To be fair, it is hard to expect a 25-year-old to deal with decades of pressure, the hopes of generations-- the hopes, in fact, of an entire city-- for over five years. He has his own dreams, his own beliefs, his own desires. But that is the irony of sport; that it is not at its heart about being fair, despite what most of its fans claim. If sports were fair, only the best teams would win every year. Roger Federer would win every tennis tournament until someone better came along. In fact, if sports were fair, there would be no underdog story. The power of sports, I argue, comes ultimately from the unexpected; from what should happen not happening, for better or worse.
I think there is still power in a good underdog story. It's why everyone always seems to hate the Lakers and the Yankees, why so many non-Bostonians were rooting for the 2008 Celtics and the 2004 Red Sox. The underdog, however, can come in various forms. I think that there are two: the underdog team, and the underdog player. Furthermore, and most importantly, the two cannot exist together. I suspect this, ultimately, is why Lebron and the Cavs could not work, despite the stars seemingly aligning for it: Lebron was not a true underdog.
When I accidentally happened upon an NBA finals game earlier in the year, the question on the garishly suited announcers' lips was always "Will Lebron do x, y, z?" When I turned on ESPN this June to watch a little World Cup action, there was a ticker along the bottom devoted entirely to Lebron. It was always about Lebron James, not about the Cavs. It was "Can Lebron finally take the Cavs to glory?" not "Can the Cavs finally win glory?" Luke, at the beginning of his saga, was simply a whiny farm boy who nobody really took seriously. He was not touted as the chosen one at the tender age of...however old teenage Luke was. Luke was always part of a team, from a young age. And far from being misfits, this team consisted of people who made the Kessel run in twelve parsecs, who were the daughter of the most badass guy in a multitude of galaxies (spoiler alert), who were...ok, I'll give you that some of them were a little ragtag. That doesn't change the fact that they all worked together to change the world.
I am sure they are excellent and worthy players, but if you asked me, I could not name any other member of the Cleveland Cavaliers. This is, I suspect, not purely to do with their talent, but rather the fact that they are not as much of A Story as Lebron was, or rather, was turned into. And hype, ultimately, is what separates an underdog team from an underdog player. Magic should come from all over the field (or court); in being the underdogs, a team is united, not set up to prop one particular player, or hope that that one particular player can save their bacon when they really need it. There is certainly nothing wrong with someone on an underdog team being able to create magic like this. But if they're the only person creating magic like this, frictions arise.
In my attempt to discover what Stanek might be feeling, I have only actual football to think of. Liverpool FC could be thought of as a kind of underdog team, I suppose; the previously mighty team thirsting for a championship for over twenty years. When they came the closest to ending that drought, in the 2008-2009 season, it was with the contributions not only of Steven Gerrard, the talismanic midfielder and hometown hero-- but with Xabi Alonso (alas, Xabi) playmaking, and with Fernando Torres linking up with Gerrard to create, arguably, the Premier League's most deadly scoring duo, and with goalkeeper Pepe Reina keeping clean sheet after clean sheet. The underdog team is, above all, a team, and must work together if they are to achieve the unlikely.
Of course, the underdog player can and often does make the difference. But I find this is only really true in the concentrated, short-term environment of tournaments. Diego Forlan, for instance, recently carried the Uruguay team on his back to the quarterfinals of the World Cup. In the slog of a yearly campaign, however, the character of a team shows, and in the words of a television show everyone loves to hate, live together, die alone.
There is still hope for the underdog story in sports, mostly because such stories get people reading. Here's a question: who decides who the underdog is? Even the Evil Empire wants to be thought of as the underdog ("Everybody hates us, we don't care"). I'm not about to say the Lakers are underdogs because everyone seems to hate them; what I'm saying is that different people will have wildly differing beliefs about the same facts, because what they want to happen will supersede everything. Like I said before, sports are not about being fair; they are about the unexpected, but more personally, they are about whatever you want happening, happening, regardless of what that is. And the myth of the underdog feeds into that desire. The underdog story will always matter, as long as people want to win.
I feel I should point out that all the advertising revenue generated by Lebron's ESPN sports special, "The Decision," went to The Boys and Girls Club of America.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Does a Good Underdog Story Matter Anymore? -- Stanek
Recent events compel me to return to a subject Teshale and I discussed some time ago: the issue of sports teams and allegiances. In a way, this gets at the heart of what sports are in the modern world. The answer to that particular question seems to have three major facets. Sports, as Lebron James pointed out Thursday night, are a business. And that suggests the importance of earnings potential and fomenting one’s “brand.” Sports are competitions. They show us amazing athletes doing amazing things and in that there is great enjoyment for us. And, as Teshale noted in our earlier go-around, sports are entertainment. And though we came down on opposite sides of the question being discussed in that exchange, my response agreed with her on this point.
