Well, now — that’s settled.
LeBron James is once again the greatest basketball player on the planet. Sentiment emerged during the regular season that the Golden State Warriors’ sleek sharpshooter Stephen Curry had wrested the “best” crown from James. I admit to singing that tune.
As it turns out, the 6-foot-8, 260-pound, freakishly athletic Cleveland Cavaliers forward wasn’t having it. James solidified his greatest-in-the-game status by leading his team to an NBA Championship, beating the favored Warriors (and Curry) in seven games. (It wasn’t a classic Finals, but it was a classic Game 7.)
It was the first title in franchise history, and the first of any kind for the city since 1964. And another first: no team had ever won an NBA finals after being down 3 games to 1.
Man, did James ever lead. He topped all players in points, assists, rebounds, steals and blocked shots — an unprecedented feat, the only response to which is “Whuh? Come again?” At the most propitious moment, in the waning stages of a Game 4 beat-down administered by the Warriors, James baited Golden State’s valuable but loose-cannon Draymond Green into flicking him in the groin. That earned Green a suspension for Game 5 — and turned the tide just when it looked as if the Warriors had it locked up. The Cavs then went on to win three straight games.
All told, to use a shopworn hoops cliché: James strapped his team on his back and willed it to an improbable comeback series win.
I should point it that I write these words grudgingly. I’ve never been a LeBron James fan. I don’t hold for him the same enmity and scorn as I did Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant, but — ever since James’ carpetbagger move from Cleveland to the Miami Heat in 2010 — I’ve always rooted against him.
That's been a bit perplexing to me. Yes, he projects a casual arrogance that I find grating, and he’s made some PR blunders (“taking my talents to South Beach”), but James is a solid citizen, by all accounts a good family man, and is widely held up as a great teammate, on and off the floor. As a player, he’s supremely unselfish, at times too much so. He plays the game the right way.
After glittery success in Miami, James surprised just about everyone by returning home to blue-collar Cleveland — he grew up in nearby Akron — and promising to bring a championship to the sports-beleaguered city. And he did it.
There’s more. Unlike Jordan, whose blatant self-interest was laid bare in his infamous statement “Republicans buy shoes too,” James has stood up for social causes, and been a vocal, if not firebrand, advocate for African-American issues. He doesn’t rival Ali, Russell or Kareem as athlete activists, but these are different times.
The above are rational arguments. I still can’t find the love.
I, too, was bedazzled by Curry. A lithe 6-foot-3. Cherubic. Graceful, launching and making shots from unheard-of distances, as if barely glancing at the rim. His alchemy, his art, his magic, were — and still are — more beguiling than James’s brute athleticism. I joined the sing-along: Curry is now the best. We were wrong. His limitations were laid bare during the Finals. James played a big part in that.
Curry was manhandled, knocked around, forced out of his rhythm. My Steph-is-the-best argument claimed that he was an underrated defender (he did lead the NBA in steals this season), but the Finals showed he has work to do when guarding his man one-on-one. As always, Curry made some remarkable shots during the Finals, but came up way short on miracles. Was he hurt? Doesn’t matter.
Curry is merely the greatest shooter in basketball history.
Which raises the obvious question: Is James the greatest player in basketball history? I’ve always been uncomfortable with that particular superlative. I’m reluctant to agree that Jordan is the unquestioned best ever — which routinely draws incredulous stares, slack jaws and shakes of the head.
I will say this: James is 31, seemingly indestructible, and keeps himself in pinnacle condition. His competitive drive and clutch-ness are beyond reproach. (Although questioned at times, he put those complaints to rest over the last couple of weeks).
I contend that James has already established himself as the most complete player ever. But that’s at least a notch below greatest. Can he overtake (pause, swallow) Jordan? James legitimately has five years of top performance left — time to pile up more numbers and, more important, to add to his three NBA titles.
I hope he gets there, if for no other reason than to eclipse Jordan. Will I be rooting for him along the way? Probably not; definitely not next year. Weird, I know, but that’s part of the paradox of being a committed hoops fan.
This article appears in Jun 16-23, 2016.