I’m a genial public figure accessible to all who thrive on traditional and social media but must warn unborn readers that future lawyers I’ve already hired will sue if you steal or otherwise come into possession of these words and reveal them even a day earlier than fifty years after my earthly passing. The sentiments below belong only to readers sometime in the twenty-second century and beyond.
I’m naturally delighted by our one thirty-seven to one sixteen annihilation of the previously unblemished Warriors. We’re still alive albeit on the precipice, trailing one game to three, and I’m preparing to go to Golden State and win game five and return to Cleveland and prevail here and, like last season, invade the Warriors den and again defeat them in the title game. Don’t tell me that sequence is a fantasy. I believe it’s a dream we can realize though I here acknowledge it’s unlikely, and have indirectly admitted as much by saying perhaps too often the Warriors are a great team. That assessment, however, means only I’ve conceded a point but not the war.
We still mustn’t dwell on ultimate victory, for only the next battle is relevant. Imagine if we’d lost game four and legions said LeBron’s now been swept twice in the finals and no one who’s been thusly dominated deserves to rival Michael Jordan. I’m sick of being compared to him, yet there must be conversations about our relative achievements or I’ll never lessen the noise of his chanting troops, who are forever on the march.
Thank goodness we began game four like famished lions armed with laser-guided missiles and scored a finals record forty-nine points in the first quarter and eighty-six at the half, teaching the Warriors they were fortunate to trail by only eighteen. Thank heavens Kyrie Irving, slicing and twisting and banking, assailed interior defenses better than almost anyone who’s played the game. Thank the gods of emotional control that Kevin Love and J.R. Smith made a combined eleven of seventeen from three-point range. Thank you Tristan Thompson for waking up and contributing ten rebounds and five assists, and props to coach Tyronn Lue for the first time giving you enough minutes to do so. The Warriors can’t beat us when we outshoot them fifty-three to forty-five percent from the floor while avoiding problems with turnovers and fouls. They can’t stop us when I crown my triple-double with thirty-one points. They can’t survive if we continue to play like this. And it’s not impossible we can.