In an episode of the first season of Mad Men, ambitious account man Pete Campbell finds some potentially damaging information about his boss, Don Draper. Feeling spurned over not being offered the “Head of Account Services” position, Campbell decides to use this information to blackmail Draper into giving him the job. Campbell tries to spin the threat as an opportunity for Draper to see that Campbell truly deserves the position, dismissing the blackmail threat entirely. He even pleads with Draper that he deserves the job, even though it is abundantly clear that he is too green, too spoiled, and far too entitled to have earned it.
That scene took place in a somewhat romanticized version of the early 60’s, when men were men and they drank like fish at work. It’s not hard to see something like that having played out for real in cutthroat Manhattan, during an era when America and Americans were feeling their oats, Ayn Rand style. So it’s not illogical to believe that in roughly 50 years, treachery and egotrips by the spoiled have progressed to the farce seen Thursday at a Boys and Girls Club in wealthy, suburban Greenwich, CT.
Looking back on it now, “The Decision” starring Lebron James was no more than a meant-to-be dramatic climax to an elaborate ruse set up by James, Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh, and their respective handlers and agents. There were clues in the interview with Wade and Bosh 24 hours prior, when Bosh was asked about what James would do and Bosh nearly blew the whole thing, laughing as he wished his friend luck. Another hint came when various reporters, trying to sniff out the story, found out that Wade was travelling to various suitor teams as a spy for the Miami Heat, meeting with the other teams to gauge their situations instead of truly making himself available. Then in the final hours before the hourlong farce, stories were unleashed about a full-page ad welcoming the trio in the Miami Herald that was put up and taken down (call it a crossover move), along with rumors about Lebron renting several cabanas on South Beach for his triumphant arrival.
The point of this very long con? To keep the league from thinking the trio’s actions were collusion. It’s one thing for teams to act in a collusive manner, since they toe that line on a regular basis. For three of the game’s best players to do it and believe that they could pull it off is a caper unlike any since the Lufthansa heist – and better, it played out (mostly) publicly. If David Stern had known early on that this was possible, he would’ve put the clamps on it early on. Now that it’s happened, he’ll probably just spin it into some kind of leverage in the NBA’s upcoming collective bargaining sessions.
It used to be that when playing a team sport, you danced with the one who brought you. That meant fealty to a team that drafted you, paid you your first pro salary, and if the team was run correctly, surrounded you with the necessary talent to make your own talent shine. The collective decision of James, Wade, and Bosh was an effective “SCREW YOU” to the system, redefining forever what it means to be a free agent. Not only did the players decide together where they’d play, they have also become their own team general managers in the process. As brilliant as Pat Riley is, he and his staff have been reduced to being accountants, merely clearing cap space for the stars, while the stars are in turn refocusing their efforts on recruiting near-retirement veterans and other castaways to “share the sacrifice for a greater goal.” Defenders point to the fact that James and his cohorts took less money to make the deal happen, but they all will get recompense from Florida’s lack of state income tax and their own early opt-outs in only four years.
It’s ironic that the seed for this collusion germinated at the Olympics in Beijing, where the Redeem Team truly put individual statistics aside to win back the hoops gold medal. At some point between then and Thursday, James decided that he could no longer trust either Cleveland’s management (or another team’s) to risk his prime years wasting away on a team that just fell short of the brass ring. He took the if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em approach, which has disappointed more than a few old-school players and legends. It’s unfortunate that Lebron, sensing his career clock ticking louder with each passing day, chose to compromise instead of carving out his legacy on only his terms. The strange thing is that the compromise is being done to push for multiple championships – and in the NBA that doesn’t mean a mere two or three, but rather five, six, or more – a number that would catapult him into a discussion with the greatest: Russell, Jordan, Magic, Kareem. Bird, and in the future, Kobe.
What’s disappointing is that everyone in pro sports gets to a point where he is presented with a fight-or-flight opportunity, and it’s how he reacts to that situation that establishes his legacy. Lebron’s response was clearly flight. In the other major sports, there are too many dependencies to create this kind of situation frequently. In baseball, a hitter may have 25-35 plate appearances during a series. A quarterback may drop back 40 times in a playoff game. A soccer striker may have only a couple of shots at the goal in a match. In basketball, a scorer will get perhaps 150 field goal attempts per series and easily double or triple the number of possessions.
Strangely, I am more fascinated with the NBA’s offseason machinations than MLB’s. The NBA’s soft cap makes the disparity between haves and have-nots less striking than baseball. Unlike MLB, in the NBA teams can trade just about anything: players, picks, draft rights, even cap exceptions. I love “caponomics” more than I love sabermetrics, which makes me a bit perverse, I know, and this charade has only fed my hunger in a terrible, guilty pleasure manner. Still, I can’t help but be bothered by the idea that what these three players have done has served to reduce competition. These players (yes, Wade and Bosh are both guilty too) have chosen to share the burden, which is admirable in a way, but to not have the will or fortitude to carry the burden on their own for a little longer is more than a little disappointing. In a sport where The Man carries the team and cries out for help when needed, it’s hard to claim that you are The Man when you are, in effect, The Help.