LeBron James’ career has burst into flames, after his self-aggrandizing title prophecies with the Miami Heat ended Sunday in a game six loss to the Dallas Mavericks. The NBA’s darling just one year ago–a mild tempered family man, with the dribble speed game of MJ, and the passing and rebounding finesse of Magic, is not only the league’s most wanted but is now left for another off-season to ponder his lowly 2-8 record in NBA Finals games and dismal 2-6 record in must-win elimination games.

As much as the league has tried to endorse James as the predecessor to MJ’s greatness, one is left to wonder whether he will go down as the games biggest bust. Despite this ever-evolving debate in the eight year relationship fans and critics have had with James, the man himself seems undeterred.

“I pretty much don’t listen to what everybody has to say about me or my game or what I’ve done with my career,” James said. “I don’t get involved in that. This is year after year after year for me. Me as an individual, people write or say what they want to say about me. It doesn’t weigh on me at all.”

This is yet another form of kindling for the LeBron hatred across the country, and is the type of thing that has taken the “King” mantle from James and placed his name among the all-time villains. Something LeBron seems indifferent towards.

“All the people that was rooting on me to fail, at the end of the day they have to wake up tomorrow and have the same life that they had before they woke up today,” James said. “They have the same personal problems they had today. I’m going to continue to live the way I want to live and continue to do the things that I want to do with me and my family and be happy with that.”

Despite the criticisms, LeBron’s mantra is simple: his life is better than yours. Today the man woke up to a multi-million dollar mansion with his family, and is currently sipping prepared pina coladas by an aqua lagoon furnaced by his own personal natural hot spring. As his wife kisses his forehead, his children have the best education money can buy, and his hard-working mother — the one who worked day and night as a single mother — is doing just the same.

So what gives?

“It hurts of course,” James said. “ I’m not going to hang my head low. I know how much work as a team we put into it. I know how much work individually that I’ve put into it, when you guys are not around. That’s something people don’t see. I think you can never hang your head low when you know how much work, how much dedication you put into the game of basketball when the lights are off and the cameras are not on.”

LeBron’s confidence in his work ethic is the saturation necessary to help him get past this on-going bout of losing when it matters most. In fact LeBron seems half-right. In eight elimination games in the playoffs, his career numbers of 29.8 points, 9.4 rebounds, and 7.4 assist would argue his point.

Yet for Cleveland fans and many across the country the problem has never been LeBron’s abilities, rather his inabilities to close out games in the final minutes. Cavs fans are left to ponder not only James inappropriate decision parade on national television, one in which took them from title hopefuls to cellar dwellers, but his final game against Boston in the Conference Semi-Finals where James looked as if he’d quit on the franchise and aloof thereafter.

This loss, whether it be just another loss in a long seemingly successful hall of fame career for James, is vindication for many across America. For Cavs owner Dan Gilbert it was everything he needed to move on with his career. After the loss, Gilbert tweeted: “Old Lesson for all: There are NO SHORTCUTS. NONE.”

The longtime friendship Gilbert and James had, rooted in the franchise selection of the Akron native, continued its bitter feud. Gilbert has never waned from admitting his disappointment in the player he believed was faithful and would help change the course for Cleveland fans’ long drought without a professional title.

This is like the “Young and the Restless,” but better–it is Brokeback Mountain the sequel, starring Jamie Foxx and business mogul Bill Gates. But jest aside, this is the life of a man left to wonder whether his career will ever culminate into anything more than best greatest loser of all-time.

For James and any other NBA great, the tiers of hall of fame stars is a real topic, one of which none of these player can run from. It is like having your name sprawled next to MJ, Magic, or Bird instead of Iverson, Dominique, or Ewing.

And despite the majority, who are beginning to wonder whether James is the latter, the star is limitless in his drive. “The only thing that weighs on me is when I don’t perform well for my teammates and the guys that I play for every day,” said James. Which as of now, seems like the theme to his rocky unabashed career.

There is only one man who can answer these pondering’s, that being “Big Shot Bob,” otherwise known as Robert Horry, who made a living with the Rockets, Lakers, and Spurs, en route to seven rings by nailing the clutch shot.

