In My Opinion
Dan Le Batard: This Miami Heat team is a roller coaster ride for everyone
Humans crave understanding. We search for it with science and religion. We want explanations that soothe our curiosities, and give us the illusion of control.
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Dan Le Batard joined The Herald back in 1990 and is a graduate from the University of Miami. Recognized as one of the top sports columnists today, Dan has covered several of sports' top events and is also a regular correspondent for ESPN.
Email Dan at dlebatard@miamiherald.com
“Perspective is dead.”
Humans crave understanding. We search for it with science and religion. We want explanations that soothe our curiosities, and give us the illusion of control.
There is still so much infernal noise all around LeBron James. Sirens. Howling. Nonsense. Tony Parker makes one lucky shot, one-tenth of a second the difference between stumbling fool and Game 1 hero, and this is supposed to mean something outside of randomness.
If you are not a sports fan, you might want to stop reading now because you arent really going to understand this. It is going to lack perspective. It will sound lopsided and dumb. And it will be the textbook definition of unreasonable. It is somewhere between irrational and insane, though it will not make sense only in the way a foreign language doesnt make sense until you care enough to learn it, at which time fluency brings clarity. But it is also going to be the Gods honest truth.
Game 7 on Monday. Best thing in sports. In a building that will bounce and sway with the odd combination of joy and terror. In the world of fun and games, things dont get any BIGGER than this.
It somehow keeps building. All of it. The terror, the interest, the stakes. This seems impossible, given where we started three years ago. It feels like jumping up in the air and never coming down, just continuing to elevate, with your stomach feeling exhilaration/nausea as the Earth keeps getting smaller and smaller below.
The past clouds the present predicament, and makes it so the future somehow blends both faith and fear.
Did you notice what LeBron James did as soon as it was over?
Dwyane Wade watched Kevin Durant against Memphis, and it was like watching a flailing man drown, wave after wave crashing upon him until he had no breath to give. Durant averaged 29 points, 11 rebounds and seven assists per game in the series that ended his season. Those were not merely better than the averages Durant posted in this, the best regular season of his young life. Those were not merely better averages than the ones that just won LeBron James his fourth NBA MVP award. Those were better averages than the ones that represent Michael Jordans entire career. But Durants season is over now, and Wade watched it happen through what felt like a rearview mirror.
Legend leader Pat Riley, equal parts shaman and mobster, told this story at the Heats Family Day, symbolically enough. He was trying to explain with a parable why he and, by extension, the entire Miami Heat organization had so publicly told Boston general manager Danny Ainge to shut the bleep up. Family Day. Shut The Bleep Up. Seriously. Riley was not smiling in any way while reliving this.
This is as redundant as it is obvious: LeBron James is the most valuable basketball player running and jumping and dribbling atop this globe. There will be a ceremony to commemorate this Monday, but this MVP is anticlimactic as a formal announcement, calling everyone together to tell them something they already know. Hear ye, hear ye over here ye, were going to gather around to remind the king that he is a king. More interesting than this ceremony is the forgetful way we arrived at it, and how we did so with forgiveness and appreciation, no less.
Let us marvel in open-mouthed awe at this magic trick the NFL unveils annually, waving a wand over a hypnotized audience to much applause when all this league is really doing is just selling your hope right back to you. Well, thats not fair, actually. Thats not all the NFL is doing. It is also conspiring as a monopoly with a corrupt NCAA cartel to create a free-labor minor league for its multibillion-dollar industry, plus signing up gladiators who are dying earlier and in more pain than the rest of us. But we lap this NFL Draft up every year like thirsty hounds at a bowl because you wont find a lot of introspection at the biggest and best parties.
Stronger than ever, Miamis basketball kings begin the playoff defense of their throne this evening against the Milwaukee Bucks, who for what little remains of their season will be the equivalent of a meatloaf in the wild. Given that they lost this season more than they won, though, Milwaukees best players have been unusually yappy for a meatloaf. Guard Brandon Jennings guarantees the Bucks will beat the Heat in six games, and teammate Monta Ellis says he is Dwyane Wade without the championships, which is not unlike a musician saying he is Jimi Hendrix without the guitar. Alas, the loudest bark usually belongs to the dog that is most scared. In this particular jungle, the most skilled and successful hunters tend to approach prey more quietly.
Twenty questions with the Miami Heats Shane Battier:
It was not the action that buried the crazed college coach, odd as that is, given that the action included homophobic slurs and basketballs hurled at heads when the secret-tyrant wasnt shoving or kicking the kids. No, it was the reaction that made the Fire-them! flames climb to the highest levels of Rutgers last week, engulfing those visionless leaders paid for vision and leadership.
The evolution of LeBron James took another seismic step last week in Boston, the loud and historic place The King had again come to conquer. Champion Jason Terry tried to get in the way of what was coming with LeBron. All of it. The basketball. The fast break. The game. The desire. The force. The streak. The future. And, for his efforts, because of the size of the moment and the size of the momentum, Terry was left flat on his back in the key, looking like he should be surrounded by yellow police tape and a chalk outline.
Y ou remember him wrapped in so much armor. Muscles. Helmet. Padding. Distrust. The late Sean Taylor was known as one of the most menacing hitters in a violent game. But when the news organizations started putting his fresh face on TV screens in recent days -- no helmet, no scowl, no aura -- you couldn't help but notice this: My God, he looked like such a baby-faced child.