Respect

Readers know of our unique relationship with LeBron James, so we won't belabor this point. We're thrilled that the Heat won the NBA title last night. While we feel for the Thunder, a great team and a great story, we're pretty damn sure they'll get theirs, and soon.

Mostly, though, we're happy for LeBron that he can now just play basketball without the attendant circus freaks in the media stirring up shit about his inability to play under pressure, his shortcomings, his non-Jordanness. (We're looking right at you, Skip Bayless, but you're not the only one.) LeBron's performance this postseason was transcendent, arguably the finest in history. This cannot be argued, and anyone that denies James' greatness now can be dismissed as either an idiot or a contrarian prick. (With apologies to Jerry.)

The Decision was stupid. The pep-rally boasting of "Not one, Not two..." obviously braggadocious and tone deaf. But they're both yesterday's news, spun continually current by a media machine that needs a villain to sell page views. And they were both a function of youth and bad advice from people paid to do better.

As the kids say, haters gonna hate. We won't be among that number. Congratulations to LeBron and the Heat (especially Erik Spoelstra - who was nearly as vilified as LeBron this year - Shane Battier, Mike Miller, Udonis Haslem, and Juwan Howard). And we can't wait for Thunder/Heat round two next June.

Why People Write Shitty Things About LeBron James, Alternatively Titled "LeBron James Will Never Clerk for the Supreme Court"

By popular demand, the first-ever re-post of a G:TB entry. Consider this G:TB Classic:

Getting a job in the NBA is an incredibly competitive task. Only 60 people get drafted each year, and perhaps a handful (I'll ballpark it at nine) of undrafted players make teams.

An even more competitive job market exists in DC. Each year, the Justices of the Supreme Court hire clerks for one term. Each Justice may hire up to four clerks, and the Chief may hire five (but apparently he typically takes only four). So only 36 or 37 people get taken in this legal draft.

Hear me out before you scoff at this comparison. Supreme Court clerks command signing bonuses in the neighborhood of $250,000 if they go to a big law firm after their clerkship. Many just go to a firm for a year or two for the bonus, then go on to whatever career they want to have until they die. Many take cushy jobs like professorships or 9-to-5 government work and resign themselves that in exchange for the easy lifestyle they will never make baller money. But if they choose to stay at a law firm they are all but guaranteed to become partners with seven-figure earning potential. And even if they choose to work a government gig for ten or twelve years, many can get a partnership at a firm and make seven figures due in no small part to their SCOTUS clerkship.

In short, getting drafted by Scalia is just as much of a golden ticket as getting drafted by the Bulls. Perhaps even more so, given the length of a career in law compared to one in the NBA.

Getting drafted by one of the Supremes (or "the Big House" as some law students call it) may be the tougher task. The majority are pulled from the holy trinity of Harvard, Yale, and Stanford, with a fair number from Columbia, Chicago, Virginia, and Berkeley. Before earning one of these golden tickets, applicants must first complete another clerkship, almost always with a federal appellate court judge. Getting an appellate clerkship is very hard too, and even then you have to clerk for one of the "feeder" judges.

Most SCOTUS clerks are put on a track to the Big House early on in law school by attracting attention from famous professors. For example, Laurence Tribe writes one clerkship recommendation per year, referred to as "The Larry Letter" by HLS students. Anyone who gets The Larry Letter has an inside track on a SCOTUS clerkship.

How, you ask, does one make this happen? I'll tell you. First, you have to be smart, born that way as Lady Gaga would say. Second, you have to work your ass off for at least the first 26-or-so years of your life. You have to do well in high school and on your SAT's so that you can go to a premiere undergraduate program. Then you must earn excellent grades for three years. Then you must place in the top percentile on the LSAT. Then you will hopefully be accepted to one of the HYS trinity schools, where you must continue to assault your schoolwork and graduate in the top 10 or so of your class. Not the top 10%, but in the top 10. While doing so you must attract the attention of professors by showing genuine interest in the subject matter of their classes, and by proposing creative viewpoints on how the law should be. Then you land a top clerkship with a feeder judge and dazzle him or her with your brilliance, work ethic, and scholarly mien.

While everything in the previous paragraph is happening you can never fuck up. You can't get a DUI, you can't get busted for smoking pot, you can't get in a fight and break a potted tree over some guy's head, you can't be the summer associate who jumped into the Hudson River, you can't be the featured baby daddy on "16 and Pregnant," and you can't get caught spray painting an "A" between the unit letters on the frat houses across the street from yours. In fact, you probably can't be in a frat. Scholars look down on them and so should you, if you want your name called in the biggest of legal drafts. And you certainly can't be a really smart guy who never studied in high school but still managed to do well enough to get into one of the country's best schools with a top-notch biological sciences program, who, despite his interest in biology, instead went to a very-good-but-not-outstanding public school with almost no national street cred because his guidance counselor, who, incidentally, wore a very bad toupe, suggested it was the wiser idea, and then proceeded to do absolutely no work whatsoever in college, somehow graduated in 4 years, putzed around for 7 years, went to a good-but-not-very-good law school despite his undergraduate shortcomings, applied himself, beat the snot out of law school, and got a good job. That guy has no chance of even sniffing the chambers of the Big House, outside of a guided tour.

