LEBRON IS ONE BAD BUNNY, BUT TITLES STILL DEFINE THE REAL G.O.A.T.
The world has changed — keeping score with statistics and money — but in one of the greatest sports careers ever sculpted, James wanted more than the all-time scoring record as his Hollywood moment
If it was as simple as arriving in an all-black outfit and dark sunglasses, and then scoring 36 points in less than three quarters, maybe he should be used for more substantial duties. Deploy him as a weapon of mass destruction. Let him tackle homelessness, Chinese espionage and Alec Baldwin. Or, at least, have LeBron James restore order at the next State of the Union address.
As predicted by the son he wants to play alongside, Bronny, the NBA’s career scoring record fell on a fadeaway jumper. When he hit the stepback shot, it was as if he’d choreographed the moment all along — how memories are made in the land of show business and glitz. This is what James wanted when he fled his native northeast Ohio, where he ended Cleveland’s 52-year stumble without a pro sports championship. For an evening, he conquered Hollywood.
“I write ‘The Man In The Arena’ on my shoe every single night from Theodore Roosevelt," he said later. “Tonight, I actually felt like I was sitting on top of the arena when that shot went in, and the roar from the crowd. I'm not sure if I would be able to feel that feeling again, unless it's a game-winning Finals shot. Everything just stopped.”
And just as we were beginning to believe he’s a machine, not at all human, the man who rarely cries felt tears filling his eyes.
“I had a moment when it happened, and I embraced that moment,” James said. “Seeing my family and friends, the people that’s been around me since I started this journey to the NBA, definitely very emotional right there. It was pretty cool. I probably can count on my hands how many times I have cried in 20 years, either in happiness or in defeat. So that moment was one of them when I kind of teared up a little bit. It was ‘I can't believe what's going on’ tears. Just a kid from a small town in Ohio. I don’t think it’s really hit me, what just transpired.”
Maybe it didn’t hit him because this was the ultimate solo achievement, far removed from the championship he won’t be winning in downtown Los Angeles, thanks to front-office dysfunction soiled in part by his fingerprints. He came here to make a blockbuster movie — three more titles, preferably four — and the plot twist wasn’t about toppling a points record, owned by fellow Lakers family member Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, that few of us ever pondered because it appeared beyond reach. No, LeBron wanted one more ring than Michael Jordan, securing the cachet allowing him to be called the Greatest Player of All Time, not the player with the most points and best-stuffed stat line. “My motivation is this ghost I’m chasing,” he once said. “The ghost played in Chicago.”
Prodded afterward on TNT by Shaquille O’Neal, yet another Lakers legend, James still found it within himself to make a G.O.A.T. declaration. “I’m gonna take myself against anyone that’s ever played this game,” he said. “I know what I brought to the table. I always feel like I’m the best to ever play this game.”
Later, he doubled down. “If I was a GM for a franchise that was starting out and had the No. 1 pick, I would take me. I’ve been able to do whatever this game has wanted me to do,’’ he said. “Not to take away from anybody else, but I can’t take anybody over me.”
The words didn’t match the moment, unless points now mean more than championships — entirely possible in a world where money and self-absorption are the seeds of success, a world where tech and sabermetrics rule, a world that has enabled James’ rise from a humble Akron childhood to a Beverly Hills family life as a self-made billionaire. Confetti wasn’t pouring from the rafters. There was no Larry O’Brien Trophy on a table. The NBA commissioner spoke at center court, but Adam Silver mentioned nothing about a team accomplishment. “LeBron, you are the NBA’s all-time scoring leader. Congratulations,” he said. Abdul-Jabbar gave James the ball and a brief hug, in a relationship long frozen because Kareem hasn’t appreciated LeBron’s immaturity lapses and activism hypocrisy. The crowd roared, but the decibels didn’t remotely compare to the pandemonium when Kobe Bryant led the Lakers to their last championship on Figueroa Street, back in 2010. James has brought glory to the purple-and-gold only once, in a Florida pandemic bubble that doesn’t seem real to this day. In the context of place and time, Kobe won that title for a city inside Staples Center. LeBron broke a record for himself in a renamed Crypto.com Arena.
Seems fitting. Even the team owner, Jeanie Buss, couldn’t call it a team record. She is renting a mercenary who has hopscotched across the league, from Cleveland to Miami to Cleveland to L.A., hunting titles all the way and managing but four. And the other day, after Buss and lieutenant Rob Pelinka didn’t cede to James’ wishes in failing to acquire Kyrie Irving, he took to social media with a three-word pout: “Maybe It’s Me.” Jordan overcame an owner and general manager who allowed intense strife to poison the Bulls dynasty, ending with six titles that could have been eight had the gang not been prematurely wreckingballed. In futility, James always has pointed fingers at his bosses — Dan Gilbert in Cleveland, Erik Spoelstra and even Pat Riley in Miami, now Buss and Pelinka. No, in a championship context, James is not Jordan.
