The Return of the King

Before I even read LeBron’s letter, I called my grandpa. The man is a 75 year-old walking, talking encyclopedia of Cleveland sports, and the last time he saw one of his teams win a meaningful title was when he was 10 years old and the Tribe won the World Series in 1948 (1964 is a fraud, it wasn't even the Super Bowl!).

The reason I’m even a Cleveland sports fan, and maybe even a sports fan at all, is because of him. As a youngster, we're drawn to all out passion and joy in a way that we try to lose to be cool as we age. But passion and joy is what I saw when I saw him talk about the Cavs, Indians, and Browns. That’s how I became a fan.

My first memory of a basketball game as appointment viewing was at his house. We watched the hapless Cavs, lead by Ricky Davis of people, take on the old Charlotte Hornets. I was about six and didn’t last long as far as paying attention goes, but he told me every anecdote he knew about every guy on the floor and on the bench (a practice I inherited). The Cavs probably lost, but looking back that’s not even a big deal. The time we spent together watching the game and what I learned is what the game is about.

If my grandpa planted the seeds of my sports fandom, my dad watered the plant. He was never too busy to throw the baseball or football or to shoot hoops. And more times than I can possibly count, we’ve witnessed together wins that have lead to ecstasy, but also losses that left us angry and sometimes more than a little depressed. A text from him is how I found out about LeBron’s plans to return home.

From both men I learned that sports isn’t some psychotic end, it’s one of many means to a joyful life. 

            After talking over each other with raised voices for five minutes, my grandpa and I hung up. Then I read LeBron’s letter. I was touched by how much he now understands the importance of home--something that isn’t cool but is admirable.

            The letter is humble. He doesn’t guarantee a thing, but is confident—he knows what his presence means. It is about family. It’s about caring about your past—being grateful for what you’ve been given, and wanting to give back whatever you can because of that. It also forgives. LeBron refuses to let Dan Gilbert’s foolish letter get in the way of the more important stuff. Above all else, it understands the importance of being tied down to a place--something nobody can really understand until they’ve spent some time away.

And that’s all LeBron did. He spent some time away, and that’s what it took for him to realize how much he loves the place he was shaped by. More importantly, that’s how he realized what kind of a positive impact he’s able to make.

            For the last four years, I despised LeBron after attending countless unforgettable Cavs playoff games with my dad. The Decision is exactly what I despise about sports--self above team and the effort to be the hero of your own story without caring about outside consequences.

            All Cleveland sports fans overreacted when he left. I certainly did. I didn’t even really watch the NBA for three years because of it. But The Letter, as the sports media is sure to dub it, washes all of that away because LeBron clearly now gets what sports are for.  They’re about bringing to joy to the tedium of every day life, and they’re best enjoyed with family and friends.

            That’s exactly what LeBron wants to do now. Build something with his family and friends close by. It’s a rare and admirable desire. And not just for sports. Few 29 year-olds understand the importance of family and place like LeBron now does. Actually most people twice his age don’t either.

            I’m glad, but not surprised to see Clevelanders slay the proverbial fatted calf all over TV today due to the return of the sports world’s very own prodigal son. Every sports fan should react just like the father in the parable and rejoice in his return.