The Inescapable Heat

Inexplicably, the fans cheered.

Why did the fans cheer? Their team was down a couple dozen points, their scorned ex-hero was showcasing his talents on a pace equal of the best statistical season in NBA history, and, after all, they would have to wake up the next day to the same lives and problems. And yet they heartily cheered. LeBron James may win, but he'll never again be the people's champion.

This moment came two weeks ago as James made his third return trip to Quicken Loans Arena in Cleveland, which you may have heard is no longer his home office. The Heat, which had relegated the final three-and-a-half quarters of the game an exhibition after mercilessly building a 20-2 lead, were cruising. With the result a pending formality, James spent the third quarter putting on a show.

A powerful dunk. A deep three while being well guarded. Even one of those mid-range shots he never seemed to care for while playing for the home team. The Cavs may be much improved in their second year post-James, but their ex was strutting, reminding Cleveland of the stud it once had.

But then came the air ball.

In basketball parlance, it was a heat check — as in, "I'm so hot, let's check how far this streak can go." On first glance, the shot looked like a perfect swish. The ball grazed nothing, but the net as it descended back to earth, completing gravity's parabola. But half a beat later, the mind flagged the anomaly. A great NBA player just failed to make contact with anything solid on a shot attempt.

The chants and the taunts that follow an air ball are painfully dated after two decades. Players sometimes miss badly. It's the consequence of doing business in such volume. But this one shot, completely irrelevant in a season and even this game, spoke of a much grander truth.

If any other NBA player had produced this stretch of performance over a handful of possessions, the eye-popping would have easily overshadowed the one moment of over-extension. But LeBron James is not any other NBA player.

The Heat, barring structure-altering injuries or parallel developments, are juggernaut favorites to win the NBA title. Their additions like Shane Battier will give them options for the few minutes this postseason when James and Dwyane Wade getting dressed in the same locker room isn't enough to coast to a win. The Heat are going to win it all. And almost nobody will care.

The problem for Miami's principals is one of expectation. Yes, it began with their summer 2010 construction project and now-laughable pep rally. But the Heat could have easily distanced themselves from that tomfoolery, dismissing it as enthusiasm and earning respect through quiet victory.

Instead, the Heat have continually misstepped in reconciling themselves with the rest of the world. James, in particular, seems completely unprepared to handle the new universe he molded when he cast himself to star in The Decision.

Most stars have discernible motives. Michael Jordan wanted to sell sneakers. Magic Johnson wanted to entertain and be entertained. Allen Iverson wanted the respect due a hustler. Even today, Kobe Bryant is pathologically obsessed with winning at all costs. But what exactly James wants at this point is unclear.

The day before his return to Cleveland, James clumsily answered questions about a hypothetical free agent return to his former organization. As Deadspin's Dom Cosentino wrote, James' forays into the subjunctive never fail to make him look worse. It's as if, completely unsure what he wants from his charmed life, James is dabbling in alternate realities, desperately searching for one in which he can win over each of the haters.

But outside of mining happiness through quantum physics, what is James' ideal endgame? Clearly, he is not one for poetry, as he had the perfect local hero story in the palm of his hand in Cleveland. James' need for adoration rejected the renegade role like a week-old black market kidney when he briefly dabbled in wearing the black hat. Even the transparent "us vs. them” paradigm Kobe and Jordan gerrymandered their worlds into is outside of James' fairytale ending. If you could get LeBron James in a moment stripped of self-awareness, pretense, and hyper-analysis, I think he would be mortally stumped by the question, "How would you like this to end?”

At the end of the 2009-10 season, James was hot. Every media outlet covered him daily. He had been on 60 Minutes and spoken with Larry King. Suitors were lining up for him. And then came his heat check, his moment where he wondered just how hot he was. The Decision was his heat check; we're still hearing the derisive chants that followed that air ball.

An NBA title is not going to stop James' personal descent. He will continue as a modern Icarus, still falling from the heights he dared to let his wax wings take him to.