We were all witnesses
There was that most subtle of moments when you felt the tide turn in the NBA Finals, when the end officially began for those Golden State Warriors. It wasn’t in the sucker nut punch Draymond Green delivered to LeBron James in Game 4, the one that got the Tasmanian devil forward suspended for the pivotal Game 5 of the series.
It came in between those games, during a press conference where James, probably already stewing at the need to field postgame questions after his Cleveland Cavaliers had just tumbled into a 1–3 series death sentence, was asked to comment on Klay Thompson’s assessment of the skirmish and the trash talk that followed.
“I don’t know how the man feels, but obviously people have feelings and people’s feelings get hurt even if they’re called a bad word,” Thompson said. “I guess his feelings just got hurt. I mean, we’ve all been called plenty of bad words on the basketball court before. Some guys just react to it differently.”
When it was James’ turn to take the podium, a reporter kept him up to date with Klay’s remarks. James clarified the question and the reporter paraphrased it into Thompson saying LeBron’s “feelings just got hurt.”
There was a slight pause, a telltale body shift, that followed as James let the question sink in. There was that split-second moment of uncomfortable silence before LeBron, his arms crossed, let out a laugh that sounded forced, maybe even derisive, as if to buy a little time to decide on two things: Go ballistic or rein it in yet another time as he had always done.
LeBron has faced criticisms harsher before. He’s been called names. LeChoke. LeFlop. LeQueen. He’s watched people burn his jerseys and stood by as Cavs owner Dan Gilbert roasted him with his infamous comic sans letter that ripped at LeBron’s decision to leave the Cavs for South Beach.
He’s kept his reactions measured each time. In that press conference, though, it seemed that Thompson’s passive aggressive remark had touched a nerve. Maybe this was the time he would finally unload at how unfair everything, everyone, was. How the world seemed to enjoy feeding logs into the I-Hate-LeBron fire for reasons that sometimes bordered on the trivial.
But he held back at the last moment, opting to “take the high road” again, measuring his response into a loaded no-comment.
There would be no ripping at Klay Thompson. Not that night. Thompson was spared. The Warriors, though, at that moment? They were toast. The series turned in that interview. And it turned in a way that changed the whole LeBron narrative.
Somewhere in the middle of all those man tears and celebratory beer and champagne sprays, every hater (me) had to confront the reality that now presented itself in indisputable form: LeBron James is one of the greatest players basketball has ever seen. He might not be the greatest. Yet. But it is no longer a comic absurdity for a fan of his to engage in a debate on his being the GOAT. There is a sense of resigned acceptance among haters (me) that the era of the LeTard is finally over, obliterated by a three-game work of art that ended Cleveland’s pro championship drought.
He is the best player in the planet. And Steph Curry still resides in this planet. Curry and the Warriors bent basketball physics with their shooting and passing wizardry, coupling the league’s best offense with a set of sharp defensive teeth. Curry was the grand wizard of those Warriors. For two years, he left us mesmerized with his ability to drain halfcourt shots at a better rate than DeAndre Jordan can make free throws. That makes him an unstoppable scoring weapon, the latest fad in a previously dunk-crazy NBA.
It doesn’t make him the best.
He is still the first unanimous MVP the NBA has ever had. That means that in an 82-game race for playoff spots, no voter thought that there was any other player better than Steph. But teams are not built to nail the No. 1 playoff seed. In the real race for franchise greatness, the Cavs mounted a miraculous charge from the corner that they were backed into behind the wrecking ball heroics of yet another unanimous MVP.
That guy is the best in the planet.
And he is now in the GOAT conversation, as he probably should have been had haters (me) removed their blinders. Let’s just look at the numbers LeBron collected during the Finals:
Note: He led all players in the Finals in those categories. ALL. Plus, for good measure, he had a triple double in Game 7.
But stats never defined a players’ greatness right? It shouldn’t. Otherwise, James may have won this argument over Michael Jordan already. Because the numbers certainly support the case for James as GOAT. Greatness isn’t just about scoring, otherwise Kareem would have been the GOAT. It isn’t about titles, because Bill Russell would’ve reduced Michael Jordan to an asterisk. Making teammates better? Magic.
The algorithm for greatness is complex, muddled and largely undefined. But among the factors is this: Man will always make an attempt to perpetuate greatness by extending it to an heir apparent. In 1996, people were scrambling to anoint a rookie named Allen Iverson as Jordan’s “Air Apparent.” By that time Jordan was playing his 12th NBA season. He was still in the league and experts were already trying to perpetuate him. Not replicate, mind you. There will never be another Michael Jordan. Perpetuate. Last I looked, no one was looking for the next LeBron just yet.
But maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe it’s best that we get to watch LeBron continue his chase for the title as greatest ever.
