Waiting for LeBron's decision felt like spreading my legs as wide open as I could, (which isn't very far. I'm doing yoga trying to work on it) and waiting to get kicked right in the testicles. Sure enough, last night at just past 8 o'clock, we were put out of our misery as LeBron wound up for the free shot and landed a kick that would make Ronaldo proud. GOALLLLLL. GOAL GOAL GOAL GO GO GO GOAL. Sorry for the soccer metaphor but it is World Cup season, after all. I'm told. Like I watch fucking soccer. Down goes Cleveland. A few years back, when I was catching for our summer baseball team, our pitcher was coming into the game, warming up. Our hardest thrower, he throws about an 80 mph slider that bounces in front of home plate, right in between my glove and the dirt directly underneath my nuts. It takes a Matrix-esque bounce and gets underneath my cup, drilling me directly in the boys. I. Go. Down. For a few minutes that feel like an eternity, I struggle to catch my breath, pausing the game and drawing the attention of everybody for all of the wrong reasons. That felt like 2010's 'The Decision.' Yesterday? More like a tap to the nuts that leaves you uncomfortable for a while. Still not a good feeling.
The worst part is average sports fans. I hate conversations about my personal heartbreak with them. For example, I know nothing about repairing cars. Or home repairs. Or putting in flooring. Or computers... really, you can insert any sort of random job and pretty much assume that I am completely inept at accomplishing it. Astonishingly inept, really. I am not going to talk to mechanics about how my car works. I hate when people corner me and tell me, with hardly any emotional investment, why it sucks that LeBron left. "What do you think about the whole LeBron thing?" Boy, I fucking love it. Please, give me more. "They should've traded Kevin Love for Carmelo." Goddammit. God fucking dammit. Excuse me, I have to go to the ER, looks like I just stabbed myself in the eye. We'll have to continue this conversation in hell. Overhearing people that are relieved that there is a policy that allows them to trade in their Cavs' LeBron jerseys for a brand new Lakers one... fuck you. If 'Planet of the Apes' ever happens, I hope they go for you first. It hurts me to merely acknowledge it on a level that you will never understand. Odds are, if you're my audience in reading this, in some way you can relate. Or you're my girlfriend reading this out of pure support, in case I ask you for feedback. Happy 2 years baby (now I know if she'll have read it).
The failing fake sports media ESPN, of course, had a field day with the whole thing. Stephen A Smith doing what he always does, taking shots at the city, laughing declaring he was right. Cari Champion reveling in her oh so deprived Lakers winning the lottery. Those are the worst parts. Now I feel like my city is being attacked. LeBron was the kid that came home. Cliched as fuck, I know. But Manny Ramirez left for the money. Albert Belle. My idol, Jim Thome. All left. LeBron came back. At the height of his prime, not as a publicity stunt. Fuck off, ESPN, he didn't go to your beloved Knicks or Lakers, he came to Cleveland. Now, not the fact that the Cavs are no longer contenders, but what stings the most that our biggest defender of all things Cleveland, the man on the billboard, is once again gone. For whatever reason, gone.
If you read my blog, I cautioned you that this was coming if you had at all paid attention to the tea leaves. It's why I took the Game 1 loss so hard. Like Tony Stark, I had a vision of the future that unfortunately came true. This time, there is no time stone, however. Our reporters in Cleveland tried to give us hope, tweeting that although Los Angeles was the favorite, Cleveland was "firmly in the mix." To me, it felt like a salesman trying to sell a ketchup flavored popsicle to a woman wearing white gloves. Does that even make sense? Oh well, I just wanted a reason to reference 'Tommy Boy.' Fat guy in a little coat. Fat guy in a litttttttleeeee coatttt. Side note - the 'Fat guy in a little coat' skit was actually something Chris Farley would do in real life to David Spade. Spade would be working on writing for 'Saturday Night Live' and Farley would ask him to turn around and look at him. "This isn't fat guy in a little coat again, is it?" Spade would ask. "No," replied Farley, "This is something different." Spade would turn around and Farley would do fat guy in a little coat to Spade's chagrin. So they put it in the movie. Genius. If you're looking for a reason to smile, Chris Farley having existed is a pretty good one.
I am not 'Cleveland against the world guy' typically. I can grow quite frustrated with living in northeast Ohio at times. But when others take so much joy in watching a generational player leave your city when he means more to you than he can ever mean to anybody else, is really difficult to just take. Like we're a fat, ugly beast that the girl is just so much above. And so go the fairweather fans... I had to hear all of the brand new Miami Heat fans rejoice from my bay in AIT when I was pretty down about the whole thing. What kind of existence is that? You just follow around your favorite player? Screw that. Fake ass fans, definitely the type to leave a ballgame early right before the team they root for comes back and wins.
About the actual decision by LeBron - it strikes me as odd:
Nick Hawks, three time goer of college, one time honor roll recipient, one time New Youth Basketball League All-Star, two time varsity baseball letterman, one time winner of the milk gallon challenge, has agreed to a deal to no longer leave his pants on the floor when he goes to bed.
