The King’s Throne

Growing up the cheerfully overweight son of Indian immigrants in suburban Cary, North Carolina (as if any part of Cary is anything but suburban), the only way I could fully engage with the sport of basketball was by nerding out about it. I had the bountiful energy of a spry geriatric, so anything past rec basketball and the varsity basketball team of my middle school were the extent of my playing ability. So, instead, I surrounded myself with the parts of basketball that would allow me to stay on my couch or at my desk.

So, how’d I do that? Starting in the 2002–03 season, there were ESPN NBA Friday nights, where I’d passionately root for the Eastern Conference putridity of Jason Kidd’s Nets and Allen Iverson’s Sixers, alongside my mother. Kidd’s passing vision and pace control against Iverson’s ability to get to any spot on the court and put up a makeable shot. It was Shakespearean sonnets against rap, and, yes, I’m aware of the racial implications of that metaphor.

Then, there was ACC basketball: Chris Paul nut-punching Julius Hodge, Nick Caner-Medley comparing himself to Jesus, ACC Sunday Night Hoops on FS Carolina, and, of course, the Duke-Carolina rivalry, from Dahntay Jones and Chris Duhon vs. Melvin Scott and Raymond Felton to Grayson Allen and Amile Jefferson vs. Justin Jackson and Joel Berry.

And then there was NBA 2K2. I’m unashamed to say that, until a few years ago, I would still sometimes pull out my dusty old PS2, pop in that disc, and loft up crazy midrange jumpers and crash into the lane on herky-jerky crossovers with Vince Carter. And because of that one video game, I can still rattle off the obscure bench players on the Atlanta Hawks roster. By the way, that’s Ira Newble (we’ll revisit him later), Mike Wilks, Alan Henderson, Corey Benjamin, and Emamual Davis, Nazr Mohammed, Dan Dickau, and Darvin Ham.

But, there was another thing that season that transformed my basketball fandom for good:

Back before the age of the Internet and YouTube and readily available high school mixtapes and no TV on weeknights, I didn’t have much insight on LeBron’s playing style. All I knew was that he was an insane athlete and had point guard skills in a wing scorer’s body. So, naturally, I did what any other chubby nine-year old would do: created him in NBA 2K2. And oh, did I create him incorrectly. As far as I remember, I bestowed upon him a 99 in ball handling, a 99 in passing, a 99 in speed and vertical, and… a 99 in three-point shooting. And thus began my unabashed fandom of “The Chosen One.” Hell, my mother even refers to him as my Guruji because I almost religiously watch each and every one of his games.

All that being said, I’m not quite a LeBron stan. I recognize him as what he is: the best basketball player of all time.

Good, now that all the knee-jerk reactants have closed out of reading this, let me explain what I meant by that last statement.

I’m not an idiot. I don’t rank LeBron over Michael Jordan, I don’t rank LeBron’s career with his longevity over MJ’s career, and I certainly don’t rank LeBron’s peak as a 27–8–7 stat-stuffer on 57% shooting over MJ’s peak of 31–6–6 on 52% shooting.

To me, there are two basketball untouchables, Michael Jordan, the GOAT, and Bill Russell, the God. Without Jordan, the NBA would have never reached the popularity it’s enjoying today. But, without Bill Russell, I don’t really think the league would have completely integrated as quickly as it did. Without Bill Russell, there’s no David Thompson or Moses Malone or Julius Erving or Magic Johnson, and definitely no Michael Jordan or Kobe Bryant or Tim Duncan or, yes, LeBron James. So, throw these two out of the conversation. Their legacies can’t be tarnished, and their legends won’t let them be.

But, aside from those two immortals, it’s LeBron. And there’s no one near him.

LeBron has a flawless resume, in terms of his personal accolades: 13-time All-Star, 11-time All-NBA First Team, 5-time All-Defensive First Team, 4 MVPs, and 3 Finals MVPs. Aside from Jordan, LeBron’s career is already better than every single other historic peer. Magic’s similar stats? 12/9/0/3/3. Bird? 12/9/0/3/2. Kobe? 18/11/9/1/2. Even if we go into the weird history of the NBA, LeBron’s personal awards stack up favorably with anyone you can pick out. And incorporating his statistical impact on his teams, he’s head and shoulders above everyone else.

