A LeBron James Story

As a die hard Clevelander, going back to Quicken Loans Arena last night was nothing short of gut wrenching. 

I mean, let’s face it—even though every single Clevelander had hopes that somehow the Cavs would play their hearts out and make LeBron’s return a bitter pill, deep down—way down deep where all Clevelanders hide reality as it relates to our sports teams—we all knew that LeBron was going to thrash the Cavs.

There was so much hatred in the arena it oozed out of our pores. 

It seethed through our teeth. 

And it most certainly was in writing on almost every t-shirt in the building. 

Epitaphs such as “Judas,” “CavaLIAR,” “Quitness” and “LeShame” gilded the chests of Cavalier nation.

And I have to say, that after LeBron put up 24 points in the 3^rd quarter, essentially ending the contest, I started to think—"Why do I hate LeBron so much?"

The answer was 1964.

1964 was the last time Cleveland had a championship team. 

The Browns were the kings of football, league champions just a few years prior to the first Superbowl. 

So what does that have to do with LeBron you say?—Everything. 

One thing you have to understand is that Clevelanders live and die with our sports teams, and it’s been a painful slow death for the past 50-plus years. 

Clevelanders of the past two generations have never experienced anything but disappointment with their beloved Browns, Cavaliers, and Indians. 

So where does LeBron fit into all of that? 

Well, to start, LeBron was one of us. 

He was a local kid that came from nothing, and all of the sudden, he was our anointed one. 

He was our King. 

As he grew, the city grew. 

All of us in Cleveland put our hopes and dreams for a championship on his shoulders, and the greatest part was that his shoulders could handle it. 

He was our ticket out of the mire of sports frustration. He was our vehicle out of this prison of draught and despair. 

The entire city had wrapped up its angst from The Drive, The Shot, and The Fumble, and we had lovingly placed it at LeBron’s doorstep. 

We were ready to say, “Thank you for bringing us a championship, LeBron.” 

Then he left without bringing that championship. 

But he didn’t just leave, he made it a spectacle. He made it a nationally televised crushing of the hopes and dreams of Clevelanders. 

If he had just left, it wouldn’t have felt so bad. 

Don’t get me wrong, I along with everyone in Northeast Ohio would still be hurt and upset, but the hatred comes from the flippant way that he “took his talents to South Beach.” 

If he had said, “I love Cleveland, but it’s time for a change,” I think most of us could have accepted that. But instead he did us dirty, and on a grand stage. 

The only way I can really describe it is that it feels like LeBron broke up with the fans and the city of Cleveland. 

We loved LeBron, and LeBron loved us.  We did everything we could to make him happy and help him win.  We made every trade or deal we could, from Larry Hughes to Shaq.  And we didn’t do so badly, did we? 

The Cavs made two conference finals appearances, and went to one NBA Finals.  Not to mention having the best regular season record two straight years. 

Granted, no ring, but it sure seemed close, so close most of us could taste it.  But in reality, he left us. 

He had enough of us. 

He thought he’d be happier somewhere else, and it didn’t seem to matter what we did or said, he had made up his mind to leave. 

So he ended it. 

Seven years spent together, and in one callous, over-glamed moment, he told Jim Gray that he was leaving Cleveland.

The hometown kid was leaving all of us holding our own bag of angst.  Leaving us to rebuild, much like one rebuilds after the end of any relationship. 

The bitterness and the anger dwell for a while, but eventually you move on. 

Sometimes it takes longer than others, but we have been rebuilding in Cleveland for over 50 years, waiting for our town to be number one— 

Waiting to be champions. 

So we’ll wait again. 

But we also forgive in Cleveland. Clevelanders have big hearts. 

After the game, I was downtown at the Clevelander Bar. There was a lot of wallowing going on, and the occasional tear dropped into the occasional beer. 

There were two guys sitting next to me, one said to the other, “Be honest.  Deep down, would you take him back?”  And the other guy said, “As much as I hate him right now, I would take him back in a second.” 

And you know what?—I would too.