Why does this matter? He was never a star, but he has rings galore bronzed on his swish- svelte fingers. 

In today’s NBA we judge  all-time greats by how many rings they’ve won and whether or not they led their teams to title town. But is this a fair assessment, considering a life-long bench guy like Horry can be carried to seven?

Never was Horry the franchise guy. In fact, as great as he seemed in closing minutes, Robert Horry never became the player we expected him to be after his timely three point shooting for Houston’s 2nd title run.

Horry’s brief stint in Phoenix after a trade in 1996, proved he was not endowed with a star motor. A hot tempered, dramatic and aloof head case, Bob languished averaging 6.9 points at a career low shooting clip: 41.8%. A trade by mid-season to the L.A. Lakers–a team filled with Kobe Bryant, Shaquille O’Neal, Nick Van Exel, Eddie Jones, Elden Campbell, and Cedric Ceballos changed the trajectory of his failing career.

So why then is Bob a champion? Why not franchise guys like Barkley, Malone, Stockton, Dominique, Ewing, or Reggie Miller?

Each of those listed above were worthy of winning gold, were they not? All of them were respective franchise pieces with the heart, skills, and late game heroics to hold the O’Brien.

The answer to their problems was Michael Jordan’s Bulls: a team of role guys surrounding the king of the sport with that IT factor needed to win it all. Something today’s critics use to gauge greatness and rank the all time elites.

So what is the issue then with the tautness of this old-time equation? Why not turn a blind eye and allow this to be the answer to everything?

Simply because it just does not add up. It does not offer enough answers. If Big Shot Bob has seven, or the likes of Jack Haley–former twelfth man for Jordan’s final three peat has three, the equation’s a bit off. We need something else, a new perspective when thinking of the greats and why and how they never hung the O’Brien.

And I believe individual luck IS the partly the answer, luck, a maddening machine random like the California Lottery. Historians prefer the term historical happenings–a notion that choices are made for no other reason except that they were made, and the dominoes re-arrange the cosmos of a world more closely inter-connected than we might wish it to be (think guy who smells like farts at the movies, or the swine flu victim winding a cough onto the back nape of the neck.)

Luck.

To think Michael Jordan fell to number three in the 1984 draft could be easily overlooked for a variety of reasons: Sam Bowie, the number two pick before MJ, was a  college superstar and a big man compared at the time to the greats. The Blazers already had a gifted wingman in Clyde Drexler andat the time the league was built around bigs: Kareem, Sampson and Olajuwan, Robert Parish, Patrick Ewing, and Moses Malone.

But that doesn’t make things less ludicrous.  Look at how the draft shaped the NBA forever. MJ goes to an ordinary Bulls team built in perhaps the greatest city in America, where he wins ROY, ultimately five MVP’s, slam dunk contests, becomes the games biggest mogul, and wins six titles. Alongside Oprah, MJ is easily the greatest name in Chicago history and can be attributed for an economical explosion that saved the lower West side of the city once run with crime: drug abuse, gang wars, and prostitution.

Bowie, in the annals of the NBA, is known as ‘the bust.’ He never won a thing in the pros: no all star games, no shoe deals, thus injuring the once bright ideal the Blazers had in trading their franchise Center Bill Walton to Boston.

This, my friends, is the Sam Bowie, a supernatural element that cannot be ignored.

Luck.

Yet like so many children born into inner city poverty without the tools necessary to change their lives, we cannot judge the stars through the a similar bias, because not all players are born lucky into a posh franchise. The gift of playing in Los Angeles or Boston does not come to everyone. Not every player is born into a showtime era, a team so deep they make the ocean look like a kids pool.

For some, seeking a new home is like divorcing an abusive wife. In order for Mitch Richmond to adorn gold, the talented and true shooting guard had to eventually break ties in the perils of Sacramento. Karl Malone found it necessary to join with Kobe and Shaq in 04′ after a long tenure in Utah. And even the humble Clyde Drexlerleft a hell of a situation in Portland to win it Houston. All three of which were great with or without (Sing it Bono) a championship.

