Perhaps, the reason why nobody has ever answered the question "What is really going on with LeBron James?" isn't because we are all missing out on some vast, unplumbed psychological space of entitlement, insecurity, and self-destruction, but rather because the answer to the question is boring and self-evident. He is quickly becoming the problem nobody cares enough to solve, the bully whom you endure, not because you feel threatened, but because you've long since given up trying to reason with him. For the most part, the response to the coughing video wasn't outrage or even confusion, but rather a collective rolling of the eyes and a deeply felt, deeply annoyed sigh. That, more than anything else, was just LeBron being LeBron.
The fact that such a great player has been reduced to a cliché, and that the cliché describes his failings, should be a story in itself. But LeBron's performance in the Finals and the echo from the end of the Boston series exist somewhere outside our usual rhythm of "watch, react, and relate." In the postgame press conference, a reporter asked LeBron and Wade about the word "choke" and if they felt as if they had choked the series away. LeBron let Wade answer, but what struck me about the question wasn't Wade's tepid answer or LeBron's deferral, but rather that the word "choke" doesn't seem to really describe what happened in this series. LeBron did not shrink up in the moment. He did not miss big shots or free throws. He did not turn the ball over or travel or call a timeout. Instead, he just kind of wasn't there. And what was even weirder than the public's lack of surprise, or LeBron's hostile postgame press conference, or even the defensiveness with which he carried himself throughout the season, was just how the villain in this particular tragedy felt staid, warmed-over.
Hard to properly root against a man when it feels like there's so little point in doing so.
No comments:
Post a Comment