Ironically, his royal court is made of hardwood.
He prefers a basketball in his hand instead of a scepter.
His regal finery consists of Nike KDIVs on his feet and a blue No. 35 jersey on his back.
He rules fourth quarters the way monarchs subdue adversaries.
He refers to himself in the first person rather than the royal "we" or by a global brand he’s apparently not anxious to become.
He desires a crown for his basketball exploits but eschews the pomp and circumstance surrounding it.
He’s so very young, yet ever so gifted.
He barely manages a shy, warm smile when others in his celebrated sneakers would cop colder, more calculated countenances.
He’s a smaller market player with emerging global appeal.
He’s liked and respected widely—not demonized and disrespected selectively.
He seems genuinely humble, dominating games played by prideful men.
He flexes clean hued spaghetti thin arms, rather than brawny biceps brandishing a bevy of tattoos.
He scores effortlessly both on the court and off, with fans who admire his talent as well as respect his approachability.
He unceremoniously signed his contract extension in the offseason when lesser players manipulated their pending free agency by staging media circuses during the season.
He’s confident pecking his Mom on the cheek rather than smacking lips with scores of admiring groupies in the stands.
His height and length defy basketball beliefs that only those of much shorter stature can dribble, drive and dish the way he does so deftly.
He’s comfortable with a quasi-arachnid nickname over that of a monarch or snake.
He may be without a championship ring for at least another week, but he’s already wedded to NBA fans everywhere.
He’s the NBA’s new rightful King for the regal way he’s performed in these 2012 NBA Playoffs and more importantly for how he’s enraptured our hearts.
Straight talk. No static.
MIKE–aka Mike Raffone—the ultimate talking head on sports!