The reality of the situation is heart breaking for most. We as childish dreamers wish our favorite player could be greater than the others, but this is not real. Embracing a pragmatic approach to the sport tied less to your heart strings will allow you to see greatness wrapped in many different packages. 

Reality 1: Great players DO NOT win championships, great TEAMS win championships. The 2004 Detroit Pistons are a perfect example of this. A team of role guys without a future hall of famer, the Pistons had the momentary IT. Call it faith, hard work, purity, and any other beautiful thing you want, but to explain why they won a title over an L.A. Laker team stocked with four future hall of famers would be absurd.

Reality 2: Like the stars in the sky, NBA STARS need other STARS. Think for a moment about the teams who’ve won championships the last thirty years. All of them have one thing in common: team depth and stars surrounding stars. Magic had Kareem and Worthy; Bird–Mchale and Parish; Dr.J–Moses Malone; Isaiah–Dumars and Rodman; MJ–Pippen; Hakeem–Clyde; Shaq–Kobe and Wade; Duncan–Robinson, Parker, and Ginobili; Pierce–KG and Allen.

Reality 3:  Winning titles does mean a lot, but it does not mean everything for a myriad of reasons. If the 1919 Chicago Blacksox or dirty referees like Tim Donaghy can throw World Series and playoff games, then how serious can we take this thing? Not very. Take everything with a grain of salt and learn other decided facets when it comes to judging all-time greats: MVP’s, All Star appearances, Career Totals, Game Winners, Ability to close, Athleticism, Re-defining the sport, dominance-ometer, and sociological affects.

LeBron James is not a sell out because the guy wants to win, he’s a realist. A star unselfish enough to admit that NO star including himself, can win a title completely on his own.

LeBron is stuck in the the Bill Clinton Vacuum. Though he does great things, he is brushed aside because of one unlikeable decision.

But greatness is not a grade school quiz on being friendly, it is brutal giftedness. And likeability is not the twin brother to being great.

LeBron made a  decision to better his career andhis life. Leading a Cleveland Cavs team the last seven years, that never boasted anybody better than a has-been version of Antawn Jamison warrants James departure.  No it does not warrant the overdone TV cinematic’s regarding “the decision,” nor the Pat Riley blowout introduction party in South Beach. Yet neither should it foster the illogical hysteria across America attempting to deny the man’s sheer dominance and greatness.

This isn’t patty cake kids. We are talking about a production entertainment, where all titles are but a decorative decor. They might help the woman look fine, but if that woman is not fine without the jewelry or the tight fitting jeans, I say run, run as fast as you can.

Drop by the nearest bar and have a scotch on me. Look through the world with freshness and at what is truly great (it is not the girl next to you.). It is the scraggly bartender able to whip up drinks faster than the average Joe.

Watching Sir’ Dirk diggler his way between double teams then drop the off-foot fade away, with feathered bangs haunting his brow is like hot chocolate with a bust of hand-whipped cream lapping at the tongue…sizzle sizzle and more busty sizzle.

My nizzle.

Fans swore off of Dirk after his Mavs famous meltdown in 06′ and 07′; said he was overrated, couldn’t hit the big shot, seven feet but soft as butter, a lanky vanilla–sweet but melts with contact.

Well not so fast.

In the meantime Nowitski has collected an MVP, eclipsed twenty thousand career points,and freeze framed his Shaggy Doobie Do face in the list of all-time greats. Dirk’s freakazoid bar, with his insante giftedness to dribble like a point, hit the fade away like a guard, rebound as a forward and finish inside is Lady Gaga unparalleled.

Did I just say Lady Gaga unparalleled?  I did because Dirk is the the greatest powerforward to ever play this game.

Yes you heard me. My condolences to Timmy Duncan, but today I am writing with a blasphemous resignation to the truth of things. I have post stamped this through the mailman, and asked his caddy Sir Charles, to verify its arrival. Dirk is not only the greatest powerforward, but when it comes to closers is listed as: MJ….Bird…..West…..Kobe….Dirk.

