Kawhi Leonard, Cornrows, And Why Rich, Old, White Guys Are The Only Winners In Sports

If there’s a way that players or fans can win, show me.

LeBron James corrupted me. His career looks so much like justice, for black bodies lost, that he’s spoiled me. I admit that’s why I’m a Stan.

He could lose every championship round, flame out after an injury, or…join the most dominant franchise in basketball and my loyalty would not flinch. His story means more to me than his accolades do.

When I first heard the rumors that James might become a Laker, I was laying in an air-conditioned hotel room, last fall, at a TV network’s awards show. I didn’t go for the show, both because I was there for work, and because my body wilted when the hotel food burned through my stomach.

My only solace was free cable, and in my prone pain, I clicked on ESPN to hear the latest. There, men and women sat at desks trying to re-paint LeBron’s grace in a highlight voice-over.

They always failed.

Because in sport, like in art, you have to be there to enjoy the spectacle. When you’re not there, when you’re like me, sprawled on the bed next to a room service Sprite and suspect steak frites, the lack of delight buries you in downy sheets.