Maybe, despite how much we hate him, we would be better off watching LeBron perform superhuman acts of franchise rescuing. Maybe we need to enjoy more of this LeBron, the one who finally had enough of the verbal jabs, the online bashing, the Klay Thompson needling and just went apocalyptic on the Warriors. This brutal LeBron, this powerful, dominating LeBron. This LeBron who took a 73–9 Golden State squad that was up 3–1 in a best-of-seven title series and did something no one before him had ever done. Toss that squad into the pile of confetti and champagne corks that littered the visitors’ locker room.
Speaking of which, there will be 73–9 apologists who will try to spin a counter-narrative about how the Warriors’ defeat doesn’t invalidate the magical season the Dubs forged, that there should be no asterisk after the record.
Tell them they’re wrong. No one’s invalidating what Curry, Klay and the Warriors achieved. They still won 73 games didn’t they? The asterisk was never to cast doubt on the record, to question whether it should be respected or not.
The asterisk is there to remind people that the team that went on a magic carpet ride? The one that won a record 73 games in the regular season?
They weren’t the best team that season.
And they certainly dropped out of the conversation for greatest team of all time. They were not even the second-best, according to my favorite stat-crunching, data journalism site.
The best team in the year of the 73–9?
The Cavaliers made history of their own, becoming the first team to climb out of a 1–3 hole to win the Larry O’Brien trophy. That they did it despite being the second greatest underdog in a championship series (probability of winning — 27.4%. You’ll have to scroll down but check it here) since 1984 makes that run even more improbable.
And damn more memorable.
Funny how that dramatic championship run started after Klay Thompson’s “feelings got hurt” comment. Because you’d think that the Warriors knew better than to kick a fallen great. Didn’t Golden State rise from their own 1–3 grave immediately after Russell Westbrook chuckled almost mockingly at a question regarding Curry’s defense? Didn’t Warriors fans gloat at the comeback Golden State win by taunting Westbrook?
You know what they say about that thing that goes around and comes around? Yeah, that.
It’s a bitch.
In a Game 7 to remember, the Cavs’ Big 3, the most maligned, most scrutinized collection of stars in the history of big-named trios outside of the Heatles, came through in a most fitting manner.
When it came down to that part of the game where a championship was to be decided, each of those three guys chipped in a decisive play each that sealed Cleveland’s victory. One play each. Kevin Love. Kyrie Irving. LeBron James.
Love was supposed to be the guy who hurt the Cavs’ defense. His inability to cover pick-and-rolls left Cleveland vulnerable to those Curry-and-Green defense shredders so much so that the numbers showed that before Game 7, the Cavs were better off with him on the bench.
But in Game 7, Love’s biggest contribution was his defense. In a 14-second span that could make or break the Cavs’ season, Love went for broke defensively and made Cleveland’s day by standing in front of Curry and forcing the Golden State star into missing a potential game-tying three.
Irving, meanwhile, was criticized for being too iso-heavy for a team that was facing the poster franchise for moving the ball. But in Game 7, before Love’s Curry-stop, Irving got the ball, isolated himself against Curry before burying the dagger trey that put Cleveland ahead by three, 92–89.
Both heroics, though, took their cue from LeBron, the guy who was supposed to lack the clutch gene, the one who couldn’t close out big games.
Well, James didn’t just close out the Warriors in the clutch.
He slammed the door hard on their faces.
With this.
James nailed three free throws and had a three-pointer, all after Steve Kerr opted to stick Festus Ezeli into a roster that had just taken a two-point lead in the fourth period. After those clutch hits by LeBron, the Cavs took the lead briefly before the Warriors tied it at 89. For quite a long spell, that score didn’t budge and no one seemed ready to break the tie until Andre Iguodala and Curry had the Cavs, particularly last-man-on-defense JR Smith, on their back heels on a 2-on-1.
As Iguodala double pumped for a layup past Smith, James flew out of nowhere to swat the shot emphatically.
Oh, and LeBron later cushioned the lead Kyrie built with a split that made it a two-possession match.
We all saw it. The block. The last three games. The determined destroyer of dynasty dreams. The beauty of it all. The brutality of it all. The truth of it all.
The greatness.
Whether you were at Oracle, at home or outside a neighborhood store peering through screen windows to catch a glimpse of Game 7, we all saw greatness validate itself. The thing about having watched all six of the Chicago Bulls’ championship runs is that Michael Jordan made you believe — from when he clutched his first trophy tightly and in tears, to “The Shrug” and to the time he dusted off Byron Russell and the Utah Jazz for “The Shot” — that you had seen everything legendary that basketball had to offer.
This is how LeBron James redefined greatness, rewrote his narrative. That he came in and destroyed the seemingly indestructible with a force we hadn’t seen before. And perhaps never will again.
We can still hate him, yes. He still will play against our teams yes? But we can no longer question his greatness. We can no longer doubt his legend. We can no longer mock his claim to the throne.
We were there. Somewhere. Everywhere.
We watched LeBron obliterate the Warriors and with them, the doubts that we attached to him.
We watched him close out Golden State. We watched him will his team to victory. We watched him make a promise to a championship-starved city and then deliver on it emphatically.
It would be hard to deny all those.
We were all witnesses.
And Klay, next time, STFU.
