The Maturation of Teen Wolf

I've been having somewhat of an inner conflict regarding the end of the Eastern Conference Finals between Cleveland and Detroit.

This is what I wrote after Game 5, when LeBron James completely took over the game and, as it turned out, the series:

"I watched the Cavs/Pistons game last night. And LeBron was completely carrying the Cavs. They would have been blown out by 20 if he was having even just a good game. He had to be great for them to win it. But, for some reason, it didn't have that "holy f&@#, I need to call somebody" quality like Kevin Durant in the Texas/Oklahoma double-OT game last season. I thought it was the most flat game featuring a great performance of all-time.


"Apparently, though, I'm the only one with this opinion. Everybody else is saying this was a seminal moment in sports history. Bill Simmons came in his pants. Why wasn't I as excited? This is going to bother me. It's like not getting goose bumps during the National Anthem or not getting horny at a strip club. I feel like this says something bad about my status as a sports fan, and, therefore, a man. I'm concerned. Really, really, really concerned."

I thought it about it some more, and I finally came to the conclusion that it wasn't James' performance that bothered me in Game 5, but rather the total ineptitude of everybody else on the court. It wasn't just that nobody else could do anything. Nobody else was even trying to do anything. It was like watching a bad pickup game with nine players who were high school JV and one who used to play pro.

LeBron James had become Teen Wolf.

50 minutes. 18-of-33 from the field. 10-of-14 from the line. 48 points, 9 boards, 7 assists. His team's final 25 and 29 of its last 30.

There's no question he was dominant. He was great. He stepped up to a place where we suspected he could go, but hadn't yet on this grand a stage. In that sense, I was wrong when I wrote that James' performance was undeserving of the "HFS" designation. You can't blame Teen Wolf for his team playing like a bunch of short fat white kids.

But, just as Scott Howard showed us, sometimes the Wolf needs to put away the fur to win the big one.

And that's where we come to Game 6, also known as the happiest day in Cleveland since the hours before the 1989 AFC Championship Game.

Whereas James was Jordan-esque in Game 5, his 3-of-11 shooting stats from Game 6 stats were far more pedestrian.

But of course his game was much more than his shooting percentage. He went to the line 19 times, making 14. He had 14 rebounds and 8 assists, 2 steals, and 2 blocks. He drew the defense and gave up the ball.

And, most importantly, his teammates were finally able to contribute. Six guys not named LeBron scored for Cleveland as they built a 27-21 lead by the end of the first quarter. When the game went into the half tied at 48, James still didn't have a field goal.

By now, you've read about Daniel Gibson's fourth-quarter explosion — 19 points on four three-pointers, a running jumper, and five free throws. James had assists on the jumper and two of the threes.

In a much-less-talked-about performance, Damon Jones (better known for his wardrobe and incessant yapping than his handle) assisted on the other two Gibson threes, plus an Anderson Varejao layup. Jones also hit a layup of his own, with the assist to Gibson. There was also the matter of a 53-33 Cavs rebounding advantage, led by James (14), Zydrunas Ilgauskas (12), Varejao (7), and Gibson (6).

In other words, Teen Wolf won Game 5. The Cavs won Game 6.

***

Of course, now comes the hard part. On the other side of Cleveland's rise was Detroit's fall. In simple and easy-to-understand terms, the Pistons played like ass.

Going into Game 5, the series was tied 2-2. Over the next two games, the Pistons combined to shoot 62-of-158 from the floor (39 percent) and 7-of-28 from three (25 percent). Tayshaun Prince followed up his mediocre 4-of-13 from Game 5 with a 1-of-10 Game 6. Chauncey Billups looked more like he did as a rookie with the Celtics than the 2004 Finals MVP.

And, worse than all that, the Pistons played soft at the end of Game 5. How they let James get all the way to the basket for the winning shot in that game I'll never know. And all those open Gibson jumpers ... somewhere, Bill Laimbeer kicked a puppy in disgust.

But that's Detroit. They deserve what they got for signing Chris Webber (and not drafting Dwyane Wade or Chris Bosh when they had the chance just to throw in one more low blow).

The San Antonio Spurs are a different story.

I'll leave it to the experts to tell you how Cleveland's Mike Brown matches up against San Antonio's Gregg Popovich like a Chihuahua at Mike Vick's dog fighting ring.

And I'm sure the experts will tell you Tim Duncan is going to beat Zydrunas Ilgauskas like a rented mule (an outdated expression since I'm not sure the mule-renting industry is still thriving, but a fun one nonetheless). And I'm sure some radio voice will tell you that the patch of hair on the back of Drew Gooden's neck has been made a 4-to-1 underdog to Manu Ginobili's bald spot.

The experts are going to call for a sweep or, to hedge their bets, Spurs in five.

But not me. I've learned my lesson. I'm not calling the series for Cleveland, but I'm not writing them off either. The Spurs are the better team with the better coach. But they don't have LeBron James, and that counts for a lot.

Never bet against Teen Wolf.

Seth Doria is a freelance writer and blogger in St. Louis. For more news and notes on sports, politics and world affairs, visit The Left Calf.