From now on, all of my major decisions in life will be prefaced like this. I will even narrate it myself. And yes, those are my life's most noteworthy accomplishments. Embarrassed? Yeah. Ashamed? Hell no. But really, it strikes me like he knows what he means to Northeast Ohio and that he was not particularly excited about reaching this conclusion. In Miami, there was a party. In Cleveland, an epic letter followed by a homecoming welcome. Here... not even a statement by the man himself. Just this:
So, looks like for once I will actually have to write about something new. And worry not my loyal followers, I have plenty of grade A material that I am just chomping at the bit to unleash. Aside from the Indians bullpen attempting their best JR impression, trying to sabotage the season, they are actually in good shape. Just pay no attention to the national media or to Twitter. They're taking down the LeBron billboard downtown and if Twitter had its way, a picture of the lake being on fire would take its place. Ha. Original. I feel like Eminem in 8 Mile where he already knows the narrative and uses it to his favor. Tell us something you haven't told us before. We've been through this before and it was much worse, we'll be fine. Just fine.
The worst part is average sports fans. I hate conversations about my personal heartbreak with them. For example, I know nothing about repairing cars. Or home repairs. Or putting in flooring. Or computers... really, you can insert any sort of random job and pretty much assume that I am completely inept at accomplishing it. Astonishingly inept, really. I am not going to talk to mechanics about how my car works. I hate when people corner me and tell me, with hardly any emotional investment, why it sucks that LeBron left. "What do you think about the whole LeBron thing?" Boy, I fucking love it. Please, give me more. "They should've traded Kevin Love for Carmelo." Goddammit. God fucking dammit. Excuse me, I have to go to the ER, looks like I just stabbed myself in the eye. We'll have to continue this conversation in hell. Overhearing people that are relieved that there is a policy that allows them to trade in their Cavs' LeBron jerseys for a brand new Lakers one... fuck you. If 'Planet of the Apes' ever happens, I hope they go for you first. It hurts me to merely acknowledge it on a level that you will never understand. Odds are, if you're my audience in reading this, in some way you can relate. Or you're my girlfriend reading this out of pure support, in case I ask you for feedback. Happy 2 years baby (now I know if she'll have read it).
If you read my blog, I cautioned you that this was coming if you had at all paid attention to the tea leaves. It's why I took the Game 1 loss so hard. Like Tony Stark, I had a vision of the future that unfortunately came true. This time, there is no time stone, however. Our reporters in Cleveland tried to give us hope, tweeting that although Los Angeles was the favorite, Cleveland was "firmly in the mix." To me, it felt like a salesman trying to sell a ketchup flavored popsicle to a woman wearing white gloves. Does that even make sense? Oh well, I just wanted a reason to reference 'Tommy Boy.' Fat guy in a little coat. Fat guy in a litttttttleeeee coatttt. Side note - the 'Fat guy in a little coat' skit was actually something Chris Farley would do in real life to David Spade. Spade would be working on writing for 'Saturday Night Live' and Farley would ask him to turn around and look at him. "This isn't fat guy in a little coat again, is it?" Spade would ask. "No," replied Farley, "This is something different." Spade would turn around and Farley would do fat guy in a little coat to Spade's chagrin. So they put it in the movie. Genius. If you're looking for a reason to smile, Chris Farley having existed is a pretty good one.
I am not 'Cleveland against the world guy' typically. I can grow quite frustrated with living in northeast Ohio at times. But when others take so much joy in watching a generational player leave your city when he means more to you than he can ever mean to anybody else, is really difficult to just take. Like we're a fat, ugly beast that the girl is just so much above. And so go the fairweather fans... I had to hear all of the brand new Miami Heat fans rejoice from my bay in AIT when I was pretty down about the whole thing. What kind of existence is that? You just follow around your favorite player? Screw that. Fake ass fans, definitely the type to leave a ballgame early right before the team they root for comes back and wins.
About the actual decision by LeBron - it strikes me as odd:
Nick Hawks, three time goer of college, one time honor roll recipient, one time New Youth Basketball League All-Star, two time varsity baseball letterman, one time winner of the milk gallon challenge, has agreed to a deal to no longer leave his pants on the floor when he goes to bed.
From now on, all of my major decisions in life will be prefaced like this. I will even narrate it myself. And yes, those are my life's most noteworthy accomplishments. Embarrassed? Yeah. Ashamed? Hell no. But really, it strikes me like he knows what he means to Northeast Ohio and that he was not particularly excited about reaching this conclusion. In Miami, there was a party. In Cleveland, an epic letter followed by a homecoming welcome. Here... not even a statement by the man himself. Just this:
So, looks like for once I will actually have to write about something new. And worry not my loyal followers, I have plenty of grade A material that I am just chomping at the bit to unleash. Aside from the Indians bullpen attempting their best JR impression, trying to sabotage the season, they are actually in good shape. Just pay no attention to the national media or to Twitter. They're taking down the LeBron billboard downtown and if Twitter had its way, a picture of the lake being on fire would take its place. Ha. Original. I feel like Eminem in 8 Mile where he already knows the narrative and uses it to his favor. Tell us something you haven't told us before. We've been through this before and it was much worse, we'll be fine. Just fine.
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