Silence Needs Its Authors
Allow me to set the scene for you. I am still in Oklahoma. Slightly less homicidal after a bang-up record day, but still wish I were stranded in an abandoned boxcar on an island made of chipped teeth. As the fourth quarter is set to begin, I send out an email effectively ending FreeDarko, at least for the time being. I'm tired, this season let me down big-time (seeing the LeBron's only brings me wist), and I've never considered blogging the heart and soul of my creative hustle.
And then, it happens. You may think that god sent this game to save the playoffs, or the NBA, or the networks. But on the seriously flat and total, He did it for me. For us. For the will to recover the future that has only now been validated in its infinite not-yet-being.
There's really not much to say after this kind of basketball ultra-event, and that's for the best. This is why we do all the talking--in hopes of getting to stand at the foot of this sort of divine emulsion. All the more so with FreeDarko, which has from day one idolized potential exactly because of its limitless possibility. With this James moment, we get the best of both worlds. It's proof that our dreams and projections have not been misplaced, and yet augurs an enture new vista of ramped-up ambition. Get out that Aristotle: this is that second stage, where the bird has the wings but knows not yet how to use them.
To me, the most stirring non-Gilbert snapshots from the '06 'Offs were LeBron's gamewinner and Kobe's gamewinner. Yet in retrospect, there was way too much room to nit-pick James's shot, and Kobe's was all too easily effaced by his burdensome history (and a game seven that brough out all the demons in droves). Tonight's LeBron reign even had its own mini, greatly improved version of the versus Wizards drive. I'd say that knifing through the entire Detroit defense for a wide-open lay-up, completely contortion-free at the end, counts as irrevocable proof that he can't be touched, he can't be seen, he can only be felt reverberating off the rafters.
I stand before you more convinced than ever that the league can once again foster greatness. That the stars can come home to roost. That Kobe will yet find his redemption, McGrady will hit the three that sends the Rockets into round two, Melo and AI will execute a perfect two-mean weave while fixing their braids, and Amare will one day block his own dunk and get credit for both acts. What LeBron did tonight was unlock all that we have strived for, and remind me why I've been piling up all these syllables for almost three seasons now.
It was so that, the more frequently these things do happen, the less I will need to speak. It's not time yet, and when LeBron has fulfilled the prophecy there will be other soldiers of light to outfit with symbolism and rhetoric. Their action signals the end to our din of contemplative inaction; a game like that was meant to be felt, not picked apart.
LeBron made me see that our work is not yet done with him, but will be one day. That brought me comfort, and gives me the strength to carry on.
Okay, if you want the truth, my conversion when Sheed went to the line for some semi-crucial free throws whose exact nature currently escapes me. Your boy Varejao, who is definitely definitely definitely the second-best player on the Cavs, threw up the Roc. . . to distract Wallace on the line. It has those powers, you know, or at least that's what Bron likes to tell foreigners.