The Man Who Would Be King: Lessons From The LeBron-a-Thon
You can breathe again, America. Your King, LeBron James, has finally revealed where he will hold court. He is abdicating his Cleveland throne and accepting the position of cup-bearer to Duane Wade, the Sultan of South Beach.
Yes...We Are
If you, like me, tuned into ESPN’s ridiculous broadcast dubbed “The Decision,” then undoubtedly, you can see, like me, the handwriting on the wall. This has to be a sign of the imminent collapse of American society. Visions of Nero and nobles entangled in ghastly orgies, gorging on the delights of the flesh while their very existence crashes down like the stone walls they built to protect themselves.
That a 25 year old superstar—one that has failed to deliver a single championship in seven seasons in a league where one truly transcendent superstar is pretty much all it takes—can hold hostage the world’s largest sports network, turn them into his yipping lap dog, become the talk of a nation, and cause such elation in one place and anguish in another is a clear indication that we have lost our way.
Never in the annals of American history has there been a more ego-laden, shameless display of narcissism.
What have we learned from the Summer of LeBron?
Glad you asked. We have learned a few things…
ABOUT OURSELVES
There was a time when the American ideal of hero included at least the appearance of humility. We appreciated the “aw shucks” quality of a man who seemed humbled by the attention lavished on him. We liked team players who deflected praise to the lesser beings around them, even if we all knew who really made the thing work.
Now, we seem to be just fine with a hero referring to himself in the third person, congratulating himself on turning around a team and a community, touting his own talent, and generally leading us in the worship of himself.
I know. This kind of thing is nothing new. I remember Cassius Clay, aka Muhammad Ali. I am aware of Terrell Owens. Heck, even Dizzy Dean said, “It ain’t braggin’ if you can back it up.”
Still, it is sickening when the one whose praises are sung by millions is leading the chorus.
ABOUT ESPN AND THE STATE OF JOURNALISM IN GENERAL
They call themselves “the worldwide leader in sports,” and so they are. ESPN has no peer when it comes to comprehensive sports coverage and that’s a fact. Bristol, Connecticutt, the place they call home, is the epicenter of all things sports.
So, how sad was it to see four professional sports journalists interview LeBron King, listen to his self-congratulatory responses to their questions, and never, not even once, challenge him? They never once took exception to his arrogance. They never once questioned his integrity. They never once probed him about why he would make the announcement about his free agency decision on such a stage.
How could they? They had crawled into bed with him. They were there to kiss his royal ass and boy did they pucker up.
ESPN types long ago dubbed LeBron “King James” and they may as well have lowered themselves to their knees and bowed before him.
Call them LeBron’s bitch. Call them sports whores. Call them pathetic. Call them ridiculous. Call them a cheap imitation of TMZ. Call them a reflection of society. Call them a sign of the Apocalypse. Call them spineless girly-men. Call them idolaters. Call them shameless capitalists.
Just don’t call them journalists.
ABOUT LEBRON
There is no challenging his talent. People have known he was insanely talented since before he hit double digits in age. That, my friend, is part of the problem. LeBron James is the pathetic Frankenstein created by sports journalists’—and the American sports fan’s— need to identify the next great thing as early as possible.
I am not excusing him. I believe in personal responsibility. A spoiled rotten brat does not have to remain one. He could have grown up. He could have surrounded himself with experience and wisdom, rather than his posse. He could have sought the wisdom of someone who had an ounce of it.
He never did.
LeBron James is everything that is wrong with professional sports. He is proof-solid that making mega-millionaires of men who are barely men, men who have talent but no internal compass or integrity, men who are ill-fit to be role models or pop icons is a bad idea.
ON THE BRIGHT SIDE
Worthy of your praise
Keep your eye on Stephen Strasburg.
The Washington Nationals’ flame-throwing rookie pitcher responded to talk about putting him in the All-Star game by saying he did not belong there and that it would be cheating the game to put him there when he has had so few starts at the major league level.
Aw shucks. Really? C’mere. Give us a hug.
Strasburg appears to be everything LeBron will never be…
A breath of fresh air and hope for a brighter sports day.
McDonald’s, McChrystal, And Miscellaneous Mish-Mash
I haven’t ranted in awhile…
What exactly constitutes news? The local Fox channel lead their nine o’clock news last night with some inane story about a guy who looks like a character from Deliverance complaining that a McDonald’s talking toy taught his kid a cuss word.
