My NBA memory spans a half century, so I can recall bigger scoring efforts, by Elgin Baylor (61 on a weekend pass from Army Reserve duty) and by Michael Jordan (a record 63 in Boston Garden, immortalized by Larry Bird’s assessment that what the Celtics had seen that day was “God disguised as Michael Jordan”). But to my mind, the “greatest” debate comes come down to two choices—both rendered by basketball immortals in the decisive games of an NBA finals. The first was Magic Johnson, then a rookie point guard playing out of position at center in place of an injured Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, turning in a 42-point, 15-rebound effort to lead the Lakers to the 1980 NBA title; the other came in 1998, when Jordan capped a 45-point effort with a steal and a bucket in the final seconds to beat the Utah Jazz and give his Chicago Bulls a historic three-peat.
But then, no less an authority than the Boston Globe’s Bob Ryan, the premiere NBA writer of my generation, said LeBron’s breakout performance was the greatest NBA postseason performance ever. And nobody ever wins points arguing with Ryan. (If you’ve ever watched “Sports Reporters,” you know what I mean.) I admit that I too was enthralled watching James barrel down the lane for slam dunks, score inside with defenders draped all over him and drill ridiculous fadeaway threes.
Like Magic’s and Michael’s before him, James’s star turn was elevated by circumstances. The Cavs won the game in double overtime, requiring every one of LeBron’s buckets to survive. Moreover, the victory helped propel Cleveland over the favored Detroit Pistons, leading one of the league’s perennial losers into the NBA finals for the very first time. James, who is still just 22 years old after four years in the NBA, is one of those rare, overhyped high-school sensations who turned out to be better than advertised. (Today, of course, he would have been sentenced to one year in college before he was deemed NBA-ready.) He is the real and absolutely total deal—a three-fer with a point guard’s ball-handling and passing skills, a small forward’s inside-outside scoring flash and a power forward’s brawn that allows him to shed defenders as he drives to the hoop.
But now that I’ve paid my respects to the King, as well as to Ryan, I admit that I do have issues here. I see Ryan’s judgment as well-intentioned but flawed. It seemed as if he was trying to quiet his inner curmudgeon that laments (as mine does) that the league will never again rise to the heights of yesteryear—may never even approach those of its Magic, Larry and Michael heyday.
LeBron’s was certainly a remarkable example of climb-on-my-back leadership by a player who, at times, has been criticized for being too selfless. In Game 1, he passed up the final shot, dishing instead to a teammate who missed a wide-open jumper at the buzzer. Still, what ultimately made James’s Game 5 performance enthralling was that virtually all his shots went down. A few more misses and it might have been written off—his reputation for selflessness notwithstanding—as another dispiriting NBA example of the one-man game and, ultimately, a dubious entertainment.
Those of us who have stuck with the NBA through its post-Jordan ratings doldrums see versions of what LeBron did all the time—from the game’s greats and near-greats. When the game is on the line in the final seconds (or sometimes throughout the game), the team’s star—be it Kobe Bryant, Michael Redd, Paul Pierce, Dirk Nowitzki, Gilbert Arenas or whomever—stands around at the three-point line dribbling out the clock until he makes a last-gasp move or two and launches a buzzer-beating shot. Sometimes it wins the game, more often it doesn’t. While James was staging his ultimate triumph, Chauncey Billups tried to play that same role for Detroit, dribbling out the clock before he flashed into the lane and threw up a 12-footer that would have won the game, had it not spun out.
James simply extended the final-seconds concept to the final 22 minutes—the fourth quarter and two overtimes. The lack of majesty in this one-man game—even when that one man is King—is the reason that every sports writer in the nation was rooting for the freewheeling, team-oriented Phoenix Suns to reach the finals. Which is why so many writers were harsh with NBA Commissioner David Stern when a disciplinary ruling by the league helped thwart the Suns’ chances of beating the San Antonio Spurs. After Phoenix, you have to go a long way, maybe to Argentina or Spain, to witness compelling team basketball that used to define the NBA elite.
I take nothing away from LeBron. In the next and clinching game, he demonstrated the full range of his greatness. He exploited the Pistons’ inevitable reaction to his heroics, drawing the defensive hordes before dishing off to the unguarded and formerly anonymous Daniel Gibson, who coolly drained a succession of three-point shots. It was reminiscent of how Jordan utilized the sharp-shooting skills of first John Paxson and then Steve Kerr. Like most other fans, I am especially thankful that LeBron spared us what loomed as a tedious rematch of the 2005 finals between Detroit and San Antonio, two less than stirring, teams. (That 2005 finals matchup was the NBA’s lowest rated since the early 1980s, when it rode the Magic-Larry rivalry back into prime time from exile on late-night tape delay.)
Now, with the finals kicking off in San Antonio tonight, the NBA has something to sell: a showdown between Tim Duncan and James, the only two No. 1 NBA draft picks of the last decade who have proved to be franchisemakers. Duncan has been the league’s best player since shortly after his arrival in 1997, leading the Spurs to three championships. But his skill set is short on the spectacular and his bland personality has never been especially enticing. James, by contrast, is intense and dynamic, a marketer’s dream. And it took “the next Michael” three fewer seasons than it did the original to lead his team into the finals. Now if James can just lead the Cavs to one more series upset, it could mark the start of the NBA’s next dynasty. That is more than enough to assure that I will be glued to the set. Which isn’t quite the same thing as saying I expect to enjoy watching it.
