Uneasy rests the head that wears the crown. Especially if the head’s nickname is King James.
Depending on the time of day, LeBron James is either an underachieving prima donna with a lightweight heart, or the best player in the world whose best is never good enough. By now, James and his Miami Heat mates are either moving on or shoving off. Either way, the outcome will have been a referendum on James’ talent/guts/sweat ethic. He’s the only athlete whose career is judged minute to minute, and in that respect he is the sports hero of our snap-judgment times. Why did he settle for that fadeaway jumper, with that 6-foot-1 guy guarding him? Why did he make that pass, then drift into the corner and out of the play?
And, the topper: Why is he so unselfish?
What?
There is no bigger what-have-you-done-lately operator now, in any sport. Maybe, there never has been. James’ show in Game 6 of the Eastern Conference finals Thursday â€" 45 points, 15 rebounds, five assists, one Boston crowd silenced from the first minute â€" was transcendent. What about tonight?
This says as much about us as about him. The best thing about our warp-speed world and our increasingly stunted attention spans is that we can re-invent ourselves as much as we like. The worst thing is, all that re-inventing is exhausting, and ultimately revealing of nothing.
James was the best basketball player in the world on Thursday night between 8:30 and 11. Today, he’ll be something else. Tomorrow, ditto. We didn’t judge Michael Jordan this way. We didn’t have Twitter then, though. Perspective had a chance.
When he played in Cleveland, James willed the Cavaliers to whatever postseason success they enjoyed. In the 2009 Eastern Conference finals, James averaged 40 points and nine rebounds in Cleveland’s six-game loss to the Orlando Magic. People blaming him for the Cavs’ lack of a title forget that without James, title talk would have been crazy. The same stuff happened in Denver with John Elway. Minus Elway, the Broncos wouldn’t have had the chance to lose three Super Bowls.
Now, the Heat bounce to James’ beat. Dwyane Wade can be guilty of lax effort on defense and of taking ridiculous shots. The supporting players are less than spectacular. But the drama, melo and actual, always falls on James. He’s why we’ve watched.
It’s not the basketball that has grabbed us, though the basketball has been plenty good. It’s been the perceptions and the images that shape-shift moment to moment, like fog. The heroes and villains stuff.
Heroes: The old-guy Celtics, looking like Washington’s men crossing the Delaware. Paul Pierce, chasing James on one knee. Kevin Garnett, 36 years ancient, scowling, willing his mates to push beyond their physical edges. Ray Allen, forever the smoothest, until now, when his threes nudge the front of the rim, their arc flattened by the fatigue in his legs.
Anyone over 40 with a touch of bursitis has been a Celtics fan the last fortnight. And we haven’t even talked about Rajon Rondo. He’s the grandchild with his toys in the middle of the living room, running around and entertaining the old folks, who get tired just looking at him.
Villains: The young and cool Heat, who play defense sometimes, and sometimes not. Who work close enough to South Beach to make the metaphor appear real. Nobody ever won a title clubbing ‘til dawn. Who have James, who declared infamously, “Not one, not two, not three. . .’’ Et cetera, ad nauseam.
This is why we invest time and emotion on sports. Sports are reality television that take the time to be absolutely real. The NBA’s greatest regular-season weakness â€" the perception that it is peopled by me-first egoists, as good at getting coaches fired as executing a pick and roll â€" becomes its greatest postseason strength.
Casual fans tune in to LeBron, same as they do to Tiger Woods. Baseball isn’t this way. Aroldis Chapman isn’t on camera for three hours straight. Football has its divas. But it remains a team-first game. People who dislike the Pittsburgh Steelers don’t necessarily dislike Troy Polamalu.
The experts can talk all night about Boston’s pick-and-roll defense on James and Wade, or the Celtics need to pick up their own, often anemic, offensive game. That doesn’t captivate us. James does.
He’s the greatest one night, he’s an underachiever the next. Really, he’s neither. He’s just a hero for our times, dancing in and out of favor. Shot to shot, tweet to tweet.
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