His little boy said some four-letter word and the man was aghast. He asked the kid where he learned the word, so the little cusser handed him the toy. The man listened to it and then promptly contacted McDonald’s. (Apparently, he contacted Fox 4, as well.)
The toy in question is a talking plastic replica of The Three Pigs from the movie Shrek. They played the toy’s voice thingamajig during the news story and the news anchors had the same giant question mark over their head I had over mine. You couldn’t understand a single word the thing said. If that kid is repeating those pigs, he doesn’t need to be scolded for saying dirty words; he needs a speech therapist.
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No love lost...
I am no Obama supporter…not on any level at any time for anything. I suspect that if I find out he likes Dr. Pepper, I will even give that up. Still, General Stanley McChrystal, a lifetime soldier holding the highest rank and filling one of the nation’s most vital roles, knew better than to trash his Commander in Chief in, of all things, Rolling Stone magazine.
Men like McChrystal are trained not to make rash decisions. They are trained to weigh their words and their options. I cannot help but think he had a very specific reason for throwing King Obama under the bus. I am not sure what it was, but here are a few possibilities:
- He is simply that fed up with the Keystone Cops routine of the current administration when it comes to foreign affairs, especially the kind that cost American soldiers their lives;
- Or, he dislikes arrogance and he doesn’t like ignorance, but when he sees them combined in a single face and that face hanging on every Post Office wall in the country, he sees red;
- Or, he was willing to fall on his sword in order to call attention to the state of incompetence in the White House and the desperate need for some wisdom on handling a very difficult war;
- Or, he was drunk;
- Or, he plans to write a book;
- Or, he plans a run at the White House himself;
- Or…all of the above.
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You can’t roller skate in a buffalo herd, But you can be happy if you’ve a mind to.**********************************
Can someone please explain the discrepancy between the state of highways in the northern Dallas/Fort Worth suburbs and the ones in, say, Arlington, Grand Prairie, Duncanville, DeSoto, etc? Frisco gets George Bush Turnpike and I am stuck with Highway 360 and the butt end of 161?
We are people, too, you know. Bastards.
(I learned that word from one of the Three Pigs, but I can’t remember if it was Pelosi, Reid, or Captain O.)
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I don’t know exactly when U.S. General Phillip Henry Sheridan said, “If I owned Hell and Texas, I would live in Hell and rent out Texas,” but I am guessing it was sometime around the end of June, first of July.
Nobody Knows Nothin’
I remember when I was a boy and hung on every word my Dad said as though it were an edict from God Himself. If Dad said it worked this way, then that’s how it worked. If he said something really meant something else, then I knew that I knew the real meaning of whatever that something was.
Let me think...
What I didn’t know then that I am only beginning to understand now is what an enormous burden that was for him to carry…for any Dad or Mom or pastor or president or CEO of an oil company whose mishap is dirtying the Gulf. We expect certain people to have the answers we don’t, to know the things about which we are ignorant, to have the wisdom or insight to get us where we are going…or where we think we are going…or where we think we need to be.
Sometimes, they do. Sometimes, they don’t. Sometimes, they just get lucky. Most of the time, they take the information they have and make the best decision they can. That is what the leaders of British Petroleum are doing.
It is also what MacArthur and his team did in the Pacific during World War II. But for all the wisdom and intelligence associated with the American military, there were still costly miscalculations and oversights. For instance, the tiny island of Peleliu, where the Japanese had a strategic airfield, was a point of critical concern to MacArthur. Intelligence suggested the campaign to seize the airfield would last only a couple of days. Instead, the battle for Peleliu lasted more than a month and cost hundreds of Marines their lives.
The Pelelius in life happen because we don’t know everything. Sometimes, what we do know is all wrong.
I am not quite the wizened old sage to whom the people in my world look for wisdom and guidance. But I am not that big-eyed kid anymore either. I do have a few people who listen to what I have to say, who take my advice to heart, who think maybe I know something they don’t. And maybe I do.
Or maybe I don’t.
Now that I am that Dad I used to believe in so much, I realize how very little I really know. I look back over my life, over my time as a father, a leader, and even a pastor (God help us), and I realize that all I ever was able to do was take the information I had, face the future with it, and make the best determination I could.
