The American League’s come-from-behind victory, on a pinch-hit home run by LeBron James, reverses what would have been the World Series schedule. It means that the A. L. will now host the World Series opener and, if necessary, the deciding seventh game–the one that has been won by the home team in each of the last eight World Series that have gone the full distance.
OK, I know it was actually Texas Rangers third baseman Hank Blalock, not LeBron James, who won the game. But how many folks outside of my aging gang of baseball cronies had heard of one of the game’s best young hitters before Tuesday night? Unlike the NBA, where James is a household name before he’s scored his first bucket, Major League Baseball prefers to promote the game’s grand traditions, even as it tramples them. If Fox suggests adding a little jousting to the World Series, Barry Bonds and Roger Clemens will be armed with lances and charging each other on the base paths. True fans bristle at the contrivances and the faux fans aren’t converted; Fox’s All-Star ratings matched last year’s record low.
I opted not to attend the baseball game that “counted,” preferring instead to take in a basketball game that nobody pretended did–and to watch the aforementioned LeBron in his Boston Summer League debut. Along with hundreds of other journalists in attendance, I wanted to make my own assessment of the Cleveland Cavaliers phenom. None of us was anxious to parrot the conventional wisdom and proclaim James the second coming. We were searching out that fatal flaw, the one that would enable us to be the first to pronounce the kid overrated. Not the next Michael Jordan, but the next Harold Miner–a man who was once dubbed Baby Jordan, but wound up bearing as close a resemblance to His Airness as I do to Mel Gibson.
The opening minutes gave us hope, as James was schooled by the Boston Celtics’ own rookie hotshot, Marcus Banks. First the 6'2" Banks, who has reaped the benefits of four years of college seasoning, beat James off the dribble, exploding past him for an easy layup. Then, when LeBron went right back at him in the macho fashion of youth, Banks, who surrenders six inches to James, bellied him out along the baseline, forcing an off-balance shot that didn’t land in the same zip code as the rim.
But that was pretty much the end of our wishful thinking. By the final buzzer, I was just another true believer. Sure, some quicker point guards will, on occasion, blow by him. But later in the game, when Banks beat him two more time, James used his long arms to block the shots from behind. And while pressure defense may occasionally upset his rhythm, James appears blessed with the total package: a reliable outside shot; a quick first stride to the hoop; and a classic point guard’s court vision. All should combine to humble even the most exuberant defenders, as James did Banks along the baseline for a highlight-film slam dunk.
Now nobody confuses these Reebok Summer League encounters with the rigors of regular-season NBA competition. If they did, they’d be wondering, after New Jersey’s third-year power forward Brian Scalabrine hit 9 for 13, why the Nets bothered to sign Alonzo Mourning. It helps to have some perspective when a second-year Philly guard named John Salmons torches the Nets for 29 points while dishing out six assists. But before you say move over Alan Iverson, my handy media guide reveals that those all-world numbers were produced by a youngster who averaged 2.1 points as a rookie last season.
So it wasn’t James’ numbers–25 points, 9 rebounds, 5 assists, 2 blocks–that were impressive, even though they really were. Even more so when you consider that the kid said he had brought only his “‘C’ game” onto the floor that evening. But no highlight film or box score conveys what an extraordinary physical presence James is on the court. He is a point guard in a power forward’s body–Magic with more muscle. James was equally impressive off the court afterward: gracious, self-effacing and smartly respectful of Banks, with whom he will likely do battle for years to come. He seems totally at ease with the media hordes, which isn’t as easy as it sounds when you’re Nike’s $90-million-man cast as the centerpiece of a Reebok show.
But James possesses all the superceleb instincts of this media age, which explains why he skipped out on the Cavs’ second game against New Jersey to attend the ESPY awards in Hollywood. (You don’t actually think he was ducking Scalabrine, do you?) James already has enough stature in that world to share the stage as an award presenter with the legendary Julius Erving. “You’re old school, I’m no school,” he quipped on cue to Dr. J. But for one evening, at least, LeBron came away empty-handed, winning neither award-best breakthrough athlete or best play-for which he was nominated.
As for Hank Blalock, he wasn’t at the ESPYs. And it will be a tossup whether there will be more fans in the small U Mass, Boston gym to watch James’ next game or in the stands in St. Pete tonight, where the All-Star hero will play against the Devil Rays. But come October, Blalock’s homer may prove bigger than any network award-only to rival players on another A.L. team. As Yankee slugger Jason Giambi said after the All-Star Game, “If it gets to Game 7 and we get that win, I’m sure I’m going to send Hank Blalock a 12-pack of something.” I feel the same way. The World Series opens on my birthday. If, thanks to Hank, I get to celebrate at Fenway Park, I promise to render a decidedly revisionist view on All-Star Games that count. Until then, unlike LeBron, much ado about nothing.
