Ever since the NBA stole my beloved Sonics and dropped them in the middle of Podunkville, USA, I’ve wanted nothing more than to see the world grab the league by its backside and plow it relentlessly into submission.
It’s not often that we get to see the world screw the NBA, but it could happen this year, this summer in fact. And that pillaging begins and ends with LeBron James.
Bron Bron, as we all know, is a free agent. He is willing and able to sign with any of thirty NBA franchises. Everyone has an opinion on where they think LeBron should land. Some people want him to stay in Cleveland. Some want him to go to New York. Some to Chicago. Some to Miami. Some to New Jersey. The list goes on.
There is one team, however, that isn’t getting the credit they deserve in their pursuit of King James. Even though they happen to reside in the nation’s second-largest media market. Even though they have plenty of ample cash to ink LeBron’s John Hancock. And even though they might very well possess one of the more promising nuclei in the National Basketball Association.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in case you haven’t figured it out by now, the team I desperately want LeBron to sign with is none other than those underdog Los Angeles Clippers. I know what you’re thinking. But I don’t care.
Hear me out.
If you despise David Stern and hold a grudge against The League the way I do, the Clippers could not be a more perfect fit for LeBron. Why, you ask? Well, it’s very simple. The Clippers suck. Or, perhaps I should say they did suck. They won’t suck if and when they land the King.
And here’s the thing. The Clippers have been so bad over the years that if they were to land LeBron, I’m not so sure that Fuhrer Stern (and for the record, I’m referring to him as Fuhrer Stern for the rest of this article) would be able to handle it.
For Stern, watching LeBron head west and don a Clippers jersey would be the equivalent of watching a beloved rich uncle’s estate bequeathed unto the incapable hands of one’s redheaded stepbrother. Not just any redheaded stepbrother, either. The ugly one who no one likes. Who has no blood relation to the rest of the family. Who still eats his boogers at the age of 30, who hangs out at the comic book shop on weekends playing Magic cards, who showers every three days, who has no job and lives in the basement on a futon. It would be like that. But quite possibly even worse.
Let’s be honest with ourselves for a minute. Like it or not, as of this moment, LeBron James is the face of the NBA.
And now a brief caveat, before all you Kobe fans get on my case about this.
Please note that I never referred to James as the “best” player in the NBA. That topic is strictly up for debate. I’m merely stating that Bron Bron is the “face” of the league, and we can’t really dispute that. While Kobe is a fantastic ballplayer who wins championships, he has shied away from the media ever since that harlot in Colorado accused him of taking it too strongly to the wrong rack. As a result, the once-charming teenager who played second fiddle to Shaquille O’Neal in his early days became a cold-blooded assassin focused on winning games and winning games only. His relative apathy towards replacing Michael Jordan as the image associated with an entire generation of basketball players has resulted in a decade of uncertainty in the NBA which, not surprisingly, has coincided with the league’s financial troubles.
Since 2003, when James first suited up in the outfit of his hometown Cleveland Cavaliers, I’d imagine that David Stern has been walking around with a tiny little boner every time he gets within a few-hundred feet of the 6’8″ man-child. Despite having won as many world championships as, say, Justin Bieber, LeBron remains the greatest hope for the future of the NBA. From a marketing perspective, at least.
James is 25 years old, he possesses a great deal of charisma, he has a good sense of humor, he’s arguably the most talented (again, I didn’t say “best,” Kobe fans) player in the league, and he’s poised to sign with one of a handful of major-market franchises that could conceivably take LeBron The Branded Image and ejaculate it all over the world. Take our load, China. Wipe that LeBron off your chin, you look foolish.
In Stern’s wet dreams, I’d reckon he visualizes the King taking flight in New York, in a Knicks jersey, winning games in Madison Square Garden. The idyllic arena, the idyllic athlete, the idyllic organization. That combo could bring in a lot of money for the NBA.
In my wet dreams, I see things that probably shouldn’t be conveyed in print. But when I’m awake, I fantasize about LeBron as a Clipper. Not because I love the Clips. Not because I care about The League. Not because I care about LeBron. But because I hate David Stern, and I want his empire to fail. Epically.
LeBron in L.A. could become something amazing, who knows. Maybe he’d end up with the Clips and win title after title. It certainly wouldn’t be impossible. Not with the likes of Blake Griffin, Baron Davis, Eric Gordon, and Chris Kaman (lest we forget Kaman, who is ugly as sin but still a damn good center) surrounding him. It could happen. Seriously.
But whether or not L.A.’s other team could win titles even with the King on board would be irrelevant to the marketing side of the NBA. You think kids in New York City would be willing to drop significant allowance money on a LeBron James Clippers jersey? I doubt it. And that’s only the tip of the iceberg.
Having two future Hall of Famers in Kobe and LeBron playing side by side in the same township — in the same arena, no less — would be too much of a good thing. Whereas Kobe and LeBron in separate metropolises could net significant profits for two arenas and sell gear to two citizenships, the Los Angeles pairing of the dynamic duo would only bring in those dollars for one arena and one citizenship. Sure, for us outsiders looking in it would be fantastically intriguing. Like getting with two hot chicks at the same time, as opposed to one. But for Fuhrer Stern, this would be no exciting threesome.
I almost feel bad using the Clippers as a vehicle for my misguided desires. Haven’t their fans been through enough already? This is what I keep asking myself. Don’t get me wrong though, Clips fans, I’m pulling for you guys. Even if it happens to be a little tongue-in-cheek.
I’d like nothing more than to watch Fuhrer Stern’s paunchy old ass trudge across the country to sit courtside at a Clippers game. That would make me so very happy. I’d wager that Stern hasn’t ever been to a Clips game. At least not since they moved from San Diego. Hell, I could see Stern actually chartering a flight to the Whale’s Vagina, landing on the tarmac, and wandering around the city drinking milk looking for the team. Milk was a bad choice, by the way.
So what if my motives are a little sinister? The Clippers need LeBron James and I want nothing more than to see them get him. Come on, Clips. Let’s send a giant middle finger to the rest of the league and sign the King already. Together, we can make it happen.