Hi ho the King is dead

Down two with only 24 seconds remaining.

While in real time that only accounts for 10 blinks, in the NBA 24 seconds is an eternity. Lebron James dribbled almost lazily behind the three-point line belying how his nerves are taut from tension. He looked up the shot clock. There’s still time.

From a high school phenom back in Akron to the big stage, the game has always been easy for Lebron. A freak of nature, he was always been too big, too athletic and too talented compared to his peers.  He won the high school state championship with Magic Johnson numbers. His jump to the NBA was almost seamless, surpassing all the hype with the grace of a veteran and living up to his $100 million endorsement from Nike.

Down 2-0 against a Spur team that has been described as a marketing nightmare, bland and boring, this is the moment he dreamed of as a kid. How many times he counted the shot clock on his head as he practiced his jump shot. In the backyard, alone in the gym, even in game time. 

Three…two…  release.

Three…two… release.

Always releasing the rock with still a second left. Always in rhythm. In his head an image of Michael Jordan rising over Craig Ehlo with barely five seconds in game 5 of the Bulls-Cavs series in 1989. In his head, an image of Magic Johnson’s winning hook shot over the outstretched arms of Robert Parish in the 1987 finals. 

This is not basketball anymore. This is about redemption and proving critics wrong. To be a hero like the number 23 stitched on his uniform, a tribute to Jordan, the former Bull he tried so hard to emulate. His team belongs here. He belongs here. 

From the corner of his eyes, Lebron watched the clock as each second languidly ticked.  The number 23 hung heavy on his back not only by the sweat but by what it represented. He is The King and this is his coronation. Another second snuffed, the crowd is standing in anticipation. 

With about 10 seconds to go, he attacked. Driving right as Bruce Bowen moonwalked, he encountered a Spur uniform blocking his way to the basket, he spun left and realized that another Spur was waiting for him. He passed the ball to the Brazilian Anderson Varejao affectionately known as “Wild Thing” because of his unruly hair.

And just like his name, wild Varejao flung a wild shot. That single play dashed the Cavs’ hopes of redemption. That single play won for the San Antonio Spurs the championship.

Television is a cruel medium and the NBA Finals is a merciless arena. Sure, it was a boring championship fight, a glaring mismatch. But it was interesting in some other aspects: it was substance over flair, athleticism vs. fundamentals, supreme talent against teamwork. It magnified King James’ flaws and Tim Duncan’s brilliance.

Critics have always argued about Lebron’s reluctance to take over in the waning minutes and I agree. That’s why comparing him to Jordan at this point is ridiculous; for all his extraordinary talents in the basketball court, King James does not possess the killer instinct of a despot.   

It’s the killer instinct that Jordan, Larry Bird and Kobe Bryant held. The willingness to go for the jugular as your opponent begs for mercy. Too many times we saw Lebron passed the ball to an open teammate instead of driving the ball hard to the basket. It might be the right play at that time, but that’s not the point. The point is to decimate your opponents, to kick them when they’re down, to strike fear into their hearts that when they face you next time they know who the top dog is and who’s the bitch.

I remember an anecdote about Jordan, about how his opponents refused to stare him in the eye while they were guarding him because he considers that a direct challenge and he would end up burning you; humiliating you in front of millions of people. That’s the kind of killer instinct I’m talking about.    

Kobe, meanwhile, has been called a ballhog for refusing to pass the ball at times but I don’t think it’s true. Kobe knows taking the shot is the best shot there is of scoring points instead of passing it to somebody else. And when the game is on the line, everybody knows Kobe will demand the ball. That’s the reason why every basketball pundit agrees that Kobe right now is the game’s best player.

Kobe, like Jordan or Larry Bird before him, knows that taking the last shot is not about being a hero. It’s the willingness to become the heel.

The same could not be said of James. During this series, he settled for too many jump shots when time and again he drove to the hoop something good happened, either getting to the line or an “and one” play. He stayed at the perimeter even if his strength always overpowered the man guarding him when he stayed on the post. Game three was when he should have forced the issue, not wait for the game to come to him as he was wont to do. Game three was winnable but he failed to recognize that.

Sure, everybody loves him. His teammates love him because he shares the rock; purists love him for his vision on the court and for not forcing the issue; NBA officials love him for his level-headedness on and off the court; his opponents praise him for his sportsmanship; fans love him for his flair and talent.

But is anybody scared of the King? Not the Spurs or the 28 other NBA teams.

A massive poster outside of the Cavaliers' gym says it all: "We are all witnesses."

Yes, we are all witnesses to how the King lost his crown.