A Very American Coup By Michael – Louis...
The Story of a Prince, who wanted to be King
But, it was unbelievable.
Too hard to watch.
A never-ending nightmare.
Whom we loved.
And they hated.
Was defeated for the second-time.
He had become a two-time loser.
A victim of another TKO.
It was devastating.
It was a tearful tragedy to a long season.
In the beginning, all of us ordinary people, with our boring lives, stood in line, for hours, just to get a glimpse of his Greatness.
“Not one, not two, not three, not four, not five, not six…..”
He said it.
And, we believed it.
We, and he, both were starving for a championship.
The hunger pains, in fact, drove our inner most desires.
But, it left us delirious in the end.
But maybe, our expectations were too high.
Who knew, he was afraid of heights?
He had cautiously climbed to the top of the tallest skyscraper in sports.
But refused to look out the window.
We all stared in silence, pretending not to hear the whispers.
We closed our ears to the lies and avoided all internet rumors.
Despite all of that, we could tell, something was wrong.
Our King was wounded.
But, I was told, that a wounded deer, jumps the highest.
But when I looked at him, he looked flat-footed on the floor, grounded by gravity, and blinded by the spotlight.
I hate to admit it but his jumper was jeopardizing our chances to win a championship.
Plus, his enormous ego seemed to be cracking like an unboiled egg.
Now, he seemed to be dribbling on egg-shells.
Oh no, another turnover!!!
This can’t be happening again!!!
Were the flames from the HEAT too hot for him to handle?
These were the types of questions burning in our souls and scrambling in our brains.
But, he was too cool to collapse under pressure; this is what we told ourselves.
But, he was crumbling……
We could see it in his eyes.
We could see that he was suffocating in his own success.
He was losing confidence with every missed shot.
Unfortunately, his poor play was giving conspiracy theorists creative license to make up stuff.
As a result, brothers at the barber shop began to blame the Mafia in Miami for his mistakes and mishaps.
In a room full of weed smoke, they foolishly tried to make a connection between Delonte’ West, Dan Gilbert, Tony Montana and basketball.
How they did it, don’t ask me?
But their conclusions were better than mine.
Why? Because, I was still speechless.
But, there was nothing I could do.
Our king was falling apart.
And after a television-time, another McDonald’s commercial, we all saw the 7-foot, blood-haired German-gym rat, who looked like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, hit another jumper.
This game was over.
Honestly, it was painful watching our shining star struggling to score in the fourth quarter.
We loved his playful personality.
But honestly, we wanted him to have a heart of a killer in the end.
We wanted him to be a Lion amongst men.
We wanted him to be more aggressive. We wanted him to be in attack mode the entire game.
Besides, if he wanted to be the King of the Jungle, he had to stay hungry.
“Attack!! Attack!!!” we all shouted.
If we could give Tim Tebow his talents and skills in the first three quarters and transplant Tebow’s heart in him in the fourth, our kingdom would be at hand.
But his basketball brilliance looked stupid during the stretch and dumb-downed down-low during crunch time.
And I shamefully admit, the lost left all of us questioning his greatest.
Maybe, all the madness and mayhem of being in Miami caused this unforgettable meltdown.
Psychologically, we tried to explain it.
But, none of it made any sense.
As a result, the boys at the barber shop had develop another theory even crazier than the first one.
This time, their conspiracy theory involved a sex tape involving Kim Karadashian, rapper Rick Ross and a drug deal gone bad before the team from Texas held up the Championship Trophy and the confetti fell from the ceiling.
How Kim Kardashian’s name came up, I had no idea?
But, it really didn’t matter.
Because, I didn’t believe anything these fools said anyway.
Besides, most of them never played high school basketball, couldn’t make a left-handed lay-up, were out of shape and thought going to Myrtle Beach was equivalent to being in South Beach.
But at the end of the night, we all went home ring less.
As a result, during the off-season, we prayed to the Basketball gods, to give our battered but beloved King a form of athletic amnesia, which would eliminate his fourth quarter performance in the Finals from his mind.
Besides, time heals all wounds.
Plus, during the NBA lock-out, we finally came to grips with the fact that our brother failed to bring home the ring last season.
And without a ring on his finger, he had reduced himself into a prince, who now was a prisoner of his own possibilities.
Last year’s lost, unfortunately, has left him humbled and a bit humiliated.
He, in fact, has been the laughing stock of the league since his defeat.
But, despite being the butt of bad jokes, we have chosen to wander in the wilderness, winless, once again with him, in order to seek revenge and obtain the seemingly intangible championship ring.
It won’t be an easy but we are up for the challenge.
So, get prepared
Long live, the King.