Explaining LeBron James' Giant Gap in Clutchness in the NBA Playoffs

Oh no, not another past tense-LeBron article. 

Oh yes, dear reader—and yet I have no intentions of wasting your and my precious time rehashing the same old talking points. Today, we attempt to shed light on "The Indecision" (my pet name for LeBron's little seizure in the Finals) by re-evaluating one of our least controversial assumptions on the matter.

That assumption being that LeBron had turned a major corner with what he did to the Boston Celtics and Chicago Bulls, and that he proceeded to regress somehow against Dallas.

As baffling as his late-game meltdown was (even stranger in the minds of most people) the massive contrast with the fire-breathing clutch-god he seemed to have become only one series prior.

People watched LeBron stick a giant fork in both Boston and Chicago with a pair of miracle comebacks. They were led to believe he had finally discovered his eye of the tiger, and conquered whatever demons had previously made him fold under pressure.

After all, only a cold-blooded killer could do what he did (i.e. single-handedly close out a series after trailing by double-digits with fewer than four minutes to go)—let alone do it twice in a row. So LeBron had officially arrived. His ensuing play in the Finals was a freak anomaly: That much is for certain.

Isn't it?

Well, what if I told you there was no pressure whatsoever in those two Game Fives he killed?

Don't believe me?

Put yourself in his shoes for a moment.

It's Game Five in Dallas and you're facing a series deficit should you lose, and every single possession can make or break basically the entire series. The ball is in your hands. Don't screw up.

Switch over.

It's Game Five in Miami, and you're up 3-1 (meaning the Celtics are facing horrible odds), but you're also trailing big late in the fourth.

What is there to do except fire away?

What if they don't fall, you say?

It's not like you weren't losing already.

Remember, in retrospect it's not so much that LeBron actually made all of those shots—it's that he even took them at all.

Call me crazy, but missing costly shots (i.e. LeBron's most paralyzing phobia) isn't a factor when the game is all but decided, and the series is still in your favor. Hence the complete absence of pressure as he jacked up three after a last-ditch three—and as Boston kept handing them the ball.

Really it was a win-win. The only odds LeBron is comfortable with. Nobody would have blamed him personally for not completing the comeback. Meanwhile, he stood to get all the credit if those bombs happened to fall.

Which they did.

I ask you again: How much pressure is there really when the current game is considered a wash and you still have not one, but two tomorrows?

You didn't see anyone tweeting "now or never" then—did you?

This exact scenario applies to the end of the Chicago series: A seemingly lost game in a series where Miami was still firmly in the driver's seat. You're no longer looking at a close, winnable game where every shot counts—you're looking at a game in no urgent need of a miracle.

That's the thing with miracles (at least in the NBA), nobody blames you for not making them happen—but everybody praises you when they do. That's not what I'd call a pressure-packed situation. I'd actually qualify that as pretty darn laid back.

If LeBron can afford to miss shots without hurting his deified image, you better believe he's going to take them without batting an eyelash. By actually sinking all those improbable shots as he fired away, LeBron had us all under the impression that he was suddenly—Mr. Do-or-Die.

When it was more like Do-or-Do-Over (times two).

So, in my humble opinion, when people were in awe of LeBron's perceived metamorphosis in clutch moments—he actually had yet to face any real clutch situations until the Mavericks came to town.

Realizing this makes it much easier to resolve the confusion as to what in the world happened to LeBron James' mind state from one series to the next. The answer: Nothing.

He never actually turned that corner, he still had yet to be "that guy" when there's no tomorrow, and his progress in the clutch—or lack thereof—never had an occasion to manifest itself until the Finals.

As impressive as the Boston and Chicago finishes were, they were not the tests of mettle we make them out to be.

By simply dropping the aforementioned assumption about "the rise and sudden fall of the Über-LeBron", it suddenly makes quite a bit of sense.

Your thoughts are, as always, welcome. Above the belt, please.