Thank You Bleedland
When Kyrie hit that
three with 53 seconds left, my mind stretched back through the years of
heartbreaking moments wherein this exact thing happened to us. The moment when
you realized, “It’s over!” Except this time it was us breaking hearts. I had
this crazy hope and yet I couldn’t allow myself to hope, after all Jordan’s
shot over Ehlo still threatened my dreams…Curry and Thompson and Draymond were
still on the floor. And then James hit his second free throw and I almost
believed we got this. But then I remembered Byner’s fumble and Jose Mesa’s
choke in the 9th and reigned in my excitement. There was still 6
seconds left and GSW was inbounding and Curry got the step and the shot...time stopped...he missed, a mad scramble and Speights put up a hilarious prayer and all the
times I’ve watched Cleveland do this exact same thing vaporized and even though
I was alone I clinched my fists heartily, I was already standing pacing the
floor and ripping my hair out, but I clinched my fists and punched the air.
I’m happy LBJ got the
MVP, but while I have no analytics to support this, I seem to remember Irving
being the more clutch player. It seemed that when Cleveland really needed
something to happen he was the one to do something big. A shake-n-bake with a
step-back mid-range…a down-hill drive with a crazy left-handed,
high-off-the-glass lay-up…an off-screen behind the arc
crowd-deflating/inflating three…or some ridiculous ankle-breaking handle that
made even the Oracle ooh and ahh! I understand LBJ dominated the last three
games and that’s why he got the MVP, that’s what allowed Uncle Drew to do his
thing and “get buckets,” but holy hell batman, Kyrie-diculous was a killer in
this series.
I watched the playoffs
in Germany with League Pass and this is a strange experience because you get
pure game, no hype, no commercials, and the sounds of the game are often times
devoid of the network propaganda. When I saw the end of the game and Lebron’s
reaction it almost seemed contrived to me. I know this is a crazy notion
because he wanted this really badly. It seemed to me he was trying to invoke
the spirit of Michael Jordan’s first championship in Chicago. The difference,
and one that’s hard for me to swallow, is that LBJ left Cleveland. Jordan
stayed and fought until he won, then he won three and quit to go play baseball.
It’s not a fair comparison I know…Jordan was older, wiser when he went to the
NBA. He graduated college, got a degree, played four years in North Carolina.
James came out of high school. When he failed to overcome adversity he was
still young and let Wade convince him to “take his talents to South Beach.”
Maybe if James had gone to college for four years he wouldn’t have been so
naïve. He was just a kid so, while I didn’t watch basketball in 2011, I still
forgave him. In a way I was happy for him. Finally a player who was writing his
own destiny, vs getting traded, moved and manipulated like so much chattel. I
never burned the shirt that bore his name.
Watching the games on
League Pass there are no commercials, no hype. In time outs the camera pans the
crowd, aims at the on-court cheerleading, t-shirt tossing, and parachute
dropping that when you’re in the stadium you would be subjected to. But they
turn the volume down and whatever music is playing on the loudspeaker is funneled
down through the broadcast without the background of the crowd. It’s like
you’re there but not really there. Like I said, devoid of hype and the feeling
of being there. I watched it alone in my apartment. My wife and son had already
moved to Slany, Czech Republic and I was alone to clean, repair and paint the
flat to ensure our three month deposit is returned in full. Nothing but my bed,
a small table for my computer and cleaning and paint supplies. The games
usually started at 3:00 AM. I’d wake up most games a little before tip-off and
watch the whole game. In the case of the finals, this was agonizing. You can
imagine, the shouting and pacing and exuberating cheers and howling…all of this
echoing through my vacant flat…my neighbors already thought I was a lunatic. I
watched with JJ. He was in Portland and we WhatsApped throughout the playoffs.
The League Pass broadcast, to my surprise, was a little delayed compared to
network broadcast, and at times he was tipping me off to events to come, it was
a little like seeing into the future. Sometimes that was a good thing, other
times, not so much.
JJ was definitely the
more optimistic. I kept reminding him that throughout Cleveland’s run, they
never really faced anything comparable to what lay in store for them from the
West. I actually feared OKC more than GSW. Even though James has
Durant/Westbrook’s number, they really looked like they’d figured it out. And
if not for the hero ball tactics over the last two games they should have won.
JJ kept reminding me during the finals, it’s not over yet! I kept remembering
last year, and 2010 when Lebron seemed to give up in the Boston series. It
seemed to me he was giving up. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t taking
control, why wasn’t he playing with urgency. After game four I was sure it was
over. The way they played winding down the fourth quarter looked like they
thought they were in the lead. My last WhatsApp to him after that game… “What a
Joke!”
