Why do we hate greatness?

Let’s face it: As a society we love to hate LeBron James, and understandably so.

Six feet, eight inches tall. Two hundred forty pounds with the speed of a point guard isn’t necessarily fair. As a result, LeBron’s a physical specimen demonized more so than he is celebrated.

“He can’t shoot free throws,” say the haters. “He isn’t clutch. He lacks the heart to lead a team on his own. He took the easy way out. Quitter”.

Surprisingly, after two straight titles not a whole lot has changed. I thought more would, but it’s obvious LeBron James will never be the untarnished champion. He’ll always be the man who crushed the heart of a city, to ride the high life with his superstar cronies. The society has backed off a bit with from banging the not clutch drum though echoes can still be heard. but Lebron’s negative public image has held pat in every other possible way.

Shoot, last year it was “Ray Allen who bailed him out.” Mind you, James hit a three earlier pulling the team to within three, rebounded his own miss the next time down the floor, kicking the ball out to the wide open Allen, for one of his many assists. The year before it was “the three point shooting of Mike Miller.” Again: the man single handedly picked apart the Thunder to the tune of 28.6 points, 10.2 rebounds and 7.4 assists per game.

Even Michael Jordan was hated by some. By Joshua Massel. Cropped by en:User:Quadzilla99 (original flickr source) , via Wikimedia Commons

This Lebron hate is the same type New Yorkers held against Michael Jordan in the mid-90’s. They hated him because he was better than them. Because no matter how many people tried to beat him down, including the wild walrus sized elbows of Charles Oakley, he continued on winning championships, scoring titles, MVP’s, fame, a reverential nickname, and induction to the hall of fame.

The man is the best ever. Period. Nobody’s going to tell him, or me, otherwise. Despite that, there is still a small, lingering camp of idiots arguing against the perennial oneness of his Airness.

The same can be said for LeBron.

I love, love, love, the Indiana Pacers’ toughness and their young burgeoning superstar, Paul George. I enjoy Kevin Durant & his upstart small town Thunder and other teams and players, too. But I can’t help but find myself searching the box score for LeBron on a nightly basis. What did LeBron do today? How good are the Heat? Can he lead his team to a third straight title?

Tell me the last time you genuinely thought about Paul George. You’re working, going about your day, maybe walking to the water cooler or copy machine, when all of a sudden, ah, yes, there he is — the young Pacer and his encroaching legacy. Not a chance. He comes into view the moment he suits up against the best.

But share a cup of coffee with your boss & you’re bound to talk LeBron somewhere in there. The most dominant player of a generation breeds venom, vile slams. Like Kobe, Shaq, and so many others before him, he alone, can split a bar into ruckus thugs. The man is just that polarizing. And whole lot better.