Thought this was a good read
Open letter to Lebron that came out in one of the Ohio papers:
By Zac Jackson
Fox Sports Ohio
July 9, 2010
AKRON -- Dear LeBron:
First things first. Why couldn't you have killed the Celtics the way you killed Northeast Ohioans Thursday night?
We've turned on our televisions and seen you do magical things on the basketball floor. We've seen your gifts, your smile, your thunderous dunks and your ability to handle most things with the poise and maturity of someone well beyond your 25 years -- especially someone who endured the things you endured growing up. We all know your story; we all felt that would make the eventual Hollywood ending here even more special.
We really, foolishly believed that the team concept in which you were raised -- families taking you in, AAU coaches glad to have you around because you appreciated people and the game, your mom working to keep you and keep you happy and healthy, Keith Dambrot challenging you while providing a platform -- would mean something more as you made the toughest decision of your life, the one that ended with you choosing to leave your business unfinished and goals unreached here, instead going to Miami to play with your buddies in an attempt to prove you're bigger than the cities who raised, nurtured and worshiped you.
Oh, you've got a "team" now. You referenced them four or five times in your press conference when the 2010 season ended. Right now they're in the cabana next to you, ordering tall drinks and talking on their cell phones. You're getting the bill for both.
You can afford it. You have the money, and the fame, and all the limelight. All the headlines. Millions and millions watched you talk about you Thursday night, watched you announce that you were doing "what was best for LeBron James" and "what would make LeBron James happy."
Those are actual quotes. One of the most gifted passers in the history of the game is one of the most selfish people in the history of the game. You're a walking triple-double but also a walking contradiction, have been since you started getting so big for your own britches that your friends started fitting in there, too. Maybe one of them did that "loyalty" tattoo himself.
I was there before it was LeBronMania, a guy either buying a ticket or flashing a press pass to see you play. It's not your fault that the Sonny Vaccaro-types were quickly following your every move and that they came not only bearing gifts but promises. If anything you handled it well, continually adding to and refining your game and taking every challenge that came your way. But before long the innocence of you and your young St. Vincent-St. Mary High School teammates trying to slay Oak Hill Academy was lost. The games became more like events; everywhere you went, a circus followed. People snuck into practice and asked for autographs. The media that inquired about you soon knew almost every detail about your story; by the time you made the cover of Sports Illustrated, your school trumped you as not only a great player but an honor roll student.
By staging high school basketball games in 11 different states and on regional pay-per-view television, St. V-M was making big-time money off of you before you were (officially) making money off of you. It wasn't bad enough that your mom was running on to the floor at games or taunting opposing fans with a cardboard cutout of your face; it's that of all the agents and runners and "somebodies" that came around and got her attention, none of them ever presented a thought or a plan that included consequences. At one game, former Cavaliers forward Darius Miles showed up in the front row...wearing a Darius Miles jersey. He was a total clown.
Who knew nine years later you'd be out-clowning him, on a much bigger stage, with an ESPN special known as "The Decision." It was a show and concept that looked like it was put together by a guy who took a semester's worth of marketing classes at the University of Akron before he was hired away by Nike, given the job of telling you how great you are so you'd eventually sign with Nike.
Oh, that's exactly what it was. Anyway...
This monster that's become you, it's far from all your fault. See? It can be traced back years, and the blame can certainly be shared. By lots of people. I know guys with much less money and ability than you that sometimes have God Complexes; it happens when money and power are involved. It's just a shame that for all your accomplishments, you're still making silly, youthful mistakes. Ones that are going to haunt you for years and years.
I remember way back -- before you got really big -- you were answering newspaper guys' questions about fulfilling your dreams, about moving your mom out of Spring Hill Apartments and into the NBA high life. You said something to the effect of "Ain't no good houses in Akron anyway," meaning you were thinking bigger than your hometown. You were taken task for it in the newspaper, and you apologized. You learned from it. Hey, if I had a dollar for every stupid thing I said in high school I'd have a personal motorcade, too.
But now, a decade later, we come to find there really ain't no good enough for you here, not even with the way the Cavaliers constantly rolled and re-rolled the red carpet for you. Not with a fan base that supported you, sweated with you, bought into (figuratively and with their hard-earned money) whatever you were selling.
I've always thought you could do a little better in the role model department, too, since there are about 40 million kids who love watching you play basketball. For all your on-court greatness, you should have never left that court in Orlando without shaking hands. Now, except for the fact that impressionable kids are always watching, I never minded your dancing during blowout victories. But what about your responsibility to the kids who wear the shoes, the gear, fight over the #23 on jersey handout day, warm up for their AAU games by shooting underhand one-handers from halfcourt and throw powder in their kitchen? You paid people to handle your other responsibilities, but that one went pretty neglected.