But, LeBron’s legacy is more than just numbers and stats and efficiency. It’s a story, it’s a story of constantly being thrown up against crazy odds and him succeeding. From a not-so charmed childhood to rumors of deviations from amateurism to being drafted to his tortured hometown franchise as “The Chosen One”, he specialized in his first seven years in fermenting utter shit into good vino.

LeBron’s best teammates in his first seven years were Zydrunas Ilgauskas, Larry Hughes, and Mo Williams. Instead of trading for Chris Bosh or Amar’e Stoudemire (even though he may not have been the best fit beside LeBron), the 2003–2010 Cavs’ greatest trade acquisition was the one-legged Antawn Jamison, where he barely put up 15 points on 14 shots a game. Instead of drafting J.R. Smith or Al Jefferson or even Jameer Nelson in 2004 with the 10th overall pick, LeBron got Luke ‘I look like I belong on The OC more that I do on an NBA roster’ Jackson. They traded away their 2004 13th pick to the Charlotte Bobcats for some weird shit involving the expansion draft rights to Jahidi White. So, the Cavs forewent drafting a stretch four like Danny Granger (an upgrade from Donyell Marshall) or a hustle forward like David Lee or a shooter like Rashad McCants for this butterball:

And, yes, even though McCants is a Tar Heel blood traitor, I still contend that in the right situation (or any non-David Kahn situation), he could’ve been a Jason Terry type of scorer.

And lastly, after getting the 19th pick in a deep 2008 draft and gift-wrapped opportunity to provide LeBron with some kind of youth to play with, the Cavs literally took the worst remaining first round pick available. Seriously? J.J. Hickson instead of Ryan Anderson, Courtney Lee, Kosta Koufos, Serge Ibaka, Nicolas Batum, George Hill, or Darrell Arthur? What was Cleveland management even doing on a day-to-day basis? They definitely weren’t scouting prospects or considering viable trade options to build their team.

And even yet, Lebron did this:

And this:

And this, along with his 38–8–8 in that “disappointing” series:

And this, against the first of manufactured three-man superteams:

Oh yeah, and this too:

So, in summary, seven years playing with the likes of Eric Snow and David Wesley and Drew Gooden and Boobie Gibson and Andy Varejao and Sasha Pavlovic and Lucious Harris and Donyell Marshall, and LeBron averages 50 wins a season for 7 years, with one Finals appearance, two 60+ win seasons, and two other Conference Finals appearances.

Oh yeah… I forgot this happened too…

Actually, I didn’t forget. I just want to purge it from my mind.

LeBron’s first seven years aren’t a knock on his legacy. He basically showed that he’s on the very few players in the history of the NBA who could single-handedly carry a team without a second player significantly above replacement to Finals contention. Who else of the greats could really, honestly, do that? MJ? Yeah. Kobe? No. Magic and Bird? Maybe. Kareem? Not quite.

LeBron’s first year with Miami is the only bad season he’s had. And a bad season for LeBron is 58 wins, a top three finish in MVP voting, and a run to the NBA Finals. His disappearance in the 2011 Finals will always serve as ammunition for the detractors, inexplicable for me or any other rational NBA fan and brutally stinging for LeBron. But, the 2011 Heat was an awkwardly constructed roster of two ball-dominant slashing and shooting-deficient wings, an All-Star power forward who loved only the midrange, and a bunch of below average role players. It’s inexcusable that LeBron couldn’t put up more than his 18–7–7 on 48% shooting, but it’s also the only blemish on LeBron’s record. And it’s the only example of LeBron’s team losing because of his poor play.

