the painted area.

James was aggressively passive, galloping his way into the lane only to make some of the mid-air passes that made him turnover prone earlier in the series.

Still, both he and Kyrie Irving were able to tread water just enough to withstand the fury of the Warriors’ ten first half 3-pointers — including an unlikely five from a valiant Green. The first half deficit for the Cavs was seven, but it felt like it definitely should have been in the double digits due to their cold outside shooting.

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The tone of the second half for Cleveland was set by an unlikely source — an embattled Smith. As the lovable punching bag on social media for his, umm, “antics,” Smith is one of the most mocked players in the league. He is just as likely to shoot you out of a game as he is to reclaim a deficit as his shot boils.

Luckily for Cleveland, the latter took place instead of the former. Smith torched Golden State with a flurry of contested jumpers that flushed the twine in an emphatic fashion and took the wind out of the sails of a patented Warriors run. Golden State’s first half lead had disintegrated, but there was a sense that Curry was holstering one last barrage of holy jumpers to sink James’ championship ambitions.

Curry’s three felt like the beginning of the end for Cleveland. We have seen this kind of game play out all season against the Warriors — teams would hang tough for two and a half quarters before the Splash Brothers unite forces and uncork malicious daggers onto bewildered opponents.

Yet, the Cavs would not cease their existence, and Irving lead a masterful charge towards the fourth quarter by way of lay ins that I am still unable to fully comprehend.

The fourth quarter turned into a rock fight, with both teams noticeably gassed and trying to will the ball into the hoop. Much like when a pitcher tries to aim the ball instead of throw it, the aim of jump shots waned, and every bucket proved precious.

The thing I will remember most about the last few minutes of last night’s game was the tension consumed within me despite not having a dog in the fight. Sure, I had a silly bet with a buddy for a free meal at In-N-Out Burger on the line, but there was a ringing in my chest that I had not felt since the conclusion of my days as an athlete.

And then, there was the block.

With under two minutes left, Golden State was on a rampage towards the most rarest of points given the context: a fastbreak lay in. Curry is flanked by the vertically astute Andre Igoudala on a two-on-one break with Smith as the likely casualty. Just as Igoudala gathers the ball for a swinging lay in, a streak of black zips across the screen to pin the ball up against the glass.

Cleveland ball.

You know those moments in life where you stare dumbfounded at the sight that you have just beheld? Your first time seeing a girl naked, seeing someone get their ass kicked during a fight, seeing a girl naked for the first time a second time, when you try to comprehend what species a person from the show Botched is, a jarring collision on the football field, and seeing a girl naked for the first time a third time.

LeBron’s block topped them all because of the circumstances in which it occurred and the requisite photos it produced. I am going to be telling Little O about that moment for years on end. It defied the human condition.

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The game still hung in the balance at an 89-89 tie with under a minute left, and Cleveland called a timeout to diagnose what would go on to be the deciding factor in the game.

“We tried to get Kyrie [Irving] with the basketball with Steph Curry guarding him and let him go one on one,” Coach Ty Lue told the media after the game.

To Lue’s credit, the action that was drawn up resulted in exactly what he called for and Irving — who has righted the ship of his many critics after these Finals — buttered a fallaway 3-pointer that was fittingly reminiscent of the very shots Curry had pierced opponents with all season.

Boom. 92-89, Cleveland.

The following possessions produced forced 3-point attempts from an obviously flustered Curry, including a failed dosey-do against the much maligned Kevin Love at the top of the key. Love was able to swing his hips and shuffle his feet just enough to contest Curry as he attempted to jitterbug his way into free space to tie the game.

Love preserving the game with a defensive stop is a perfect bookend to a lost Finals that saw him mocked, benched, and psycho-analyzed. The future of Love in Cleveland is not known, but it takes a certain kind of athlete to stay engaged and contribute to a common cause after being stripped of their dignity on an overbearing stage.

One final notch on a historic battle came when James attempted to end Green’s life on a thunderous dunk attempt.

As James laid on the floor clutching his wrist and the arena fell hush, it was hard to resist the urge to classify what was happening as a sports movie reincarnated. The whole thing felt scripted.

Our hero goes up for a majestic slam to punctuate his career-long quest to win a championship for his hometown before being met in mid-air by the antagonist and consequently thrown to the ground.

Any time that LeBron appears human is rarified air, and there was a thought that circulated in my head briefly:

Did I just see the ending of LeBron’s career?

Wouldn’t you know it, the cyborg shrugs off any pain in his wrist and sinks the go-ahead free throw. So much for that thought.

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What is there to say when you have just witnessed what was once declared to be the impossible?

James harrows amongst even the most elite of athletes in the world. Combining the brute force of his 6-foot-8, 260 pound frame with a mental wizardry that can approach composer-like heights, James always feels like he is in control when he is on the court. Every single possession has his fingerprints on it — good or bad — and it is absolutely mesmerizing to fathom the weight he has carried on his shoulders since his inception into the league.

No player can match the microscope James has played under for the duration of his career. No player has come into the NBA (or any sports league for that matter) with the expectation of being the “Chosen One” and actually exceeded the lofty ceiling that had been set.

The amount of division that James has accrued amongst casual observers is a fascinating microcosm on American culture. It is as though some people go through life deviating from the “bandwagon” of accepting James’ greatness. Instead, they will plunge through hell to prove that he is unworthy of securing a spot within the NBA’s hierarchy of legends; let alone the hearts of Americans. Rather than bask in a singular subject’s greatness, we deflect it and even revolt against it — thirsting for that instant’s “king” to be dethroned.

Much of that same narrative could be brought back to the Warriors as well. As a whole, the people I surround myself with grew tired of Green’s boisterous mouth and potent dick shots, Curry’s hubris, and the overall favoritism of the Warriors in general. They were simply too great over the course of the last two years and many grew sick of it.

Screw their 73-win season and Curry’s second consecutive MVP — they aren’t really THAT GREAT.

This was perhaps the most captivating part of The Finals for my outlier train of thought. Observers were thrusted into two separate camps with their rooting interests throughout the series: Either latch onto the overcrowded and bloated Warriors fan base or embark on the tireless journey of defending James to every last hater that operates like a two-year-old who does not get their way.

“LALALA. I can’t hear you,” they will retort to every claim you stake to James’ obvious greatness.

Combating wits with these kinds of people is the ultimate nosedive into a never-ending rabbit hole that I would not wish upon even my worst of enemies.

Hopefully last night finally puts a muzzle on the noise once and for all.

Congratulations to LeBron, the Cavaliers, and the city of Cleveland.

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