Sure, your free-agent status was earned. And it meant you were free to explore, to further market yourself, to taste every bit of being free. No one can begrudge you for doing that and thinking you've found a place that will make you happier than you were when you had anything you'd ever want or need here. But to have your buddies call the Cavaliers, for you not to return any of Dan Gilbert's calls after Gilbert gave carte blanche to every member of Team LeBron and repeatedly paid NBA fines for your team wearing unapproved uniforms because you wanted to wear them or model a new shoe? I'm not saying Gilbert's letter was the most well thought-out gesture, but I understand.
Here's your best quote from last night, LeBron: "I know how loyal I am." You made the honor roll despite being absent on Accountability Day and Reality Day. Impressive.
Your little TV spectacle already one-upped your new superstar teammates, too, a day after they'd announced their plans to play with the Heat. We'll see how that act plays over the long term in Miami-Wade County, not to mention how your posse handles places with no last-calls and no people from the neighborhood except themselves.
I don't know the exact roots of the King James stuff and the Christ-like poses, but if I remember correctly you were introducing yourself to people as "King" before you were out of high school. Considering you were living in Spring Hill but driving a $50,000-plus Hummer, rolling with diamond earrings and three cell phones and had lawyers run to rescue your high school eligibility after you took two throwback jerseys from an adoring store manager, I understand. You were the one above the rules. You were the Chosen 1 -- at least that's what your back tattoo says.
Here in Northeast Ohio we absolutely hate that you quit -- sorry, there's no better way to say it -- on your coach, your teammates and the Cavaliers' organization at the end of this year's Boston series. We saw you again two weeks later begging for attention on stage at the Drake concert and then heard you chat with Larry King, but you were otherwise silent. No comment at camp in Akron. No comment at the Cleveland free-agency meetings, not even a wave to the hundreds of gathered fans in your gear outside the IMG Building. Who needs them, anyway? They're just people.
You previously told those plebeians that you appreciated them, that you wanted them along for the ride as you chased championships here. Matter of fact, at the MVP ceremony just two months ago you said chasing those championships here was your ONLY goal. Then you quit. And you left. Your permanent file surely includes moments of greatness, basketball moves that most couldn't dream of pulling off, but it also includes empty promises -- "I won't go ring-chasing" is what you said in 2006 -- and your last home game ever as a Cavalier, Game Five vs. Boston.
That's an incomplete at best, LeBron. A rough teacher would give you an F.
And here we thought you were on the honor roll.
Open letter to Lebron that came out in one of the Ohio papers:
By Zac Jackson
Fox Sports Ohio
July 9, 2010
AKRON -- Dear LeBron:
First things first. Why couldn't you have killed the Celtics the way you killed Northeast Ohioans Thursday night?
We've turned on our televisions and seen you do magical things on the basketball floor. We've seen your gifts, your smile, your thunderous dunks and your ability to handle most things with the poise and maturity of someone well beyond your 25 years -- especially someone who endured the things you endured growing up. We all know your story; we all felt that would make the eventual Hollywood ending here even more special.
We really, foolishly believed that the team concept in which you were raised -- families taking you in, AAU coaches glad to have you around because you appreciated people and the game, your mom working to keep you and keep you happy and healthy, Keith Dambrot challenging you while providing a platform -- would mean something more as you made the toughest decision of your life, the one that ended with you choosing to leave your business unfinished and goals unreached here, instead going to Miami to play with your buddies in an attempt to prove you're bigger than the cities who raised, nurtured and worshiped you.
Oh, you've got a "team" now. You referenced them four or five times in your press conference when the 2010 season ended. Right now they're in the cabana next to you, ordering tall drinks and talking on their cell phones. You're getting the bill for both.
You can afford it. You have the money, and the fame, and all the limelight. All the headlines. Millions and millions watched you talk about you Thursday night, watched you announce that you were doing "what was best for LeBron James" and "what would make LeBron James happy."
Those are actual quotes. One of the most gifted passers in the history of the game is one of the most selfish people in the history of the game. You're a walking triple-double but also a walking contradiction, have been since you started getting so big for your own britches that your friends started fitting in there, too. Maybe one of them did that "loyalty" tattoo himself.
I was there before it was LeBronMania, a guy either buying a ticket or flashing a press pass to see you play. It's not your fault that the Sonny Vaccaro-types were quickly following your every move and that they came not only bearing gifts but promises. If anything you handled it well, continually adding to and refining your game and taking every challenge that came your way. But before long the innocence of you and your young St. Vincent-St. Mary High School teammates trying to slay Oak Hill Academy was lost. The games became more like events; everywhere you went, a circus followed. People snuck into practice and asked for autographs. The media that inquired about you soon knew almost every detail about your story; by the time you made the cover of Sports Illustrated, your school trumped you as not only a great player but an honor roll student.