Sometimes, I was cock-sure I was right, but now know I was dead wrong. Like when I was so certain my daughter was making a mistake falling in love with that wiry kid from a broken home.
“He doesn’t know anything about being a good husband or father. He isn’t fit. He is not right for you.”
I was wrong.
Don’t get me wrong here. This isn’t intended to get parents, preachers, politicians or military leaders to stop making decisions, providing guidance, or lending advice. I just want to make it clear that none of us knows the end from the beginning. Sometimes, what we think is a bad thing isn’t and what we think is a good thing isn’t either. Sometimes, misfortune is really opportunity. Other times, the golden egg the goose laid on your doorstep is a cleverly disguised grenade.
Here is a news flash for you: Being older doesn’t always make you wiser.
Another one: being a Christian doesn’t automatically qualify you for Dear Abby’s column. So wipe that smug look off your face and admit you may be wrong.
I have…for now.
I saw it on some movie somewhere, I guess. A bunch of criminals of some sort and a cop amongst them, going from one to the other, looking for information. Finally, one of them says, “Lookit, copper. Nobody knows nothin’.”
He said a mouthful. Nobody knows nothing. Everybody knows something. A few know a little more, and many know a lot less. None of us knows everything. None of us understands everything we claim to know.
It’s time we admit it.
All that said, maybe I will turn this blog into an advice column. Just reply to this piece with your questions and/or concerns…if you are ready to listen to the advice of a man who knows he may be wrong. Maybe I will call it In(Gene)ious Insights and make a million dollars giving other people advice. I am pretty good at telling you what to do, even if I haven’t a clue what to do with myself.
God bless your day.
Stuck Like Congress, or Stuck in Philly With a Wandering Mind
Larry, Moe, and Curly
Here I am, stuck in Philadelphia…literally. Another Nor’Easter has blown in with a vengeance, and I am a shut-in at the Homestead Suites.
Stuck. One might see the way recent weather has brought much of the Northeast, including Washington DC, to a grinding halt as a metaphor for our government. So many decry the gridlock, the inability to get anything done, the lack of a consensus as such a terrible, awful thing.
I don’t. I rather appreciate the fact that there is more than one side of the aisle in the American government. I am glad there are divergent opinions, incessant argumentation, varying philosophies on how things ought to be—and how they ought to be done. Why should our government be in harmony on issues about which Americans are not in harmony? Do they not represent us? Is that not what we sent them to Capitol Hill to do?
If you want government that is in lock-step, in one accord, in unison, like a well-oiled machine with a singular focus, you might move to Iran or North Korea. There seems to be little argument inside the hallowed halls of those regimes…and woe be to the ones who would argue outside them.
Stuck. A seven-and-one-half hour summit on health care only served to show how far apart the Republicans and Democrats are on health care reform. The conservatives won’t jump on the let’s-make-Uncle-Sam bigger than ever bandwagon and sign off on Obama Care, and the Democrats won’t be told no, public opinion be damned.
Nancy Pelosi says, “Some Americans don’t have time for us to start over.”
Pelosi, the House leader and Harry Reid, the Senate Majority Leader both advocate ramming the health care bill through by using the nifty reconciliation maneuver they used to whine about when they were in the minority.
Time is of the essence. We must act now. No time to waste.
When you get a sales call and the person on the other end of the line is telling you there is no time to think about it, this is a limited time offer, you must act right this very minute or be forever lost, what do you do? I hang up the phone…unless they tick me off, then I use a few choice words, tell them never to call me again, and then hang up the phone. (And my choice of choice words is none of your business.)
This is how the multi-billion dollar bailout was added to the taxpayer’s tab. And this is how Reid and Pelosi, snake oil salesmen that they are, want to add a few thousand people to your insurance premium. (Not to mention making you an outlaw if you don’t have insurance coverage.)
Stuck. That is what we are. Stuck with Barrack Obama for a couple more years. Stuck with a likely one-term president who, when he sees the writing on the wall, will have an even more pronounced scorched-earth approach than he currently does. Then, we will be stuck with big-government laws and policies that will take an act of congress to undo, which means we may just be…
Stuck…
I am. Somewhere between Philly and the cheese steak I am craving.
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The JourneyMan by D. Gene Strother is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
Based on a work at genestrother.com.
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Here we go…
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