Well, it’s official: God hates the Miami Heat.
No, I don’t really believe that, but apparently LeBron James does, if his Twitter feed is to be trusted.
Just moments after the Heat lost the sixth and deciding game of the 2011 NBA Finals to the Dallas Mavericks at home, James tweeted: “The Greater Man upstairs know (sic) when it’s my time. Right now isn’t the time.”
Now, I’m not going to single James out (although he just happens to have the phrase “Chosen 1” tattooed prominently across his back), but isn’t it about time all athletes everywhere stop giving God the credit or blame when they win or lose? If there is a Big Man in the sky, I doubt He cares one iota about which team carries home which trophy, and if He does, I say He’s doing some serious slacking off. There are hungry people out there! But I digress.
In the series’ aftermath, James took a lot of heat (no pun intended) for becoming persona non grata in the fourth quarters of practically all of the NBA Finals’ games. In fact, I doubt the people of Cleveland have been this happy since Major League II came out on DVD. Yes, LeBron’s scoring average dropped off eight points from his regular season stats, and he pulled off a disappearing act worthy of a David Blaine special. So he choked, so what?
Granted, I’ve knocked King James brutally in this column before, and many others are doing so right this moment in print, but in all fairness, he didn’t lose this series on his own. Remember, there’s no “I” in team, right? But there is one in “pariah.” Maybe it’s sinking in around the world that LeBron isn’t really the Son of God, but we knew that already—or at least I hope we did. Oh, it stings when our superheroes are revealed as mere mortals, doesn’t it? Save it for Sophocles, I always say.
If anything, this year’s championship series proved once again that money can’t buy a title. The Heat spent mega-millions in the off-season to bring in James and center Chris Bosh, and to keep guard Dwayne Wade content. And like the New York Yankees in baseball, all it’s done is turn Miami into the team fans love to hate. More so than any Yankee loss ever though, the “Big Three’s” Finals faceplant enacted a sense of justice—nay, even karma, among most NBA fans, providing the notion that everything was right with the world.
Perhaps if the boys from South Beach hadn’t been so damn cocky at the outset of the season, boasting they would win “five rings in five years” or some such braggadocio, they could be easily forgiven. In essence, the general feeling among armchair ballers seems to be that the Heat brought the abuse upon themselves.
Haters aside, while the post-series narrative came to revolve around how the Heat lost the series, let’s give credit where it’s due. After years of being good-but-not-great, with their 4-2 series victory, the Mavericks finally broke through, winning the franchise’s first-ever NBA title. That’s no small feat after 30 years. The recognition was great for the city of Dallas, but even more satisfying as a fan to see 38-year-old point guard Jason Kidd finally get a ring, playing alongside his former Phoenix Suns’ teammate Shawn Marion. And maybe now that he’s finally scaled the mountain, Mavs gazillionaire owner Mark Cuban might chill out for a spell and enjoy watching his team without busting an aneurysm. Actually, I hope that never changes—it’s far too entertaining.
How about Mavs shooting guard Jason Terry, the clutch hero of Game 6? He must have watched The Secret one too many times, because he had the cojones to tattoo the Larry O’Brien NBA championship trophy on his right bicep before the season even started. Now that’s confidence.
But without a doubt, the true Mavs superstar is Dirk Nowitzki, one of the greatest big-man shooters in NBA history—maybe the best ever at his size. He’s carried Dallas to 11 straight playoff appearances, but even after 13 seasons in the league, Germany’s most famous guy named Dirk remains fairly anonymous outside the state of Texas.
The modest 7-footer has only one endorsement deal, with Nike, and no agent. That’s unheard of in this day and age. He’s almost the antithesis of LeBron, in that he lets his game speak for itself. He bumped his scoring up in the playoffs, as he characteristically does, and while his teammates celebrated out on the court, Nowitzki headed for the sanctuary of the locker room to cry it out alone. When the rubber meets the road, it comes down to who wants it more, and Nowitzki has always been “that guy,” even if he doesn’t always show it. For once, fundamentals triumphed over flash, and that’s good for the game.
Alas, long-suffering Mavs fans better savor this moment, because they probably won’t get another chance for a while. The Dallas roster is chock full of 30-somethings who probably won’t stick around for another run together. But it was a thrilling series, well watched (it was one of the highest-rated playoff series in recent years), and analysts everywhere agreed the NBA had, for once, lived up to the hype. Now the league can revel in its goodwill just long enough for the owners to pull an NFL and force players into a labor lockout come this fall.
But what do I know? I’m just a bum. And that’s my view from the bleachers.
The Bleacher Bum can be contacted at jthomas@santamariasun.com.
This article appears in Jun 16-23, 2011.
