THE LIBERATION OF P.K. SUBBAN By Michael – Louis...
A Surreal Reality
If he goes to Chicago, he would have to play under Jordan’s shadow.
If he goes to New Jersey, he would become an instant billionaire in Brooklyn.
If he goes to LA/LA land, he would play second-fiddle to Kobe.
If he goes to Miami, he would be referred to as Pippen 2.0.
But if he stays in Cleveland, he would still be considered the King.
NORTH CAROLINA (BASN) — It was the never-ending story that seemed as if it would never end.
For almost a month, the entire nation had been waiting and anticipating LeBron James’ decision. His potential decision, in fact, was analyzed, debated, dissected, and scrutinized by every sports writer in America.
As a result, we all were forced to watch ESPN’s one-hour long extravaganza cleverly called “The Decision.” The program, however, was premeditated and after 25 minutes, we all needed some medication for watching this mess.
Matter of fact, I felt a little nauseous just looking at freelance reporter Jim Gray’s sneaky looking face and his bland, Botox-injected skin trying to pull off this insignificant but insidious interview.
Honestly, Larry King’s interview on CNN with LeBron was much better and more personal.
Besides, with all of this hype and hoopla, the “Decision” looked like a cheesy-late night infomercial as 6-foot-8 LeBron James sat in a high chair like a kid being send to the in the Principal’s office.
James, in fact, looked as if he was being cross-examined by Gray for a crime he had not committed but was about to commit.
Unfortunately, the crime he would be convicted of : would be stealing the hearts and souls from the people of Cleveland, lying under oath, and backstabbing his “owner” Dan Gilbert in the back.
Because with every question asked, the truth was slowly coming out as James nervously navigated his way through the “bull****” he was spitting.
As James bumbled and stumbled through his unscripted answers, something began to smell funky, because this show stunk like a pair of my musty gym socks.
Even the children at the Boys and Girls Club in Greenwich, Conn., where the show was aired looked lost and out of place as they all sat motionless and emotionless in the background as if they were cult followers of Jim Jones.
This event, in fact, started to look a little spooky, if you ask me. Hopefully, no one was going to pass out cups of Kool-aid, I mean, Vitamin water, for everybody in the audience to drink after the commercial break.
Sadly, I think some of those devoted Cavalier fans would have done anything LeBron said if he had promised them that he wasn’t going to leave.
So here we were, watching James, the self-appointed “King,” aka “the anointed one,” live on national television, sitting at the cross-road of his career about to decide which lonely road he would travel.
New York, New Jersey, Chi-town, Miami, Los Angeles, or Cleveland. And then with a stone-face stare without biting his fingernails, he said ….”I am going to take my talents to South Beach”
Shockingly, there was no-reaction. No tears.
No hand-clapping. Just pure silence.
And with his decision…..like a well-scripted wrestling match inspired by Vince McMahon, our “great” Hometown Hero became their “HATED” Super Villain.