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Wednesday, January 20, 2010

The Sportsguy would like to bang Lebron

The Sportsguy has been going downhill fast for the last few years in my book.(There are many reasons for this which I will not write about at this time) His latest article is a great example of this. He basically sounds like a teenage girl worshiping the latest boy band in his latest article. I have pasted an excerpt from it below. You be the judge of his gayness!

Like everyone else at Staples Center, I had a little extra hop in my step Saturday night. LeBron was in the house.

I skipped the second half of a live NFL playoff game for him.

I shaved and dressed up a little. For me, anyway.

I showed up early. Seven o'clock. Gotta watch the warm-ups. Gotta see everything.

You do these things when LeBron passes through town. Hey, we see celebrities all the time in Los Angeles. We walk by them on the street, pull up next to them at intersections, sit near them in restaurants. There's something of a code in place. You don't stare at celebs. You don't approach them. You don't stand two feet away and snap cell phone pictures. You show them respect. You leave them alone. Along with the weather and the lifestyle, that's the biggest reason stars like living here. They aren't treated like lions in the zoo.

So when a basketball player gets thousands of NBA fans to geek out 25 minutes before a game, especially here, he has to be special. In my newest book, I wrote about how Michael Jordan's competitiveness separated him from everyone else, but so did his force of personality. He had a knack for pulling every eyeball in the room his way ... even a room with 18,000 people in it. Referees and opponents fawned over him. Teammates followed his instructions like drones. If he made an unusually splendid play and glanced into the stands for approval, entire sections would swoon. Command of the room. That's what Jordan had. Kobe doesn't have it, and he never had it. That will always be the difference between them.

LeBron? He's getting there. I saw it with my own eyes Saturday. The Cavs emerged for warm-ups and I heard that same familiar squeal from MJ's prime. Urgent. Pleading. Desperate.


I saw the same flashbulbs clicking, thousands of fans taking photos so they could tell people some day that, yes, they saw LeBron James play basketball. I saw the same people crammed around one half of the court, everyone standing -- standing! -- to watch 12 guys in warm-up suits halfheartedly shoot jump shots and get loose. I saw hundreds of fans inexplicably holding out pens and papers, screaming LeBron's name and praying for the miraculous chance that he'd hop out of a layup line, jump into the crowd and start signing. I saw the same look on LeBron's face that Jordan once had -- a Tupacian "All Eyez on Me" smirk, an expression that happens when everyone stares at you no matter what you do, even if you're scratching your balls or rubbing your head, and once you come to grips with that fact, it's a little bit liberating.

Teammates love LeBron. Even Shaq has settled in as second banana.

LeBron gets a kick out of it. To say the least. He's the most charismatic athlete of his generation, only you wouldn't fully know it until you studied him in person. Command of the room. He might dunk in the layup lines. He might try to make a one-handed half-court shot. He might call for an alley-oop and soar above his incredulous teammates just for the hell of it. Simply saying "bursting with energy" wouldn't do him justice. It's like watching a super-coordinated, mutant 4-year-old dealing with a severe sugar rush.

I'm gonna go block Delonte's shot from behind! HAH! He didn't see me coming! Wait, I'm in the mood for an alley-oop. I need me some oop. Mo, throw me an oop. Ah, yes ... it's in the air ... I'm jumping ... DUNK! What now? I want to try a one-handed shot from the corner. Jamario, come play with me. Hold on, I just saw Baron Davis! Hey Baron! What up, dog! Watch this, I'm gonna make a half-court shot with my eyes closed ... DAMN! Just missed it. You know what I really feel like doing? Jumping on Shaq's back. Look out, Big Fella, eeeeeeeeeeee-yah!!!!!!!

Jordan saved his legs before games, using that time to stretch, practice specific shots and butter up referees. LeBron can't pace himself. Even when he walks from Point A to Point B, there's no loping or strolling. He prances. He hops up and down. And if all these people are staring at him anyway, why not rile them up with a couple ridiculous dunks? You never forget he's on the court. Not for a second. Even his teammates are enamored with him; they jockey for his attention like Octomom's kids. Jordan's supporting cast interacted with him warily, like lower-level executives tiptoeing around their CEO. You were always aware of the pecking order. With LeBron, it's a team in the truest sense. Everyone takes part in every joke. Nobody is excluded. They feed off him. Of all the superstars we have seen, there can't be a better or more beloved teammate. There just can't.

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