We can engage in G.O.A.T. debates — Jordan vs. James vs. Kareem vs. Kobe vs. Bill Russell vs. Wilt Chamberlain — until our dying days. What we do know is that in 20 seasons that will stretch to at least 22, if he plays until his contract expires in 2025, James hasn’t won enough championships within a Greatest Ever framework. He’s the greatest individualist ever, as a scorer and facilitator. But Jordan was a bigger champion, more complete as a leader and defender and day-after-day bastard who coaxed optimum performances and efforts from his supporting casts. Said Buss: “I remember the night when Kareem broke the record, and I can still hear Chick Hearn saying, ‘This record will never be broken,’ and the idea that we’re here and that someone is breaking it … Back when Kareem broke it so many years ago, 39 years ago, we couldn’t even imagine a player like LeBron. And now here he is and what he’s done, this record is not a Laker record. This is a LeBron record. This is a tribute to his hard work, perseverance and longevity in this business.”
It is not a tribute that will put another title banner on the wall.
James’ youngest son, Bryce, was caught yawning in the arena just before the record fell. Minutes later, he was exchanging hand slaps with his father, as we wrapped our minds around a moment that rewarded individuality and work ethic and psyche and longevity and power and influence — away from the basketball court as much as on it — in a career that surpasses most in the sporting lore of this planet.
His 14-foot stepback, on a February night when his sub-.500 team was losing to an Oklahoma City wannabe featuring players young enough to be his kids, cemented him as the scoring king. But if you thought the vibe was off, you weren’t askew. The signature image of Jordan’s legacy was a jumpshot that rippled net twine mere ticks before the buzzer, followed by a wrist suspended in air, and clinched his sixth championship in eight seasons. In its pre-game hype, TNT compared this points passage to the magnitude of Michael Phelps’ 28 Olympics swimming medals and Cal Ripken’s record of 2,632 consecutive baseball games played.
If so, those achievements were secured in a triumphant context. This, not so much. Everyone went home quietly, after a 133-130 loss in a 25-30 season, and as a signature image, with the Hollywood franchise he sought in the Hollywood scene he desired, the celebration was all about LeBron and no one else. Jay-Z was thrilled that he passed Abdul-Jabbar’s record of 38,387 points. So was Bad Bunny, I’m told. So were other celebrities sitting courtside, all the billionaire moguls and industry stars. He couldn’t disappoint them, knowing they weren’t coming back Thursday if he couldn’t knock down the milestone in their presence. Yet the dichotomy — the ultimate solo record in the context of a two-season cloud of team failure — hung over the proceedings.
Look, LeBron always will be known as an American paragon, exceeding his teen billing as “The Chosen One,” avoiding scandal amid perpetual scrutiny, keeping us entertained into a third decade, fueling a league after Jordan’s turbulent departure. But this was the record he said he never wanted, as it represents the length of his career more than the team glory within. Oh, if only he would have won seven titles and scored 40,000 points. Then, there would be no debate. Then, we’d seriously wonder if he’s a cyborg. But James falls short as a front-office meddler whose whims are counterproductive. Who demanded Russell Westbrook, whose presence has sabotaged the grand plan? LeBron did. No wonder his bosses wanted no part of Irving and a four-year, $200 million investment that could backfire at any Kyrie moment for any Kyrie reason.
So, he has the scoring record and four rings. It’s one of the greatest careers ever sculpted. It’s just not the greatest career, that’s all. The ghost always will haunt him. Off the court, James indisputably has made more social impact than Jordan, who wasn’t informed enough to take racial stands during a tamer time in America. But the metric Tuesday night was about a leather-covered ball with a 29.5-inch circumference and how often one man can shoot it through a hoop 10 feet above the floor.
No one has done it more than LeBron James. No one ever will, either, as no one else will stay as healthy or hungry, unless the league installs a six-point shot from halfcourt in 2055. He always will have his post-game moment with Bronny, who walked over to his father as he iced down his 38-year-old legs and showed the video he recorded. He’d captured the fadeaway jumper from the family’s courtside seats, for posterity.
“Oh, that’s tough!” LeBron said. “You got that saved? Send that to me.”
That will be his touchstone. That and the F-bomb he dropped in his speech to the crowd. I’m glad Bad Bunny liked it, but there is more to basketball than scoring points. When the Lakers return to The Crypt on Thursday night, they’ll own the third-worst record in a 15-team Western Conference, two games behind the rebuilding Utah Jazz for the final postseason play-in berth.
What do points mean if they can’t be converted into life’s maximum outcome? Even the numbers geeks know that much.
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Jay Mariotti, called “without question the most impacting Chicago sportswriter of the past quarter-century,’’ writes general sports columns for Substack while appearing on some of the 1,678,498 podcasts and shows in production today. He is an accomplished columnist, TV panelist and talk/podcast host. Living in Los Angeles, he gravitated by osmosis to film projects.