By Zac Jackson
Fox Sports Ohio
July 9, 2010
AKRON -- Dear LeBron:
First things first. Why couldn't you have killed the Celtics the way you killed Northeast Ohioans Thursday night?
We've turned on our televisions and seen you do magical things on the basketball floor. We've seen your gifts, your smile, your thunderous dunks and your ability to handle most things with the poise and maturity of someone well beyond your 25 years -- especially someone who endured the things you endured growing up. We all know your story; we all felt that would make the eventual Hollywood ending here even more special.
We really, foolishly believed that the team concept in which you were raised -- families taking you in, AAU coaches glad to have you around because you appreciated people and the game, your mom working to keep you and keep you happy and healthy, Keith Dambrot challenging you while providing a platform -- would mean something more as you made the toughest decision of your life, the one that ended with you choosing to leave your business unfinished and goals unreached here, instead going to Miami to play with your buddies in an attempt to prove you're bigger than the cities who raised, nurtured and worshiped you.
Oh, you've got a "team" now. You referenced them four or five times in your press conference when the 2010 season ended. Right now they're in the cabana next to you, ordering tall drinks and talking on their cell phones. You're getting the bill for both.
You can afford it. You have the money, and the fame, and all the limelight. All the headlines. Millions and millions watched you talk about you Thursday night, watched you announce that you were doing "what was best for LeBron James" and "what would make LeBron James happy."
Those are actual quotes. One of the most gifted passers in the history of the game is one of the most selfish people in the history of the game. You're a walking triple-double but also a walking contradiction, have been since you started getting so big for your own britches that your friends started fitting in there, too. Maybe one of them did that "loyalty" tattoo himself.
I was there before it was LeBronMania, a guy either buying a ticket or flashing a press pass to see you play. It's not your fault that the Sonny Vaccaro-types were quickly following your every move and that they came not only bearing gifts but promises. If anything you handled it well, continually adding to and refining your game and taking every challenge that came your way. But before long the innocence of you and your young St. Vincent-St. Mary High School teammates trying to slay Oak Hill Academy was lost. The games became more like events; everywhere you went, a circus followed. People snuck into practice and asked for autographs. The media that inquired about you soon knew almost every detail about your story; by the time you made the cover of Sports Illustrated, your school trumped you as not only a great player but an honor roll student.
