If you want a player by player analysis of what makes the Lakers still the best team in the NBA here it is http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=412391166769.
For the rest of you I gladly present, "Under The Phog," a continuation in the LeBron James: A Burning Love saga.
Under The Phog
Kobe’s eyes, like a black mamba on the prowl, surveyed the airport going back and forth between the crying Ms. Cleveland, her face buried deep into Dad Gilbert’s chest, her tears streaming down his maroon and gold Cavaliers sweatshirt like melted ice cream dripping down the side of a child’s waffle cone, then back to LeBron, Wade, and Bosh who were using the terminal as their own personal stage, dancing and parading around with Pat Riley and his Amy’s as if they were celebrating an NBA championship.
“You’re in good hands,” Kobe Bryant said glaring off into the distance at the exiting Pat Riley, the Young Three, and the Amy’s. He looked back at Ms. Cleveland and smiled. “I promise you, we will do whatever we can to make sure you get your ring before he gets his.”
As Kobe walked away from the scene, he winced unexpectedly at a searing pain in his right kneecap, a painful reminder of the thousands of game mileage that was now finally taking their toll on his normally spry legs. As he thought about the words he had just said to Ms. Cleveland, he wondered if even he believed them anymore.
It had been a month since the most physical series of his life against the near two-time champion Boston Celtics and yet he still felt sore. The soreness had become apart of him, the aches and pains in his muscles feeling as natural to him as the way the release of a 25-foot jumper leaving his hands.
“This is the way things are going to be,” Kobe admitted to himself. “I simply have to live with the pain, because at the end of the day, a lil pain in my knee feels a whole helluva lot better than losing.”
The lines were scripted, they were what the great ones would say, what Michael would say, what he needed to believe.
The pain seemed manageable when the only threats in site were a Celtics team who would now be a year older, their window barely cracked open at all, a Cavaliers team with only one real notable player, a Thunder team who had no big men, and an Orlando Magic team who only had a big man. Then Bosh joined forces with Wade. Kobe felt no fear. Then LeBron joined forces with Bosh and Wade. Suddenly the pain in Kobe’s knee and reality of the climb ahead of him began to take its inevitable toll. It was no longer beat LeBron’s team, beat Wade’s team, beat Bosh’s team, but instead beat all three of them, three fifths of the Olympic starting five, together, on one team seemingly destined for the NBA finals. Kobe shuddered simply thinking about trying to guard all three of them at once.
The heat of the July night engulfed Kobe as he stepped out of the LaGuardia airport and onto the busy New York City street. Unaware that the temperature would be so high, Kobe had over packed, perspiring from head to Nike toe in his dark Nike athletic sweat-suit. With each step deeper into the heat, he felt an exhaustion come over his lungs while a growing stabbing feeling continued to penetrate the very patella of his knee. The heat was only supposed to be 40 or 50 degrees, at most, but now was anywhere from 70 to 80, even 90 depending on when you checked the Heat index. Kobe’s vision began to blur as he began to feel lightheaded, his mind drifting away from his body the way a balloon floats away from a loose grip at a Los Angeles carnival. With no feeling left in his legs, Kobe abruptly passed out, hitting the cement sidewalk like a drunken freshman after their first fraternity party.
* * *
“Kobe,” a voice whispered into the Black Mamba’s ear. “Kobe, wake up.”
The voice came from right next to Kobe’s ear, sitting on the floor next to his laid out body. It continued to repeat his name. “Kobe. Kobe. Kobe.”
Kobe slowly opened his eyes then instantly squinted at the overwhelming brightness of the entirely white room surrounding him. He looked up, still heavily squinting, and saw an old leather basketball resting beside him.
“Hello?” Kobe said putting his hand over his eyes trying to filter the amount of light rushing madly into the cones in his eyes. “Who’s talking to me?”
“I am the Creator,” the basketball replied.
Seeing that the voice was truly coming from the basketball, Kobe blinked rapidly then rubbed his eyes repeatedly with the curled index fingers of his fists.
“Lord?” Kobe answered.
“The Creator of basketball,” the basketball continued. “I’m Dr. James Naismith.”
“Ok, where the hell am I?” Kobe said now standing up, scanning the room for escape routes.
“Relax, relax,” Dr. Naismith replied, in basketball form from the floor.
“How the hell am I supposed to relax?” Kobe said feeling around on the walls for any sign of a door. “I’m in a blank white room talking to a basketball who says he’s the Creator, I’m either in the fuckin’ looney bin or some strange ass twisted version of heaven.”
“Well, it’s kind of like heaven,” Naismith replied, basketball beginning to light up the way the ball does at the end of Space Jam. “You’re in Kansas.”
Kobe looked around the room noticing two basketball baskets hanging from opposite ends, both 10 feet high in the air, separated 100 feet from each other. He looked around at the four empty corners of the room, his eye settling on the far right corner, which was covered in a thick layer of fog. He approached the area slowly, each step deeper into the fog becoming more cautious than the one before. He reached out his hand and felt a glass showcase in front of him. He waved his hands through the fog trying to decipher what stood in front of him. After nearly a minute passed by of Kobe fighting through the fog with his hands like a karate fighter in a dark black room, Kobe could finally see five separate glass chambers, each with a keyhole in the bottom right corner. Sitting behind each layer of glass in each separate display case were five different basketballs labeled, “PG” “SG” “SF” “PF” “C.”
“Let me do my best to explain this room to you,” Naismith said looking over at Kobe and the foggy corner.
End of Part 1
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