When for this I first put quill to parchment, I sat anxiously, wondering what to write.  My debut need pass reasonably well, I thought, or at least not lend cause for Mr. Moore to sweep this union into the dustbin of bad ideas; not quite the nonchalance with which I usually scribe.  (On a normal day, I typically ejaculate what first comes to mind, only ceasing to re-heat cups of that miracle bean, the singular source of strength in those hours solely suited for slumber.)

My mind wandered as I flirted briefly with various topics but each time, that one same restless impulse prickled from within: I had to talk about “the whole Lebron thing”, if even only for cathartic purpose.  The Heat forward (or is that guard?  And what is the singular for Heat anyway?) and his fall from grace is a matter sufficiently beaten brutally beyond revival – much of what could possibly be opined already has been [by Charles Barkley alone, nonetheless.]  But still the urge arises, possibly from that mischief of knowledge of the locale.  This space was made for the airing of such matters, a merciful venue for the inner peace I seek.  I hope you, reader, will forgive me: I so desperately need to unload off my breast what follows.

In leaving the Cavs, Lebron James ingrained himself as persona non grata in the NBA conscience.  But what I’ve found odd, and so surprising, is that rather than the way in which he did it, it’s the very act of leaving itself that caused the incursion of wrath.

I found ‘The Decision’ unconscionable and an unprecedented narcissistic display.  So publically humiliating the Cavs was unjustifiable, and for that, I offer no defense.  But society’s grievance is merely that he left.  It’s oddly fascinating that a man’s exercise of free will can cast such venom his way, shattering his reputation, and seemingly nullifying a body of work which should speak for itself.  (Again, simply fascinating: there are people who are emotionally invested at dangerously unhealthy levels in abhorring a man over his execution of a contractual right.  Think about that for a moment.)

I would posit that this social phenomenon stems from a shattered paradigm.  In his refusal to play the role in which he had been cast, Lebron veered from the plot which people thought they knew.  Collectively, in our minds, perhaps in the memory of his Airness, we’ve contrived and sanctified a set of absurd romantic ideals and ascribed them to our conception of ‘hero.’  When Lebron shattered the sacred script, something was taken; something was lost.  Nothing would again ever fit neatly into place.  From the horror came revolt and outcry.  Universal balance had been disturbed and it could not be accepted.

James has now become entrenched as villain and symbol of all evil in our world.  But more troubling is a subsequent campaign—a recent development—to right course on the script and account for lost time.  Observers now laud Thunder forward Kevin Durant as the selfless savior and the bastion of benevolence, extolling his virtues in an awkwardly forced manner.  (Apparently, it was decided that Lakers guard Kobe Bryant no longer served as a suitable foil to James with age creeping in, and that experiment was abandoned after a furious summer push shortly after ‘LeDecision’.)

Why such need for narrative?  Why the penchant for a plotline?  Durant is a precocious marvel independently deserving of plaudits; placing him juxtaposed is an injustice to Durant.  Reproach of James—while irrational and unwarranted–should hold on its own free from comparison.  It’s a failure of our discourse and a flaw of our collective logic that “unlike _____” is inevitably appended in our process of argumentation.

Ours is a troubling worldview, pitting evil against good, leaving us sadly directionless in its void, unknowing of whom to embrace.  We need a good guy to hate the bad, and if the former is yet to exist, he is created, sculpted by hand to fit the mold required.  We’ve anointed our white knight in Durant to save what had been lost, rejected by 23.  Peculiar.

I watch basketball for a love of beauty and my loyalties lie with those whose play exudes it.  Emotion does not guide my compass unless my own team’s fate is at stake.  Perhaps I’m too detached.  Apathetic.  Superficial in my fandom.  Fair enough. But you will learn of me more in our coming weeks together.  For today, my time here is up, and I must bid you adieu until tomorrow.  I thank you for your patience in allowing for this introduction of sorts, and this peek into my basketball philosophy.