Monday’s performance was one of the greatest this league has ever seen. Dropping 48 on OKC in game one of the Western Conference Finals, he did it in Gaga fashion: 12-15 shooting, 24-24 from the free throw line, hitting clutch jumpers late to close out the Thunder in the fourth quarter. Setting the tone from the get go, Dirk started 4-4 with the Mavs first ten points, and twenty in the first half. It was obvious  that this Sir’ Dirk is no longer living under the devils of his past.

OKC looked stupefied in his wakes and had no answer for him all evening, throwing seven different defenders his way including: former Defensive Player of the Year Thabo Sefalosha, and block king Serge Ibaka. His unguardable abilities and size caused former NBA coach turned ESPN TV personality Jeff Van Gundy, to continualy pose the X and O question, “How do you stop that?” His sidekick, former point guard Mark Jackson returned, “You got to close the air space.”

Air space?

This is not about some make believe air space, this is about fate. As much as I love the twenty-three year old Durant–a two time scoring champ, and gifted 6’10 wingman with the ability to hit the three, take you off dribble, and get up and finish, I am aware that his moment has not arrived yet.

It was obvious Monday who the better team is. This is not your usual lay-down and die Dallas Mavs team who’ve become more of a hard-nosed defensive squad with their yet classic art of tres droplet supremes. Key moments on Monday included: Barrea sparking Dallas with twelve straight points in the third, and Jason Kidd bringing stability at point when Darantula made it a game scoring Jasseven of his teams ten points in a 10-0 run in the fourth to pull to within five with 3:34 to play. Like a black widow spider dangling from a single thread, only to lose her luscious prey a few inches from her triangular grasp, that is as close as things would get. This year there is no hesitation from the Mavs–a collective of cast-aways, bridging their way to title ascension.

And with a German juggernaut like Dirk taking them there, it bids the question, “will this finally be their year?”

Sorry–I am still drunk on exhiliration. March Madness=this peculiar look. A look like m’ gonna kill you, but I don’t got the balls to do so. Moorhead State beating you Mr. Pitino is enough to make the Louisville fans tar and feather you, with the school band backing the proceeding with a celebratory Dixieland rhythm. Seeing a snake like Rick Pitino curl up and freeze white as a ghost, was worth every bit of the unhealthy adrenaline shooting through my veins.

The selection committee today is a one man show: me. If you feel I left out a worthy opponent for the tournament then message me below. Just remember that we here at fansmanship.com are school grade friendly and will prosecute you if you speak crudely or in an unkind jest (lol).

Day One (Selection Monday @ 8:30 AM, Play-in Game @ 5:00 PM) 

Day Two (First eight to be played on fansmanship.com Thursday, March 24th, 2011)

Eight are: 2 v 15, 4 v 13, 6 v 11, 8 v 9

Day Three (Second eight to be played on fansmanship.com Friday, March 25th, 2011)

Eight are: 1 v 16, 3 v 14, 5 v 12, 7 v 10

Championship (Played on Monday, March 28th, 2011)

As today is selection Monday, Loco has been buried away in his study looking at sol: strength of laughter, cop: cheese of production, sp: staying power. Bear in mind that before I introduce the seeds 1 to 16, that I am humbled by this process and hope when it is all said and done, you will be inspired by the things you are about to witness.

Format: 1 v 16 will play winner of 8 v 9. 2 v 15 will play winner of 7 v 10. 3 v 14 will play winner of 6 v 11. 4 v 13 will play winner of 5 v 12.

Please remember to voice yourself on the thread below, because your opinions can help sway a commercial/song to victory in the tournament. This is your time to make a case for your favorites.

Argue over the Play-in Game today, as I will not pick a winner until 5:00 PM…

1. Chicago Bears Super Bowl Shuffle

2. Gatorade commercial: “If I could be like Mike.”

3. “Lil’ Penny” franchise

4.  Converse Commercial, “Larry Bird vs. Magic Johnson”

5. Fu Schnikens, “What’s Up Doc?” (Can we rock), featuring Shaquille O’Neal

6. Gatorade Commercial: Michael Jordan vs. Himself.

7. Magic Johnson Slice Commercial.

8. MJ’s Nike, “Frozen Moment” Commercial

9. Bob Uecker Miller Lite Commercial from the 80’s

10. Mean Joe Green Coke Commercial, circa 1979.

11. Pete Rose, Aqua Velva Commercial.

12. George Brett 7 Up Commercial.

13. LeBron and Kobe Puppet Franchise.

14. LeBron James, “What Should I Do?” Commercial

15. Barkley vs. Godzilla Nike Commercial

Play in Round

Michael Jordan’s Awkward Hanes Commercial w/dad.

