New York City, Shave Your Beard In Shame

There are no sharks in Lake Erie. Neither are there sharks in the Hudson River, unless you count certain mob figures attached to cement shoes near the bottom. No, all the sharks on the isle of Manhattan live in cramped, unsanitary quarters, looking through the dirty glass at the distorted image of the outside world. Pity the lot of the NYC sports journalist, doomed to view everything through Spike Lee's Coke-bottle specs. A tap on their collective tank might draw their attention, but even then, they must see that image through the streaked, grimy tank. Even in captivity, though, one thing is common to all sharks: when they smell blood in the water, the feeding frenzy is on.

Oh, there's blood in the water, all right. The Cavs are two losses away from facing the day the entire city has dreaded since that fateful draft night that now seems so long ago. Zero hour. The end of the world as we know it. The Day That Must Not Be Named. And true to form, the predators sense that their time is near. Luckily for all of us serfs in the fly-over zone, we can read all about it on the redundant Four Letter Word New York; or, if you're one of those brave souls still clinging to physical media, in print, thanks to -- oh, let's just choose a random rag--New York Magazine. On the day after the Celtics equalized the series with the Cavs, both publications began the inevitable circling around you-know-who (around here, we call him the Bearded King). Of course, ESPN-NY and NYM are bad places to go looking for pick-me-ups as a Cavs fan. But here in the Big Apple, it's hard to escape the constant swirl of sensationalist garbage centered on the MVP. It all boils down to a simple statement of apparent fact, though. It's been shouted from the penthouses, whispered in the subway, hoarsely barked over the stock market din. You can hear the echoes all the way to Cleveland.

"The city of New York is entitled to LeBron James."

Faces on the train are blocked by 72-point back page sports headlines in the Daily News, which recently featured a subtly retouched photo of the MVP, clad in the Cavs blue-and-orange 80s throwback jersey, except with an identically-colored NEW YORK emblazoned across the chest. Spike Lee is publicly rooting for Celtics to pull off the upset so that he can begin courting the King in earnest, and he's not shy about who knows it. The same folks who pre-ordered their C.C. Sabathia Yankee jerseys even before he signed in New York already have a stash in their sock drawer, earmarked for a #6 James. Isn't that presumptuous? Isn't that just a little over-the-top? Of course not--haven't you heard? LeBron needs New York.

Which brings us to the latest and largest piece of entitlement media: the cover story of the aforementioned New York Magazine, trumpeting the headline, "Hey LeBron, Welcome to New York." It's a multiple-page layout of reasoning that must seem quite sound in the New York shark tank, with nuggets like "We've Got Cleveland Nightlife Beat" and "We'll Name A Sandwich After You." Seriously, those are the sections. I could spill quite a bit of virtual ink complaining about each morsel of trust-fund-baby logic, but my fingers would get tangled in my beard by the time I finished. Instead, let's just talk about one particularly lovely bullet point: "Our Superfans Make Your [Cleveland's] Superfans Look Sad."

To most of us, the term "superfan" conjures an image of a face-painted, often shirtless warthog of a man, flexing for the TV camera, index finger raised and shaking. Maybe a nosebleed section die-hard, still wearing a lovingly patched and resewn windbreaker from his younger days. We've certainly got ours in Cleveland, from the yahoos cheering through the lean times in the Dawg Pound, to the Wahoos still pounding the drum in the upper deck of Progressive Field. But, as is so often the case, we've all been grossly misinformed. A superfan, it turns out, is an immaculately coiffed celebrity, wearing sunglasses in a well-lit arena, enjoying their courtside view alongside others of their ilk, showing up for the big nationally televised game and then maybe once more in the playoffs. Per the article: noted hoop nuts Celine Dion, Dustin Hoffman and Hugh Jackman. Even the few true Knicks fans who haven't been priced out of the Garden yet must roll their eyes at that. Yes, LeBron, that's the kind of fan you need behind you. That's the kind of fan you want to celebrate a title with, the kind you want to wave to during the parade.

I just want it to stop. I want three to four weeks of radio silence so that the city of Cleveland can enjoy its best chance at a title in the entire lifetimes of most of its citizens. And when the season is over and the circus begins in earnest, all I want is this: a fair fight. I want it to be about basketball. I want it to be about winning. I will probably not get my wish.

Come and get it, sharks.