The San Antonio Spurs’ Manu Ginobili stands at the top of the key, waiting. The third quarter of Game Seven of the N.B.A. Finals is drawing to a close. He’s watching the shot clock, trying to time his drive to the basket perfectly with the end of the quarter. He sees his teammate Tim Duncan slide next to him, ready to set a screen, and he responds—he starts right, and deftly sidesteps his defenders, carving enough space to go up and lay the ball in with his left hand. Spurs 71, Miami Heat 69, five seconds left in the quarter, Heat ball. Every member of the Spurs runs to cover Heat star LeBron James on the inbound pass. But the ball goes to Mario Chalmers, who dribbles up the court, stops about seven feet before the three-point line, shoots, and scores. Heat 72, Spurs 71. That sequence, unfolding over the course of just half a minute, was the epitome of the entire series: amazing play, topped. The Spurs shooting well, the Heat bullying their way back. This was not last year’s Finals, a 4-1 rout lacking in excitement and intrigue. This was basketball played at its finest by the best. As such, it was only fitting that it was James who effectively brought these Finals to an end by hitting a jump shot with twenty-seven seconds left in the game that sealed the victory, and a second straight championship for the Heat. The body of work that James has put together during the past two seasons has been remarkable. He has been consistent and versatile, seamlessly transitioning from point guard to power forward to shooter and succeeding in all positions. Players, coaches, fans, analysts—they all devoured his performances, and James was happy to welcome their words with a humility unusual for athletes of his stature. It was a far cry from the James of three years ago, the one who took part in the “The Decision.” And yet, even after all his success, when he and his team stumbled earlier in the series, the same old questions reëmerged, and the lurking critics saw their opening. With James, every game has added implications: his legacy, his reputation, even the legitimacy of his talent are always on the line. Basketball has a tendency to define one player’s successes by comparing them to another’s, even when those comparisons make little sense. LeBron James is the greatest player in the N.B.A. today; the question of whether or not he might have been the best if he were facing Michael Jordan at his prime isn’t relevant, or answerable. The moments we’re privy to during the Finals, any Finals, are just snapshots of a single era and a single season. James is more gifted than any other athlete in league history. That fact is constant, and it is, perversely, what dogs him. His talent is so rare, so overwhelming, that it frustrates N.B.A. devotees when he fails to capitalize on it in every way possible, or to summon Jordan’s competitive instinct to accompany it. Why doesn’t he drive to the hoop more often? Why did he settle for four three-pointers in the first half of Game Seven? Why does he always pass the ball so much in the first quarter? Why doesn’t he post up whenever Tony Parker is guarding him? James is so good at so many different components of his sport that we are afforded the opportunity to criticize nearly any one of his on-court decisions—whatever he does, there are five other options that seem equally favorable, because he can do them all. This is a delicate problem for fans and analysts: given the gift of so much data to pick apart and analyze, the self-gratifying diversion of isolating James’s deficiencies has become a sport of its own. But even James’s staunchest detractors could not possibly find any real fault in his performance on Thursday night. He played, by any measure, a masterful game, scoring thirty-seven points while shooting better than fifty per cent, and accounting for nearly as many points, either directly or indirectly, with his passes. Last year, after the Heat lost to the Oklahoma City Thunder in Game One of the Finals, some people started to wonder whether James was this generation’s Jerry West: an incredible talent plagued by astonishing misfortune in the N.B.A. Finals. (West had to lose six times to the Boston Celtics before finally earning his ring against the New York Knicks.) He is not that—we know that much. He is not Michael Jordan, either, or Magic Johnson. He is, as he said after the retired great Bill Russell handed him his Finals M.V.P. trophy on Thursday night, merely “LeBron James, from Akron, Ohio.” And he’s doing just fine at it. Photograph: Mike Ehrmann/Getty. KEYWORDS LEBRON JAMES; MIAMI HEAT; NBA FINALS; BASKETBALL
Posted on: Fri, 21 Jun 2013 14:23:51 +0000
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