The Miami Menage: Did LeBron’s Mama Boink D-Wade and Bosh, Too?

You have to be asking yourself this question after Thursday night’s “Decision.” It’s a legitimate inquiry. We already know that Mrs. James got with Delonte West at some point. So what’s to stop her from engaging in a little three-way with her son’s newest teammates?

What I really want to know is if she got a sampling from all of LeBron’s suitors. Six teams came calling for The King’s services. Did she fool around with Blake Griffin, too? What about Eddy Curry’s BBW ass? How ’bout a little Brook Lopez (Blo-pez, to the uninitiated)? These are the hardball topics that Jim Gray failed to broach. Come on, Jim. Do your job.

The consensus ruling we can take away from all this is that someone affiliated with the Heat has mad skills in the bedroom. Everybody knows that to get to LeBron, you gotta get to his mama. And I figure between D-Wade or the other newest Miami baller, Chris Bosh, one (or both) of them got the job done. Call it a Cleveland Steamer, if you will. Boom, roasted.

Anyways, moving on. For my next act, I’d like to touch on the subject of how the holy triumvirate came to be.

They’re being labeled as the Superfriends, Three Amigos, Three-Headed Monster, Superteam, what-have-you. I simply refer to D-Wade, Bosh, and Bron-Bron as the Miami Menage. As in menage a trois. I’m coining that now. If you see it elsewhere, someone punked it from me and plagiarized that sh*t. I’ve already hired a college professor to do my dirty work for me when it comes to word theft. You plagiarize me, I’ll have a prof on your ass like that. Don’t mess.

So the Miami Menage. We all know they first hooked up at the 2008 Olympic Games. They won a gold medal in Beijing, they became fast friends. Makes sense. Winning breeds love. We get that.

But what we really want to know is how it went down, went down. For real, for real. I have a theory. But first we have to state the obvious, which is this: Bosh is not as good as D-Wade or LeBron. He just isn’t. The fact that he was lucky enough to get lumped in with these mofos in the free agent pool of 2010 is a blessing. Someone decided that he was a max deal type of player, and as a result he becomes part of this elite trio. He’s Joey Fatone to ‘NSync, the tall dude with the goatee to Backstreet Boys, deep voice guy to 98 Degrees. He’s the ugly one. The one who’s part of the group by default, but isn’t really necessary. Let me put it another way. He’s the fat chick in high school that hung around with all the popular girls and became popular by association. We all know that chick. Every high school had that chick. She didn’t date anyone. She didn’t mess with anyone. But somehow she got to chill with the hotties. No one knows what she did to earn that respect. Maybe she ate all their leftovers or something. I don’t know. Just throwing it out there.

So how did Bosh get in with D-Wade and Bron, anyways?

Here’s my idea.

One night in China (also the name of an ill-advised reality sex tape if you change the spelling of “China”), D-Wade and Bron are kicking it in a hotel lobby enjoying some authentic General Tso’s chicken. They’re breaking down their plan to team up in ’10 and dominate the world as part of a revamped Heat roster. It’ll be amazing. The two of them together, smashing on fools, tearing up the league, they’ll be unstoppable.

Just as they’re finishing up their meal, in walks Bosh. If this were a TV show, there would be whimsical, dopey music playing in the background as Bosh enters the room. A tune squeaked out by an oboe or a clarinet. Some type of higher-pitched woodwind, for sure.

So here comes Bosh’s goofy Jar-Jar Binks ass plodding to the table as LeBron and D-Wade think to themselves, “Oh, sh*t. Not this guy. How much of our conversation has he heard? Damn.”

“Hey, guys!” says Bosh. “Mind if I join ya?”

Reluctantly, D-Wade and LeBron oblige. Bosh takes a seat.

“So, what were you guys just talking about? The big free agent year? 2010? We’re still gonna play together right? Right?!” Bosh cannot contain his child-like enthusiasm.

“Uh, yeah, Chris,” says D-Wade, “we’re totally still planning on playing together. All three of us. It’ll be…great.”

“Whadda ya say, LeBron?” asks Bosh. “You think it’ll be great, too? Huh, do ya? Do ya?!”

LeBron grits his teeth. “Yeah, Chris. It’ll be sooo much fun. For all of us.”

“Well that’s just hunky-dory!” exclaims Bosh. “I’m really looking forward to it, it’ll be swell! Hey, whaddya say I get some food while we’re all sittin’ here. I left my wallet back in the room, though. Do ya mind pickin’ up the tab, LeBron? I’ll get ya back, I swear I will!”

“Sure, Chris,” sighs LeBron, “order whatever you want. Just don’t try to pay me back in Canadian money this time. I’m getting sick of carrying around your dollar coins.”

And that’s how it went down. Think of LeBron as Zack Morris, D-Wade as A.C. Slater, and Bosh as Screech Powers. It makes more sense when you frame it that way. Bosh isn’t just the third wheel. He’s more like a training wheel. Something that just needs to fall off already.

When the Miami Menage suffers their first meltdown next season, I can guarantee you that Bosh will be at the center of the controversy. Book it. Right now. He’s gonna pull a Screech. And the world will be watching.

That’s all I got. This subject will never be discussed again.

Fin.

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