With all due respect, the NBA finals weren’t really about LeBron James. He’s a major talent, but so what? Most teams would double an opponent’s salary if they knew his main shot against them would be a step-back, fall-back three-pointer. Those late turnovers you refer to, Phil, were classic examples of what transpires with a player who’s more hotdog than bun: instead of using two hands to catch the ball before going up court he used only one hand, and what do you know — he ended up fumbling the ball out of bounds in the finest junior-high style.
A bigger problem is TV’s obsessing over someone like James, as if only he could generate ratings. It says all you need to know about television’s arrogant stupidity that it can’t begin to appreciate the greatness of a San Antonio, let alone know how to sell it to viewers. The way the Spurs play defense is simply awesome. They turned James into a ball slapped around in a pinball machine, a lot of action going nowhere. As it is, he made not a single move that could match the final game’s real MVP, Manu Ginobli’s old-fashioned three-point drive and layin in the fourth-quarter. That was the play of the playoffs, one I’ll be replaying long after I’ve forgotten who James was.