In fact, this last point is the most personal and thus (from my point of view) the most important. The philosophy underlying my rebuttal to Teshale was simple: sports are indeed entertainment and the essence of good entertainment is a compelling story. If the home team’s struggles and triumphs are to be meaningful beyond offering the simple thrill of competition, the story of the team must integrate seamlessly with the broader story of the city it represents. Cleveland’s sports teams, as I intimated before, have stories that mirror those of the city itself. The New York Yankees’ blatant poaching of its smaller market competitors’ heroes reflects that city’s Borg-like obsession with assimilation, not to mention an inferiority complex so deep and so completely internalized by its inhabitants that it actually manifests itself as an unwarranted superiority complex. And even the dysentery-prone Pittsburgh Steelers are a reflection of their proud city: gritty, tough, and determined, with a knack for revitalization in the face of adversity. Sports teams of great cities are fractals containing complete pictures of the characters of their cities.
On Thursday night, Lebron James’ whirlwind romance with six eager suitors came to a merciful but inglorious end. He had flirted with them for years—despite ostensibly being in a committed relationship with one—and they had all previously traveled to downtown Cleveland to grovel at the King’s feet on the slim hope of winning his affections. All in all, it was a disgusting display culminating in an unprecedented feat of public self-fellatio: an hour-long special on ESPN where Lebron revealed “The Decision.” But his choice, which I’m sure everyone and her mother knows by now is the Miami Heat, and the way in which he made it is at the center of the question this post seeks to address.
With Lebron at the helm, the Cavaliers were contenders (with the best record in the NBA two years in a row) but still underdogs. They were the beacon of hope to a depressed sports town. And best of all, they were led by a local boy made good (Lebron’s hometown of Akron is less than 40 miles south of Cleveland). When Cleveland’s stroke of luck at landing the first pick in the 2003 NBA draft—they had a 22.50 percent of getting that pick in the lottery—after an embarrassing 17-win season it seemed as if a new era, A New Hope, was dawning.
More than anything, Lebron’s selection fed a storyline. It was the beginning of a basketball opera, centered completely on Lebron. He was to bring the city of Cleveland redemption, a weight we discovered only days ago he simply wasn’t strong—or confident—enough to bear. He was Luke Skywalker, a humble hero from an unlikely place who would lead a ragtag band of misfits to topple an evil empire and save his home. This, of course, is the entertainment-oriented narrative strand of sports. But the fact of the matter is that while this is the most compelling aspect of it all to me, the same isn’t true of Lebron.
His self-selected moniker of “Chosen One” proved sadly apt. He wasn’t to be our Luke Skywalker. He was to be our Anakin Skywalker. Blessed with incredible abilities, he trained and grew into adulthood with the Cavs but was destined to turn his skills against those who had placed their hopes in him. We now know the contours of a nefarious plot began to emerge four years ago in Japan. The clues were there and we probably should have guessed that the hometown hero story might not be especially important to a man who grew up in northeast Ohio rooting for the New York Yankees, Dallas Cowboys, and Chicago Bulls. But many of his loyal fans were still surprised.
The importance of the storyline has turned out to be less important than the currency of dominion in the basketball universe: rings, and lots of them. The journey now takes a backseat to the destination for our former hero and we might be tempted to say to Lebron the same words relayed by a dismayed and hurt Obi-Wan to his friend: “well, then you really are lost.” He’ll play with his friends, he’ll likely get multiple rings, and with those victories will come the power he seeks (seriously, what the fuck?) and the additional endorsement money that comes with being a winner.
But though the superstar has fled his small market home, I continue to firmly believe that the underdog story, the small market triumph, remains the Holy Grail of sports entertainment. Though Lebron has seemingly weakened that prospect with the Cleveland to Miami jump, in the long run he may have strengthened it. By creating a new juggernaut—a “new Evil Empire”--he’s generating a powerful new storyline. And by casting himself as its central villain, he may well have created a story even more exciting in some respects than the narrative he derailed (ask anyone who’s seen the original Star Wars trilogy and the prequel trilogy which is more interesting). I continue to hope that someday the Cavs can bring victory and redemption to Cleveland without Lebron. We'll find our real Luke Skywalker to bring down Anakin, perhaps with a Han Solo that's a bit more consistent than Mo Williams (we still love you, Mo). Until then, I shudder to think that, should his experiment in Miami go as well as some fear it will, LeAnakin James may have just given me the first reason I’ve ever had to root for the Lakers in an NBA Finals series.