VS.

Larry Johnson “Grandma Ma Franchise.”

Vote on the thread below for the play-in winner and for your favorites in the tournament…

As of now, the idea of Adam Morrison is dead.

That idea was that he’s the next Larry Bird. Or that he we was worthy of a third pick in 2006, to Charlotte.  

He’s like the Thunderbird of wine: nearing extinction.

It wouldn’t hurt as much, if his name translated into one of the great “Morrison’s;” Jim for one. But it doesn’t, it would be make believe. The dude from the Zags, yes, a guy who averaged 28.1 points per game his Junior year, leading Gonzaga to a 29-4 season, into the sweet sixteen, finishing with a National Player of the Year Award, whom was heralded at times by the narrow-visioned Jordan, to be the next “it” thing, has been tossed into the sea of pro-hopefuls like myself, waiting tables at Marie Callenders, and drinking cheap beer. The last two years he’s done as much basketball–watching, as any overweight bartender has, playing forty-one games, and averaging a pea-size 2.1 points with the L.A. Lakers.

The mop top, slinky white kid, from Glendive, Montana, with the awkardly perfect stroke (42.6% 3pt his Junior year) has been given over to the harsh reality of linguistics. A reality that some people have it, and some don’t. As Darwin would say, a game masquerade in survival of the fittest, where the biggest fish eats the littlest fish, then grows into a bonafide superstar. Unfortunately Morrison has been ingested.

I have travelled the country quite a bit. My travels have taken me to parts of Africa, most of Indonesia, in the slums with the Abo’s in Australia, and the list continues to mount. But no matter how much my Spanish speaking friends continue to quiz me on the difference between ‘que’ and ‘quien’ I am a lost soul awaiting a certain type of death: death by stupidity. Attempting to be a linguist would be less attainable to me than would walking the tight rope from New York to New Jersey; it just isn’t happening. Period.

So I’ve taken to being the laughing stock of our gatherings. And it’s awarded me with a comedic role, one I now relish in, considering most of the pretty Latina girls are taken by my humbly sensitive English-only-quiet-naturedness. But when it comes to professional sports, none of this funny. We all remember watching Morrison drill tough minded Michigan St. for 43, then, two weeks later doing the same against Washington, on 18-29 shooting, 6-9 from downtown.  He followed that with 27 against Virginia one week later, and then 34 against Memphis the next. Without a doubt he was the risen, beetles clad, better looking version of Larry Bird. So on draft day, going to the Bobcats could not have been a more perfect fit. He would certainly be the starting swing man and begin his ascent as the teams go-to, and the leagues best Caucasian player since Nowitski or Nash.

Nonetheless, the me-first, stylistic NBA clashed with Mark Fews pick setting sets at Gonzaga. Morrison, who’d lived off the pick and pops, no longer had that luxury, playing with athletic freaks like Gerald Wallace, who would rather go 1 on 5, jumping over his defenders, then work a team oriented set. This lack of a team concept suprised the non-athletic forward his rookie seasion, as he averaged 11.8 points per game. Though that was an understatement for what people thought he was capable of, we still saw it as a partial success. He could continue to build on such, and would hopefully assert himself more and more on the wayward, loss heavy Bobcats. But a seriously sprained knee in training camp his sophomore season deterred him. He played 44 games, starting just 5, and clearly lost his perfectly dopey looking demeanor. He was now tense, and it showed, as he shot 36% from the floor and averaged 4.5 points.  Guys like Nazi Mohammad made Morrison’s slow feet look like blocks of concrete. At that point, the slow forigiving Larry Brown  asked his personal chefs what the fat content would be with roast de Morrison. The answer was zippa-roo!(As they skipped to the Sounds of Music)

His trade to the Lakers, on the eve of his third season, was a salary dump on Charlotte’s part. The deep and experienced Lakers allowed the soft tempered Morrison to drown in the background, lose touch with his could-be abilities, and collect rings in the art of all things sitting. The days of comparisons were clearly over. He was more of a poor man’s Keith Van Horn than he was Larry Legend. His translation abilities were like a blind man reading letters in a darkened optometry office. He scored a zero.

