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Finneran: Liking Lebron

Friday, March 13, 2015

 

Lebron James

I like Lebron James. What’s not to like about him? He seems like a pretty cool dude.

Admittedly, we only “know” professional athletes from a great distance, usually filtered and screened by press and publicity agents, often hawking some commercial product for a few extra bucks. Here’s what I like about Lebron……..

First, he is the greatest basketball player on the planet. He is awesome to watch. As big and strong and skilled as he is I think that his smarts are what really set him apart. He’s a Mensa-like guy with the build of an NFL linebacker. Good luck trying to stop him.

A particularly powerful performance holds sway in my mind…….June 7th, 2012 with Lebron and the Heat coming into the Garden against the Celtics in a classic Game 6, with Boston leading the series three games to two. It was the era of the Big Three—Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett, and Ray Allen---and the fans sensed that the Celts would close it out at home, sending the Heat home to early tee times for the summer, with the Celtics heading on to yet another NBA Final. Enter Lebron.

My God did he silence a raucous hungry crowd, turning their anticipation and excitement into awe at his performance. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen such a dominant performance in my lifetime. He wasn’t playing against the Boston Latin jayvee team. He was playing against the NBA’s most legendary team in their legendary arena and he simply crushed the life out of the Celtics that night.

Give credit to Boston’s fans that night---they knew that they were watching a performance for the ages, a maestro at work like a man among boys. The fans early energy morphed from shaking the building with thunder for the home team to a grudging silence and then to connoisseurs’ applause for the privilege they had of seeing something quite special. It was true fans of the sport showing keen appreciation for a truly gifted artist, with both the artist and the fans rising to the occasion.

Second, there is something poetic about the return of a prodigal son to his home. Admittedly Lebron’s departure from Cleveland for the hype and bright lights of Miami’s South Beach reeked of immaturity. But young men are just that---young men, universally immature. That’s why we try to keep young men under adult supervision. They can be as immature as infants. The contrived drama of his decision to depart Cleveland met that infantile standard of stupidity and rankled many thoughtful adults. Contrast that mistake with his return home, bringing with him hope and pride and achievement, yet carrying it all with the modesty of a true champion. He knows that there is work to be done and that he must do it. The young prima donna is gone and in his place is a mature, resolute, and formidable foe. I wouldn’t bet against him.

Lastly, I admire Lebron the father of two young boys. As easy as it is these days to simply father a child, it has never been more difficult or more necessary to be a real father, present in your children’s lives, giving guidance, love, and protection to them from a world of exploitation. Two stories tell me that Lebron is the latter, a real father showing real and urgent love for his sons.

Some months ago he spoke about the dangers of football and his decision to keep his sons away from the game while they are so young. Baseball-yes. Basketball-yes. Soccer-yes. Football-no. Perhaps in high school he said, but not now, not when they are so young and so physically vulnerable to the hazards of the game. 

More recently, he chided the preposterous practice of colleges making admissions offers to ten year old kids in an effort to induce them to bring their budding skills to a particular campus. “Leave my son alone” was Lebron’s appropriately stern warning. His sons are little boys. Their Dad is a wise and watchful man. Good for him. I like Lebron.

Tom Finneran is the former Speaker of the Massachusetts House of Representatives, served as the head the Massachusetts Biotechnology Council, and was a longstanding radio voice in Boston radio.

 

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