The New Big Three? Let’s Wait and See

I’m done fuming about LeBron. (Maybe). It has now been eleven days since LBJ’s fateful life-altering, mind-blowing, landscape-revamping, earth-shattering, loyalty-combusting, legacy-tarnishing, self-indulgent-exuding decision (what has come to be known ironically as…“The Decision”) that saw him sit in front of a camera and reveal to the world that he would be “taking his talents to South Beach and play with the Miami Heat,” and honestly, I’m through griping about it. (Maybe). In the past, whenever I’ve learned a new piece of valuable sports information—most notably that of a blockbuster trade or significant free agent signing—my typical reaction has been instinctive, impulsive, and right to the point, as I often have found myself arriving at a bold conclusion within the first few seconds of pondering the new information at hand.

For example, I remember when I was a sophomore in high school napping on a bus back to campus from a JV Basketball game, when I was rudely awoken by a friend who informed me that the Yankees had just traded for Alex Rodriguez. As a Yankee fan, I was ecstatic. And, as myself, I was predictably extemporaneous: “We’re going to win the World Series!” I blurted out mere moments later. The disgusted looks of my teammates, the majority of whom who were ardent Red Sox fans, will forever be tattooed on the annals of my memory. For there I was, my countenance and emotions in diametric contradiction to the sullen expressions plastered across their faces, a supporter of the baseball club that now could claim ownership for the best player in the game.

There was a silence, and a gloomy one at that, as my fellow teammates sat behind me facing forward, their dejectedness palpable as the A-Rod news percolated throughout the vehicle. I was smug, but had been with good reason. The Red Sox had been the favorites to land Rodriguez throughout the entire winter, but a seemingly imminent exchange with Texas for Manny Ramirez never materialized, and the Evil Empire had reigned supreme once again, just as they had a thousand times before. I was about to turn around and for the first time in my life truly enjoy a bus ride, when one of my teammates spoke up, and I’ll never forget the words that came out of his mouth: “I still think the Red Sox are a better team.” Damn you.

In hindsight, I was right. The Yankees did win a World Series, and Alex Rodriguez was a big reason why. It just didn’t occur until six years after I made my definitive forecast. Boston, of course, won the World Series in A-Rod’s first season with New York and did so in fairytale manner beating the Yankees in the 2004 ALCS after being down in the series three games to zero…blah blah blah blah blah. Where was I going with this again?

Oh yeah. LeBron. That’s right. It was on the 8th of July when I watched “The Decision,” when I was reminded of my impulsive nature of yesteryear and presented a rare opportunity for reflection and redemption. When James made the announcement, the initial sentiment I felt was disappointment. Having suffered through a tumultuous decade of ineptitude as a Knicks fan, it was this summer—this moment actually—that was supposed to change one sphere of my life drastically. I had already envisioned it: I would move to New York, work at some awesome job, and in the evenings attend MSG to watch the one and only LeBron James throw up his chalk and do his thing on the court for the orange and blue, and eventually lead them to one of multiple championships that I could tell my children and then my children’s children about.

Thanks a lot.

My disappointment then morphed into anger. So he was going to Miami to join forces with Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh. Yeah, that seemed fair: two of the league’s top three players on the same team with a five-time All-Star power forward to boot (and this was still days before it was suggested that Pat Riley might have been orchestrating this coup years ago from the time when there was even a sniff of the three starlets teaming up together). On top of that, the Knicks’ master plan to clear cap space (which began in November 2008 with the trading of Jamal Crawford and Zach Randolph...on the same day) and use that and the majestic amenities of New York City as a selling point to lure big name free agents—no, sorry, exclusively LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, and Chris Bosh—to MSG had failed, and the one guy they obtained— Amar'e Stoudemire—has feeble knees and doesn’t even get along with head coach Mike D’Antoni. Excuse me, the two have since “cleared the air” over a plate of truffles and scones, I forgot. Oh, and Crawford won sixth man of the year last season and Randolph was an All-Star in the WESTERN CONFERENCE. My anger gradually turned into an overwhelming fervent rage.


I had loathed the Heat before, having grown up during the Tim Hardaway-Alonzo Mourning-P.J. Brown era, but this was a new kind of abhorrence. Miami, at least on paper, had the most talented roster in the NBA, and that was evident looking only at three players. They have since added savvy veterans Žydrūnas Ilgauskas and Mike Miller to bolster the new big three’s supporting cast, but it really won’t matter who they sign to fill their roster’s quota. In a league whose exuberant youth is more prevalent than ever, in those brief moments following “The Decision,” I likened the rest of the NBA’s hopes when compared to those of the Miami Heat to some lyrics off of one of B.o.B’s latest tracks: the kids don’t stand a chance.

But then I remembered the words of my teammate on that bus ride more than half a decade ago. When word broke the Yankees had added the most gifted baseball player on the planet to an already star-studded roster, my friend still felt the Red Sox had the better club. He was right. So the Miami Heat has LeBron, D-Wade, and Bosh. So what. Will it work? What’s the team chemistry going to be like? Who’s going to take the final shot? And is Chris Bosh really that good (to this day, I have yet to meet anyone who has watched a Toronto Raptors game in its entirety)? We don’t know…yet. But one thing is for sure: a new era, for better or worse, has dawned on the NBA, and the rest of the league will be forced to take note whether they like it or not. But unless your from Miami, or just a fan of Wade, Bosh, or James (though he’s losing fans faster than BP at this point), I think it’s safe to say you’ll be rooting against them (Welcome, the Yankees of basketball). And even if LBJ isn’t okay with that, it’s exactly what he signed up for when he made his—eh-hem, “THE Decision.”