By staging high school basketball games in 11 different states and on regional pay-per-view television, St. V-M was making big-time money off of you before you were (officially) making money off of you. It wasn't bad enough that your mom was running on to the floor at games or taunting opposing fans with a cardboard cutout of your face; it's that of all the agents and runners and "somebodies" that came around and got her attention, none of them ever presented a thought or a plan that included consequences. At one game, former Cavaliers forward Darius Miles showed up in the front row...wearing a Darius Miles jersey. He was a total clown.
Who knew nine years later you'd be out-clowning him, on a much bigger stage, with an ESPN special known as "The Decision." It was a show and concept that looked like it was put together by a guy who took a semester's worth of marketing classes at the University of Akron before he was hired away by Nike, given the job of telling you how great you are so you'd eventually sign with Nike.
Oh, that's exactly what it was. Anyway...
This monster that's become you, it's far from all your fault. See? It can be traced back years, and the blame can certainly be shared. By lots of people. I know guys with much less money and ability than you that sometimes have God Complexes; it happens when money and power are involved. It's just a shame that for all your accomplishments, you're still making silly, youthful mistakes. Ones that are going to haunt you for years and years.
I remember way back -- before you got really big -- you were answering newspaper guys' questions about fulfilling your dreams, about moving your mom out of Spring Hill Apartments and into the NBA high life. You said something to the effect of "Ain't no good houses in Akron anyway," meaning you were thinking bigger than your hometown. You were taken task for it in the newspaper, and you apologized. You learned from it. Hey, if I had a dollar for every stupid thing I said in high school I'd have a personal motorcade, too.
But now, a decade later, we come to find there really ain't no good enough for you here, not even with the way the Cavaliers constantly rolled and re-rolled the red carpet for you. Not with a fan base that supported you, sweated with you, bought into (figuratively and with their hard-earned money) whatever you were selling.
I've always thought you could do a little better in the role model department, too, since there are about 40 million kids who love watching you play basketball. For all your on-court greatness, you should have never left that court in Orlando without shaking hands. Now, except for the fact that impressionable kids are always watching, I never minded your dancing during blowout victories. But what about your responsibility to the kids who wear the shoes, the gear, fight over the #23 on jersey handout day, warm up for their AAU games by shooting underhand one-handers from halfcourt and throw powder in their kitchen? You paid people to handle your other responsibilities, but that one went pretty neglected.
Sure, your free-agent status was earned. And it meant you were free to explore, to further market yourself, to taste every bit of being free. No one can begrudge you for doing that and thinking you've found a place that will make you happier than you were when you had anything you'd ever want or need here. But to have your buddies call the Cavaliers, for you not to return any of Dan Gilbert's calls after Gilbert gave carte blanche to every member of Team LeBron and repeatedly paid NBA fines for your team wearing unapproved uniforms because you wanted to wear them or model a new shoe? I'm not saying Gilbert's letter was the most well thought-out gesture, but I understand.
Here's your best quote from last night, LeBron: "I know how loyal I am." You made the honor roll despite being absent on Accountability Day and Reality Day. Impressive.
Your little TV spectacle already one-upped your new superstar teammates, too, a day after they'd announced their plans to play with the Heat. We'll see how that act plays over the long term in Miami-Wade County, not to mention how your posse handles places with no last-calls and no people from the neighborhood except themselves.
I don't know the exact roots of the King James stuff and the Christ-like poses, but if I remember correctly you were introducing yourself to people as "King" before you were out of high school. Considering you were living in Spring Hill but driving a $50,000-plus Hummer, rolling with diamond earrings and three cell phones and had lawyers run to rescue your high school eligibility after you took two throwback jerseys from an adoring store manager, I understand. You were the one above the rules. You were the Chosen 1 -- at least that's what your back tattoo says.
Here in Northeast Ohio we absolutely hate that you quit -- sorry, there's no better way to say it -- on your coach, your teammates and the Cavaliers' organization at the end of this year's Boston series. We saw you again two weeks later begging for attention on stage at the Drake concert and then heard you chat with Larry King, but you were otherwise silent. No comment at camp in Akron. No comment at the Cleveland free-agency meetings, not even a wave to the hundreds of gathered fans in your gear outside the IMG Building. Who needs them, anyway? They're just people.
You previously told those plebeians that you appreciated them, that you wanted them along for the ride as you chased championships here. Matter of fact, at the MVP ceremony just two months ago you said chasing those championships here was your ONLY goal. Then you quit. And you left. Your permanent file surely includes moments of greatness, basketball moves that most couldn't dream of pulling off, but it also includes empty promises -- "I won't go ring-chasing" is what you said in 2006 -- and your last home game ever as a Cavalier, Game Five vs. Boston.
That's an incomplete at best, LeBron. A rough teacher would give you an F.
And here we thought you were on the honor roll.
