"We're not here trying to win any one's respect. We're here trying to win a championship." - LeBron JamesIt's currently 12:13 a.m. and in less then five hours I need to get up, get ready, pack and leave for the airport. But how can anyone possibly sleep? Anybody on the planet who just saw the Cavs 109 to 107 Eastern Conference win over Detroit is wide awake, energized and still in awe at the incredulous and miraculous 48 points that LeBron scored during the double-overtime game which led the Cavs to a 3-2 lead in the series. LeBron, one man on one night in one game single-handedly elevated what a person can do if he put his mind to it.
What makes this victory so personal to me is the path to it. Whenever people ask me what my biggest regret in life was, my response is never the obvious answer that people expect. Instead, what I tell them is "My only regret in life is that growing up in Chicago, I never attended a Michael Jordan Bull's Game." Real sports fans immediately look at me with deep sympathy and disbelief, in an almost mutual mourning of "what could have been." On the other hand, people for whom basketball, or any kind of sports, is not a part of their lives, tilt their head, frown their forehead and squint their eyes as if to say "Are you kidding me?"
I won't waste my time trying to explain anything to the latter audience, for they simply don't get it. And that's O.K. Because they don't have to. But I do. And this week, the appreciation for the Art of Basketball has been a once in a lifetime gift.
As with some stories you read on this blog, this one also begins in Skokie, Illinois. In Oakview Jr. High School Erin and I tried out and played for the basketball team. She and I were tough, we were fierce and we would run, grab, throw and shoot that ball until the two tallest girls in the class would add a score to the score board. We were determined and we never pretended to be girly-girls: we did not want to be cheerleaders, we wanted to be stars.
In 8th grade, the Bears won the Superbowl, and after graduation that summer, Erin and her family left town. She remained tall, I stopped growing after reaching 5'5". But we remained in contact and never stopped being sports fans. Erin's passion is baseball, and every year the Chicago Cubbies break her heart more than any other boy ever did (thank God Mike is there now). Mine is basketball.
In Chicago, during the 90's, when Jordan lead the Bulls to two sets of three consecutive championships, for six wins total, I was a busy college student, attending DePaul and working full time to support myself. Spending money on an NBA ticket while getting paid $6 an hour was not a luxury I was willing to afford. However, I did watch the games on television and in sports bars. Each consecutive year when Michael Jordan would up the level to which all others aspired, the world began to watch this man with a careful eye just to see what he could do in the last 3.2 seconds of a game. You all saw the magic, you all watched the game face and you all witnessed the man fly across the basketball court. It was the golden era of basketball.
In the Fall of 2003, much to the surprise of everyone, including myself, I moved to Cleveland. And that Fall, a young man named LeBron James was recruited on the team. Still not old enough to drink, the hype around him was that of an established celebrity: people would claim that they had a LeBron spotting at such and such restaurant or club or downtown apartment building.
One month after arriving in Cleveland, Erin came to visit me. I bought us two tickets to a Cavs game with the $100 gift card I received from my new bank. We had decent seats and began watching this team do their thing. "Double-dribble!" "Fowl!" "What is the ref thinking?" "C'mon, on!" Suddenly our jr. high dreams were living themselves out, almost twenty years after the fact. That night the Cavs had their 1st home win of the season and their 1st 100 point game. And that night, I became hooked.
Since Fall, 2003, I have attended three to four games each season. If it was not for the grad student loans, I'd invest in Season passes. But I am not greedy. I am very fortunate. Of all the games I have attended, I may have actually paid for about three or four of them. Generous people have invited me to games and have even given me tickets, because They Know. And every single game which I have attended The Cavs Have Won. Even when they played Miami against Shaq, the Cavs Have Won. I have sat as far back as the furthest rows in the upper section and as close as 3rd row behind the team. And each time, the excitement was incredible.
Two years ago my friends and I, celebrating Sylvia's birthday, actually saw LeBron at Blue Point Restaurant. Tall, polite and holding his tiny son he smiled, posed for photos with kids and signed autographs before exiting for privacy. He knew he was on the verge of something big, and so did everyone else in his presence.
This year, the Cavs have advanced to the Eastern Finals, being one of only 4 teams that stands a chance at playing and winning the NBA Championship. This week, via a fan based lottery, I was able to purchase two tickets for Game 4. Prior to this game, the series was at 1-2, with Detroit in the lead. The Cavs won Game 3, in Cleveland, and the chance to see them win a playoff game 10 minutes from where I live was my opportunity to Right a Wrong. It took a decade to get here and this time, I spent the money on some really nice seats. My good friend and neighbor Miguel went with me and together we watched an unbelievable man do unbelievable things in front of our eyes. We were Witnesses. And Witnessed a win that made us hold our breaths until the last 3.5 seconds of that game.
At this game, I took some great photos, including the one you see posted in this blog (click on it for closer view), of LeBron shooting, ball in the air, all players, audience members, reporters and referees looking up; All of us, Witnesses. And LeBron led his team, and his city, to another victory.
Tonight, the game was played in Detroit. In their house. On their turf. And. After four quarters, two overtimes and 48 points, LeBron disrespected his opponents house. He did not rely too much on his team mates. Tonight his team mates, his coach, his family and his city relied on him. And he elevated the game to a completely new level.
During the 2nd overtime, after making yet another 3-pointer, one of the reporters said "That was very Jordanesque." I secretly smiled. As Sahar told me at midnight, "It was actually very 'LeBronesque.' " And I get to see it all for myself. And share in the breath-holding drama with my city. (Particularly with my neighbor Miguel, as we exchanged short text messages through out the game, too involved to watch it together, but too expressive to not share in colorful commentary.)
The next game in the series, and the one where the Cavs could claim their turf for The Championship, takes place in Cleveland this Saturday. Ironically, I won't be here, as I am flying to Florida to celebrate my cousin Slava's recent Hawaii wedding to his bride Kelly. It's probably a good thing that I won't be here, just 10 minutes from the Quicken Arena as I could only imagine what the streets of Cleveland, a city which is doing all it can right now to prove it's worth to the financial, creative and athletic skeptics of the world, will look like after winning the Eastern Conference.
I don't have to imagine it. I saw it in Chicago for the first time over 15 years ago. This time, though, I am a Witness.
