I’m feeling crabby about LeBron’s return to Cleveland — and I’ll tell you why: because they behaved like such horrible crybabies when LeBron left. “Oh, the betrayal! Oh, the injustice! Boo hoo!” I mean, what spoiled brats. Professional athletes go to other teams, to fulfill their ambitions, all the time. Gimme a break. And part of me feels LeBron is rewarding the city’s self-pitying immaturity.
I think of it this way: I’d better use an analogy to the Detroit Tigers, because we don’t really have a star on the Pistons at the moment. If Miguel Cabrera or Max Scherzer decided to jump to, say, San Diego, I’d say, “Damn. That really hurts.” A minute later, I’d say, “What’s for lunch?” Now, it happens that the Tigers are a much better team than the Padres are right now. But if Miguel or Max wanted to live in San Diego — one of the most beautiful cities in America — rather than Detroit, I’d understand.
So, I’m feeling crabby about Cleveland. And yes, I know they’ve had a difficult time of it, for quite a long while. It has been 65 years since the heyday of Lou Boudreau. Fifty since the heyday of George Szell (greatest Clevelander in history).