But, the nihilistic trajectory of LeBron’s career after his vilification post-2011 Finals is something I appreciate. It’s a work ethic that came in the face of immense pressure and criticism. It was an internal calm that shut out the external storm of muckraking and character assassination. There’s nothing like erasing the sour taste of letting your teammates down by reeling off 2 straight chips, 2 MVPs, a 27-game win streak, and a couple of the best playoff performances ever.

Remember this?

Ray Allen’s shot definitely overshadows the Herculean game LeBron had in Game 7 of the 2013 NBA Finals, against a 62–20 San Antonio team that was favored to win in six games, throwing up 37/12/4 on 23 shots and 5 made threes and capping it all off with the game-clinching long two.

LeBron’s last year in Miami showed off his mastery of the game, dissecting offenses with pinpoint passing precision and timely scoring at efficiency rates never before reached by volume wing scorers. Even in a drubbing 2014 Finals loss to a Spurs team on a mission, LeBron was the only bright spot on a team of aging veterans, the only player with a positive rating. LeBron’s top sidekick, Dwyane ‘Batman’ Wade, was a whopping -31 for the five-game series.

LeBron returned home, faced some growing pains with a otherwise inexperienced team, but ripped through the East with his Cleveland team with Kevin Love, its third best player, on the bench with his arm out of his socket. Then, he pushed a 67-win Warriors team to six games with Kyrie Irving on the bench with a shattered kneecap and Timofey Mozgov and J.R. Smith as his second and third options. He was so good that the guy who held him to 36/13/9 won Finals MVP. He was so good, that, if he had played any of the past four Western Conference Finalists, his ragtag group of Bad News Bears would’ve won a chip.

2016 was a magical year, and we’ll leave it at that. Turbulent regular season, greatest series comeback ever, and a 51-year curse ended for Cleveland sports.

And now, we come to this year, where putting up 115 points a game and having two 30 point scorers at the same time weren’t even enough to win a couple games. Hell, LeBron averaged a line of 34/12/10 on 56% shooting, statistically his best (or second-best) Finals performance, and his team wasn’t even close.

I don’t want to be an apologist. LeBron’s lost five finals. He’s lost as many Finals as Magic won. But all of his Finals losses, outside 2011, are achievements, not failures. Outside of 2011, his teams that haven’t won championships, have lost despite his Leviathan performances. Not like, say, the 2010 Lakers, who won, in spite of Kobe’s horrible Game 7 performance.

And then, there’s LeBron off the court — the business man who owns a minority share of Liverpool, huge market shares in apparel and shoes and electronics, and a media mogul, the philanthropist who’s giving kids an opportunity at education and sending them to college, and the budding actor. (He was the only bright spot in Trainwreck.)

I’m going to stop listing LeBron’s accolades now. It’s turning into an embarrassing, laundry list.

I haven’t really made a point in this column yet, other than the fact that LeBron is one of those transcendental talents that we’ve been lucky to witness in our lives. I guess the point is that, in the pointless, bickering debate over LeBron’s résumé, we often times inflate the very few low points of LeBron’s career and forget the foundational legacy he’s created from himself with the hollowed out bricks fate has handed him. I honestly think that LeBron, ages 28–31, could take any roster to the NBA Finals. I wish there was a way to prove that, but there isn’t. But how many players like that have existed in the NBA? Again, maybe just MJ.

I’m looking forward to seeing my favorite basketball player of all time dominate the league for at least another four years, hopefully, two to three as this current Magic/Malone hybrid point power forward that can bully into the lane at the drop of the hat and finish or find the open three-point shooter. And then, when his beard starts to grey and his bald spot starts to widen in diameter, he can refine his game like the red wine he likes to drink and turn into an exclusive playmaker out of the high post with a sweetened shooting stroke.

It’s 2017 now, and we’ve been seeing LeBron James in the national spotlight for 14 straight years. I honestly can’t really remember watching an NBA that doesn’t have some kind of LeBron imprint on it. LeBron’s storied career is far from over, but his legacy so far has already given him a place in Pantheon of the NBA. And he’ll be sitting in that throne, comfortable and without fear of abduction, for just enough time until he can ascend into the heavens to join Jordan and Russell.