As we wait for Mark Cuban to sleep off what is almost certainly an enormous (and well-earned) hangover, we turn our morning attentions to LeBron James and the Cleveland Cavaliers. (No offense to the Mavericks, of course; we are one step closer to the sublime possibility of David Stern handing the championship trophy to Cuban and his billion dollar penis, and that is deeply pleasing.)
No, we stand here with, somehow, a three-game set between the Perfect Team Ball Pistons and the gnarled nails of LeBron and his something-less-than-merry men. Most were thinking sweep after the first two games of the series, and now that the Cavaliers have somehow tied the series, even the most die-hard Cavs fans are still feeling like they're playing in the bonus round. ("WhatiftheywinWhatiftheywinWhatiftheywinWhatiftheywin?!?!?!?!?")
But they're still here, and it's just one more brick in the frighteningly expanding LeBron James Has Preordained Savior wall. We'll let the poetry of Free Darko sum it up for us:
Tonight, though, you saw LeBron struggling, scrappy, and written off from the start. The way things have gone for him up to this point, it would seem that he'd met his match with the Pistons — a team whose functional strut is every bit as charmed as his path through the league. Yet even as the logical underdog, staring down the wrong end of the kind of leverage he's used to having over others, James somehow escaped with a victory. He suffered as expected, but between the Pistons breakdown and his willingless to live among the mortals, tonight's game proved that fearless limitation is an important part of being able to do it all.
At this point, if we are truly all witnesses, we feel like the prosecution is guilty of badgering the witness. And that's fine, actually. No objections here.