Are You Not Entertained?

Darren and I enjoying LeBron

I woke up smelling coffee. Pulling myself off an airport bench in front of Starbucks I remembered where I was: Cleveland, Ohio.

Twelve hours earlier I had been looking at pathology specimens under a microscope in Kennewick, WA. Soon after leaving work, I drove 3.5 hours to Seattle for a miserable red-eye flight. I needed that airport power nap at 7am EST; it was going to be a long 48 hours.

A couple of years ago, I started making simple sports bets with my brother-in-law Darren. I got lucky on a few so he owed me a few foot rubs and steak dinners. As an alternative to rubbing my feet, I gave him an extensive list of other possible ways to pay up. I deliberately made them unreasonable.

When the Cleveland Cavaliers made the NBA Finals, he told me he wanted to go see LeBron and I, half-jokingly, told him he should take me to pay up. To my utter surprise and elation, he agreed to get my ticket if I got to Cleveland. I booked a flight that night!

Now as I looked out to see a gray and rainy landscape, I spent 30 minutes debating whether or not I had the guts to try and hitchhike. Darren and his friend Uzi (coming from Baltimore) would be in town later in the day with his car, but until then I was without a ride. I chickened out and used “Uber” to get to Kirtland.

I tried to get the local feel for the game from my driver. To my disappointment, he didn’t seem to really understand basketball. I told him I was originally from Idaho and that people sometimes confused that with Iowa or Ohio. He laughed and said, “Man people must be failing at geography man.” I then asked him if he had ever been out west. “Man, I think…I mean, I think like the furthest west I been is like Tennessee.” I changed the subject back to sports.

Standing in front of the Kirtland Temple

I arrived in Kirtland (30 minutes east of downtown) to visit some historical sites for the LDS church. It was a peaceful and fulfilling experience for me, and I was glad I was able to do it. Darren then picked me up and it was off to downtown. Tip off was just hours away. Walking around Cleveland I was impressed with the atmosphere and celebrity sightings, but let’s just say I prefer other cities. An hour before the game, we entered the stadium, got our faces painted, and approached our seats in section 217.

There he was! Even though I was in the upper deck on the other side of the arena, I could tell it was him, the man I had come to see. Next, I looked among the Warriors warming up in the near half. It took a second. I briefly thought the small figure was a ball boy. Then he fired a shot; found him too.

Minutes later, the lights dimmed. I grabbed my complimentary noisemakers and started screaming like a 13-year-old girl at a Taylor Swift concert as the Cavs were introduced for Game 6 of the NBA Finals. It was loud all around, but the atmosphere electrified as the final player was announced, “From St. Vincent/St. Mary, #23, LEEEBRON JAAAAMMMEEESSS!!!!”

I wanted a video on my phone of the introduction, but I also wanted to live the moment live so I restrained. Despite the thousands of #23 jerseys I saw, I knew that there were millions around the country rooting against LeBron. I cannot understand the hate. He is a nice guy, with incredible talent, who is insanely entertaining to watch.

Even though the outcome of the game wasn’t what I had wanted, being there was an experience I will never forget. I was able to live a dream and create incredible memories with my brother-in-law.

I stayed (sneaking past a court side guard) to see the Warriors’ postgame trophy presentation. I stayed because I appreciate greatness; I stayed because I will probably never have that opportunity again.

When I hear people trash LeBron I want to throw my sword, Gladiator style, and yell, “Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained?!! Is this not why you are here?”

My father-in-law told me he didn’t like him. I asked why and he responded, “I just don’t.” I was delighted with his answer! You don't have to buy his shoes, but don’t let your inability to identify why you don’t like him lead you to hate him. I don't particularly like the Green Bay Packers, but I sure admire much about them and I'm happy for my Aunt Cheryl and others when they win.

When I was a boy, my Grandpa Campbell taught me an important lesson about golf. Grandpa taught me to never root against the people with whom I am playing. He explained the game wasn’t played that way. Instead, you cheer for yourself and hope you do better.

I believe all of us would be happier if we applied this to other sports and aspects of life. Don’t hate LeBron, cheer for Steph Curry (recognizing of course the LeBron is the real MVP). More importantly appreciate the show they both put on.

Very rarely in life does something you anticipate, live up to the hype. For me, watching LeBron James in person was one of those few times when my expectations were superseded by reality. For this I say thank you Darren, thank you Steph, and thank you LeBron. I am entertained.