Help me Obi-Wan Bry-Kobe, you’re my only hope.
In fact, this last point is the most personal and thus (from my point of view) the most important. The philosophy underlying my rebuttal to Teshale was simple: sports are indeed entertainment and the essence of good entertainment is a compelling story. If the home team’s struggles and triumphs are to be meaningful beyond offering the simple thrill of competition, the story of the team must integrate seamlessly with the broader story of the city it represents. Cleveland’s sports teams, as I intimated before, have stories that mirror those of the city itself. The New York Yankees’ blatant poaching of its smaller market competitors’ heroes reflects that city’s Borg-like obsession with assimilation, not to mention an inferiority complex so deep and so completely internalized by its inhabitants that it actually manifests itself as an unwarranted superiority complex. And even the dysentery-prone Pittsburgh Steelers are a reflection of their proud city: gritty, tough, and determined, with a knack for revitalization in the face of adversity. Sports teams of great cities are fractals containing complete pictures of the characters of their cities.
On Thursday night, Lebron James’ whirlwind romance with six eager suitors came to a merciful but inglorious end. He had flirted with them for years—despite ostensibly being in a committed relationship with one—and they had all previously traveled to downtown Cleveland to grovel at the King’s feet on the slim hope of winning his affections. All in all, it was a disgusting display culminating in an unprecedented feat of public self-fellatio: an hour-long special on ESPN where Lebron revealed “The Decision.” But his choice, which I’m sure everyone and her mother knows by now is the Miami Heat, and the way in which he made it is at the center of the question this post seeks to address.
With Lebron at the helm, the Cavaliers were contenders (with the best record in the NBA two years in a row) but still underdogs. They were the beacon of hope to a depressed sports town. And best of all, they were led by a local boy made good (Lebron’s hometown of Akron is less than 40 miles south of Cleveland). When Cleveland’s stroke of luck at landing the first pick in the 2003 NBA draft—they had a 22.50 percent of getting that pick in the lottery—after an embarrassing 17-win season it seemed as if a new era, A New Hope, was dawning.
More than anything, Lebron’s selection fed a storyline. It was the beginning of a basketball opera, centered completely on Lebron. He was to bring the city of Cleveland redemption, a weight we discovered only days ago he simply wasn’t strong—or confident—enough to bear. He was Luke Skywalker, a humble hero from an unlikely place who would lead a ragtag band of misfits to topple an evil empire and save his home. This, of course, is the entertainment-oriented narrative strand of sports. But the fact of the matter is that while this is the most compelling aspect of it all to me, the same isn’t true of Lebron.
His self-selected moniker of “Chosen One” proved sadly apt. He wasn’t to be our Luke Skywalker. He was to be our Anakin Skywalker. Blessed with incredible abilities, he trained and grew into adulthood with the Cavs but was destined to turn his skills against those who had placed their hopes in him. We now know the contours of a nefarious plot began to emerge four years ago in Japan. The clues were there and we probably should have guessed that the hometown hero story might not be especially important to a man who grew up in northeast Ohio rooting for the New York Yankees, Dallas Cowboys, and Chicago Bulls. But many of his loyal fans were still surprised.
The importance of the storyline has turned out to be less important than the currency of dominion in the basketball universe: rings, and lots of them. The journey now takes a backseat to the destination for our former hero and we might be tempted to say to Lebron the same words relayed by a dismayed and hurt Obi-Wan to his friend: “well, then you really are lost.” He’ll play with his friends, he’ll likely get multiple rings, and with those victories will come the power he seeks (seriously, what the fuck?) and the additional endorsement money that comes with being a winner.
But though the superstar has fled his small market home, I continue to firmly believe that the underdog story, the small market triumph, remains the Holy Grail of sports entertainment. Though Lebron has seemingly weakened that prospect with the Cleveland to Miami jump, in the long run he may have strengthened it. By creating a new juggernaut—a “new Evil Empire”--he’s generating a powerful new storyline. And by casting himself as its central villain, he may well have created a story even more exciting in some respects than the narrative he derailed (ask anyone who’s seen the original Star Wars trilogy and the prequel trilogy which is more interesting). I continue to hope that someday the Cavs can bring victory and redemption to Cleveland without Lebron. We'll find our real Luke Skywalker to bring down Anakin, perhaps with a Han Solo that's a bit more consistent than Mo Williams (we still love you, Mo). Until then, I shudder to think that, should his experiment in Miami go as well as some fear it will, LeAnakin James may have just given me the first reason I’ve ever had to root for the Lakers in an NBA Finals series.
Help me Obi-Wan Bry-Kobe, you’re my only hope.
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