Growing up a red-white-and-blue blooded American, I have always found the notion of kings and queens to be absurd, an antiquated notion that calls to mind an elitist caste system built upon the broken backs of the masses who lived in quiet desperation.
But last night I learned I was wrong. Cleveland, Ohio indeed has a king, and his name is LeBron James.
In my 25 years of suffering through hard-luck Cleveland sports, I have never seen a superstar the likes of him playing for us...usually they play against us, and beat us black and blue. Names like Jordan and Elway come to mind, names that make me cringe. Now, however, we finally have our Jordan, our Magic, our King.
Last night, he pulled off the greatest play I have ever seen: a falling away 23 foot 3-pointer that swished as time expired, saving Cleveland's season in dramatic fashion. It is as if the demons of Jordan's infamous shot have been exorcised 20 years later. I could hardly believe my eyes. This usually happens to us, not for us. Like most of Cleveland, I was ready to write off our chances, watching as my beloved team was finding creative ways to fall short. But LBJ changed that in a heartbeat, in a swish. The arena of battle erupted, and the town did with it.
Hometown heroes are rare these days, and Clevelanders are lucky to have theirs. It is like a medieval town getting behind its champion knight, fighting for the honor of that town. Except James is not just a knight, but a king, and he has brought much honor to our city. He is a champion whom you know will not let you lose, who will save the day in spectacular fashion. It may be just a game, but sometimes it sure feels like life.
Today, Cleveland rejoiced in the greatness of its King. May his reign be long and bring the city further glory.
