In Northeast Ohio, nothing is given. Everything is earned. You work for what you have. I’m ready to accept the challenge. I’m coming home.
That’s how LeBron called upon his inner Tom Wolfe to announce his decision to return to Cleveland. It had nothing to do really with anything he wrote previously in his talking points ‘decision’ essay released on SI.com today, but whoever wrote it has a nice flair for Rust Belt sentiment. None of it really matters. Miami is over and LeBron is picking up his designer luggage and moving back home where the formerly angry cheated on denizens of the nation’s most shat upon sports town will gladly take him back. You’ll see one news story about a guy who says he burned his LeBron jersey in 2010 and forget it, he’s not so into forgiving. But everybody else in Cleveland will spread their legs and pretend LeBron never left his roots or the Cavaliers, he just took a break to find himself. Desperate people will fuck anything that makes them feel pretty.
LeBron James got married over the weekend. If you believe media accounts, it was romantic as fuck. Beautiful hotel, Beyonce flew in from wherever Beyonce flies in from to sing with Jay-Z at the reception. LeBron married Savannah Brinson, the girl he started banging without protection in high school and made two babies with then ditched because he was rich and needed a few years to screw lots of models while being a single man. As opposed to the models he will screw now that he is no longer single. It’s just like a fairytale.
LeBron James has a profile on “60 Minutes” this week, and in the middle of the interview he casually drains a shot from well past half court. If you don’t know, his team is in first place right now by 23 games, and quite honestly, his team is not that good. If he were a computer, he’d be the IBM Roadrunner, and the rest of the Cavs would be a shoebox with “computer” written in glitter and a rotary dial just kind of laid on top.