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Mokeski sanoi:http://espn.go.com/espn/story/_/id/8011587/lebron-being-lebron
Kärjistetysti kirjoitettu osittain, mutta silti osuu varsin hyvin maaliinsa. Tottahan se on, että LeBron yksilönä saa aivan liikaa kritiikkiä niskoilleen suorituksiinsa nähden.
Siltikään mikään ei piristäisi alkukesääni paremmin kuin Heatin putoaminen.
And then … the shots started going in. Swish. Swish. Swish. It's like Miami realized, "Oh yeah, the Celtics don't have anyone who can guard LeBron James," and more important, LeBron realized it. He stopped worrying about sharing the ball, getting teammates involved, swinging it to the open man, being liked. Maybe LeBron said to himself, "Fuck it, I'm playing all 48 minutes, I'm scoring at least 50 points, and if we still blow this game, nobody can blame me." Maybe he said, "Wade already has a ring, it's time to get mine." Maybe someone (Wade?) said to him, "Enough with this me-then-you-then-me crap, it's your team, hog the ball, do your thing and take us home." Maybe Game 5's embarrassing defeat, as well as the humiliating "Good Job, Good Effort" kid and 36 hours of "Should they break up the Heat?" stories pissed him off. Maybe Worldwide Wes gave him an awesome pregame speech along the lines of the chef from Vision Quest.
I don't know what happened. I just know the shots wouldn't stop going in. After about the fifth dagger in a row (he made 10 straight), the crowd started groaning on every make — shades of Philly's Andrew Toney ripping our hearts out 30 years ago. If you've ever been in the building for one of those games, you know there isn't a deadlier sound. He single-handedly murdered one of the giddiest Celtics crowds I can remember. Thirty points in the first half. Thirty! All with that blank look on his face. It was like watching surveillance video of a serial killer coldly dismembering a body and sticking the parts in the fridge. Only we were right there.
You can't imagine what this was like to witness in person. I know Michael Jordan had similarly astonishing games, and others, too, but not with stakes like that. This wasn't just an elimination game. This was LeBron James's entire career being put on trial … and it only took an hour for him to tell the jury, "Go home. I'm one of the best players ever. Stop picking me apart. Stop talking about the things I can't do. Stop holding me to standards that have never been applied to any other NBA player. Stop blaming me for an admittedly dumb decision I never should have made. Stop saying I'm weak. Stop saying that I don't want to win. Stop. Just … stop."
As a Celtics fan, I was devastated. As a basketball fan, I appreciated the performance for what it was. One of the greatest players ever was playing one of his greatest games ever. He swallowed up every other relevant story line. Needless to say, the Celtics couldn't match him — especially Pierce, who's worn down from four weeks of battling Andre Iguodala, Shane Battier and LeBron on one leg and appears to be running on fumes of his fumes' fumes at this point. The fans were so shell-shocked that many (including me and my father) filed out with three minutes remaining, not because we were lousy fans, not to beat the traffic, but because we didn't want to be there anymore. We wanted to get away from LeBron. He ruined what should have been a magical night. We never really had a chance to cheer, swing the game, rally our guys, anything. He pointed a remote control at us and pressed "MUTE." It was like being in a car accident. LeBron James ran over 18,000 people.
Remember that scene when Forrest Gump finds out about his son, digests the news, then worries that the boy is just as stupid as he is? For two terrible seconds, he's thinking to himself, Oh, no, I hope I didn't ruin this kid. That's how I felt when I watched my daughter sobbing. Why did I do this to her? Why would I pull her into this fan vortex where you're probably going to end up unhappy more than happy?
Then I remembered something. Sports is a metaphor for life. Everything is black and white on the surface. You win, you lose, you laugh, you cry, you cheer, you boo, and most of all, you care. Lurking underneath that surface, that's where all the good stuff is — the memories, the connections, the love, the fans, the layers that make sports what they are. It's not about watching your team win the Cup as much as that moment when you wake up thinking, In 12 hours, I might watch my team win the Cup. It's about sitting in the same chair for Game 5 because that chair worked for you in Game 3 and Game 4, and somehow, this has to mean something. It's about using a urinal between periods, realizing that you're peeing on a Devils card, then eventually realizing that some evil genius placed Devils cards in every single urinal. It's about leaning out of a window to yell at people wearing the same jersey as you, and it's about noticing an airport security guy staring at your Celtics jersey and knowing he'll say, "You think they win tonight?" before he does. It's about being an NBA fan but avoiding this year's Western Conference finals because you still can't believe they ripped your team away, and it's about crying after that same series because you can't believe your little unassuming city might win the title. It's about posing for pictures before a Stanley Cup clincher, then regretting after the fact that you did. It's about two strangers watching you cry at a stoplight. It's black and white, but it's not.