The latest news on Morrision is close to null.  He was waived by the Washinton Wizards on the eve of the 2010-2011 season, over lost projects like Yi Jianlian, and Hilton Armstrong.  A Washington team who as of Saturday is 13-31, and without a doubt would lose to ranked elites like Kentucky, Kansas, Duke, or Syracuse.

Morrison has become more intriguing as an unexpected flop, than he would have, as a success. Not only because of our cultural  fondness for his days of railing teams for 30+ with Gonzaga, but because of our interpretable use for him, as we further try and compare and translate others at the college level with similar skill sets.

Jimmer Fredette is one of these translatable college players. Breaking on the scene last year, the 6’2, 195 pound guard, torched Arizona for 49, a BYU record.  Later, in the Mountain West conference tourney, Fredette put up 37 against TCU, a conference tourney record.  His record setting did not end with personal numbers, as Fredette led BYU to their best season in their history, losing in the 2nd round, 30-6, and ranked #16 in the polls.  In their opening round game against Florida, a double overtime thriller, Fredette put up 37, hitting two clutch threes down the stretch to ice a 99-92 win over Billy Donovan and co.

Then the questions began. A limited athlete, and short for his position, Fredette became the talk of the NBA draft. BYU’s up-tempo offense allowed for Fredette to put up a lot of shots. Which bore the question, is he really this good, or is he a product of a fast paced environment? His numbers answered the question. Last season, Fredette shot 45.8 from the floor, 88.9% from the free throw line, and 44.0% from the three point line. He averaged 22.1 points per game, first in the Mountain West, and his 4.7 assist per night, ranked second on his team.   

Before the start of this season, Fredette had been determined to be a late first to early second round pick, based upon his lack of athleticism, and size. This is because of players like Adam Morrison, who without the pick and pops simply could not get open. Not to mention Morrison had six inches on the stocky Fredette, and could shoot with the same depth.

According to Charlie Zeggers, a free lance writer with rotowire.com, and others, Fredette will have a “career path [that] will most closely mirror Redick’s, unless he has the good fortune to land with an NBA team that will play to his strengths and hide his weaknesses.” This is based upon the current comparisons to: Steph Curry, J.J Redick, and Morrison,  whom were great college shooters, but lacked either the size or athleticism, to translate it at the next level.

Or so we thought. As of now, Steph Curry is a budding all star with Golden St, and is arguably the best player of his draft class. Redick has become a solid role guy with Orlando, and is used as both a three point specialist, and a spark off the bench ala Tony Delk. Both players have ignored the translation factors, and outplayed a large majority of those drafted above them, further giving Fredette fans hope, because Morrison is the exception of the three.

 Which is why we need to live in the moment and enjoy what he’s doing now. His 27.4 points per game, on the 16-1 eighth ranked Cougars, without question places him as the early favorite to win the National Player of the Year Award. Three 40+ nights in his last four games, have us admiring not only his hard-nosed play, but his godly, astronomical greatness. And to top it off, the dude is humble, a class act, a guy who says more about his teammates than he does his individual accolades.

I believe he’ll translate something positive into any NBA arena next year. His humility should earn him kudos with the brash arrogance of the NBA elites.  He’ll rival Curry, Redick, Mike Miller, and Jared Dudley, as one of the premier three point shooters in the league.  And with his work ethic, could become like a Mark Price, who with hard nosed determination, and shooting ability, earned himself top fifteen point guard status in the history of the NBA.

If not, then you can expect a write up on the guy three years from now. It will be entitled: “Only the Good Die Young,” and will leave you wondering why the NBA is more popular than the momentary game of college hoops.

–Luke Johnson