I told myself I wasn’t
going to get up at 3 AM and watch game five, but I did anyway. Game six I said
I’ll sleep until the fourth quarter and see what’s what, but I woke up at 3 and
watched the whole thing. I was so excited all day Friday. On Saturday I watched
games 5 and 6 a couple times each while making memes of Draymond Green as Bubba
Blue from Forrest Gump. I tried to
infect the Cavs fb page with multiple posts of the same image but it never took
hold. I was sitting alone in my flat making memes and posting them secretly
laughing to myself about how clever I was. It was fun, but nobody got it.
Game seven came and I
slept through the first three quarters. I couldn’t bring myself to watch, I was
so certain they’d choke…Cleveland always chokes. We’re always the ones left
staring at the screen. Like at the end of game four, when Cleveland was cooked
and they went on that fouling barrage in the last two minutes hoping for
anything and the entire Q arena stood, no one leaving, everyone simply staring
slack-jawed and feckless at the tragedy unfolding before them. That’s the way
our seasons end in Cleveland. I woke up and JJ had shot a few WhatsApp’s at me
and I was encouraged. By the time I logged into League Pass, the fourth was
just about to start and it was 75-75 or something like that and I sat straight
up in bed, made a coffee and started messaging JJ. What’s going on man? What
you think? What’s the vibe? He was positive in his responses. GSW hitting 3’s
and CLE battling straight-ahead LBJ style basketball to keep it close. I
scanned the box-scores during time-outs and it looked good except CLE’s 3-point
shooting was terrible.
Well the rest, as they
say, is history. I told JJ before game seven that LBJ coming back and trying to
recreate history wouldn’t work. It’s like getting back with an old flame, the
moment’s passed, it never works out. But the difference here is that James
didn’t come back…sure he returned to Cleveland, but the relationship was with
his team, not us. We are all only witnesses to this, and it’s good enough for
me. It’s LBJ and Kyrie. Irving and Lebron. These two guys should have been
given the MVP together. Without James, Kyrie is just a really awesome scorer,
and without Kyrie, James is all alone and runs out of gas (i.e. 2015 finals).
I love Cleveland. I
remember the first time I watched a football game. My dad and I watched it on
my little black and white TV in the kitchen. They were playing the Vikings and
my dad was explaining to me how the game is played and by the time the game was
ending I was hooked. Cleveland was leading and time was running out and my dad
and I are screaming at the TV and Fran Tarkenton threw a hail-mary bomb down
the right sideline. The ball was tipped around and bobbled and finally landed
in the hands of a Minnesota wide receiver. I was crushed. It was my initiation
into Cleveland sports. It wasn’t long after that our family started attending
Indians games at old Municipal stadium. I’ll never forget the field opening up
as we came out of the concourse and into the stands…the bright green field and
the contrasting rich brown base paths. That moment resonates every time I walk
into a professional baseball stadium. There were times it seemed like the
stadium was empty, the lone drummer beating his impotent drum in the bleachers.
A spattering of boo’s ran around the stands after the opposing team ran off
this pitcher or that, and when something good did happen in the game the sounds
of clapping barely registered in the cavernous stadium. It became a running
joke that every time the Esterles attended a game the Tribe was sure to lose. I
remember, Go Joe Charboneau! and Here We Go Brownies, Here We Go! The Tribe’s
alive in 85! The Kardiac Kids! Mark Price, World B. Free. I remember going to
watch the old Barons play and even had a pennant from them that I think I kept
until I was in my 20’s. We went to an Indians game once in Minneapolis with my
aunt and uncle to watch them play in the then brand new Metrodome. The ceiling
would breathe up and down as the doors flung open at the end of the game. I
caught a foul ball that day. I remember going to a Cavs game once with my
friend Matt and Jon and JJ was there too. Matt’s dad got into an accident, it
was winter and we were driving out route 303 and his dad swerved, lost control
and ended up in the ditch. Somehow we got to the game. The old Coliseum seemed
to come out of nowhere after driving along that old two-lane highway through
the Cuyahoga national parks. Suddenly the forest around opened up to a gleaming
edifice with white lights pushing out the darkness.
Going to these games,
events, transcended the outcome. It was being with friends, or the times I’ve
gone alone (and there were many) the atmosphere was enough company to outshine
whatever happened in the game. But, every single season of my life, childhood
and adult, has ended in “Why?!” or “There’s always next year.” or “Man, so
close!” or “They got robbed!” or “F#$%’in Jordan!” or “Browns Suck!” or any
number of appellations. Not this year suckers! This year we get to cheer. We
get to be happy about our team doing something no one thought possible. We get
to read the newspapers, watch the news, read the fb posts, and live in this
moment. Thanks for the memories CLE! Thanks for doing what I began to think
would never happen in Cleveland! Thanks for kicking ass! Go Cavs!