The NBA draft seems somewhat similar, if not a bit more forgiving. First, you must be born with insane athleticism and, ideally, freakish size, speed, jumping ability, and hand-eye coordination. Then you must work your ass off at the high school level to attract the attention of scouts from premiere undergraduate basketball programs. You might be fast-tracked to the pros via some AAU league, but you must sign with the right school, one where you can start, learn the game, and get plenty of TV time. You must work your ass off to be a starter, and then you have to do all the things that are now terrible sportswriting cliches. Show heart. See the floor. Make your teammates better. Be clutch. Feel the moment. Raise your game. Swing momentum. Be a leader. Be coachable. Be a student-athlete. Be a student of the game. Do the little things. Have a feel for the game. Have a high basketball IQ. Know how to put your foot on their neck. And so on.

The big difference is that athletes are allowed to fuck up as much as they want. They can take money from scouts, they can get in fights, they can smoke pot, they can get drunk and piss on the Dean's door. They'll still get drafted.

No one ever got a Supreme Court clerkship just because they were smart, and no one ever got drafted in the NBA just because they were tall. It takes lots of effort and God-given talent and people teaching you, coaching you, generally giving a shit about you and your success.

Which (finally, you might say) brings me to the point of this post. LeBron James is by all accounts a good guy. No DUI's; drugs; gambling rings; serial animal cruelty; manslaughter, murder, attempted murder, murder-for-hire, or murder cover-ups and the associated obstruction of justice; womanizing, bastardizing, or using public funds to cover up same; rape; brawling; drunkenness in a public canal; defecating in a laundry hamper; gunfighting; making it rain and then gunfighting; or anything like that.

But people still dislike him. I can tell you why.

Remember that hypothetical smart guy I mentioned before? I bet he would have hypothetical friends from his hypothetical high school days who lambaste him about how lazy he was when he was a kid and how he "could have done something" beyond whatever it is he did or does, like "you could have clerked for the Supreme Court." Kind of like in "Good Will Hunting" when Ben Affleck tells Matt Damon "Fuck you, you don't owe it to yourself man, you owe it to me. Cuz tomorrow I'm gonna wake up and I'll be 50, and I'll still be doin' this shit. And that's all right. That's fine. I mean, you're sittin' on a winnin' lottery ticket. And you're too much of a pussy to cash it in, and that's bullshit. 'Cause I'd do fuckin' anything to have what you got. So would any of these fuckin' guys. It'd be an insult to us if you're still here in 20 years. Hangin' around here is a fuckin' waste of your time."

Not to say that this hypothetical guy is a genius, but his hypothetical friends hold his intelligence in pretty high regard. Hypothetically. Whether he truly could have been a Supreme Court clerk is irrelevant. That his friends think he could is key. His failure to live up to their perceived potential irritates them, no matter how much he redeems himself through hard work as an adult.

It's safe to say that people envy LeBron James. He has unbelievable physical gifts, and, despite being born to a 16-year-old single mom, he managed to get enough love, support, coaching, and direction to avoid all the pitfalls that typically ensnare kids born to 16-year-old single moms. So not only is he physically gifted, he was lucky enough to be surrounded by people that cared about him. This convergence of good fortune, this embarassment of biological and social riches, allowed him to become the best basketball player on the planet, to make millions of dollars, to have legions of fans, and to become ragingly disproportionately important in public discourse.

When a guy with that much good luck fails to give, or appears to fail to give, 110%, people get pissed off. Squandering such gifts makes the average person angry, perhaps irrationally, but that's how it works, especially when these squandered gifts are bestowed upon someone who makes hundreds of millions of dollars via his squandration.

And that's why people write shitty things about LeBron James.

Here We Are Now, Entertain Us

"A disaster of mammoth proportions."

"Inexplicable."

"Inexcusable."

"Mystifying."

These and dozens (if not thousands) of other words died in vain over the past two days, sent forth to battle from the tongues and pens of the warriors of the great chattering sportshype machine in response to LeBron James' subpar and oddly passive effort in the 4th quarter of Tuesday's NBA Finals Game 4. General Stephen A. Smith implied (hell, he asserted) on this morning's Mike and Mike Show that LeBron was facing personal issues that were impacting his performance. (In a stunning display of both cowardice and look-at-me yellow journalism, Smith also claimed to know all about the issues, but declined to elaborate.)

Let us stipulate that James, the most physically gifted player in the NBA indeed played badly and un-starlike in the quarter in question. Let us further stipulate that his self-aggrandizing "Decision" was badly conceived and terribly executed. But we come here today not to bury LeBron James, but to wonder what the fuck we as a sports society want from him?

While we all say championships are what matter and build shrines to winners, we have an oddly skewed perspective on LeBron. Instead of celebrating a player who has routinely sublimated his (fairly massive) ego in pursuit of a championship, we flay LeBron any chance we get. The man took less money to play with Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh. He was clearly the star of the Eastern Conference Finals with his two-way play against Derrick Rose and the Bulls. And now, four games later, he's a bum because Wade's outshone him against the Mavericks? Bullshit.

Sally Jenkins rode to the rescue in today's Washington Post, channeling no less a sage than Phil Jackson, the man who convinced both Michael Jordan and Kobe Bryant that they needed to share the ball at least a little in order to win. Says Jenkins,

“The fact is, selflessness is the soul of teamwork,” Jackson said a few years ago to EnlightenNext magazine. “We have a practical rule in our game: When you stop the basketball — when it resides in your presence and you hold it for longer than two counts — you’ve destroyed our rhythm. When the ball is in your hands, you become the focal point. And when you become the focus, our system breaks down. It’s that simple.”

“It doesn’t matter how good individual players are — they can’t compete with a team that is awake and aware and trusts each other. People don’t understand that. Most of the time, everybody’s so concerned about not being disrespected. But you have to check that attitude at the door — that defensiveness, that protection of your own image and reputation. Everybody needs help in this game.”

It's not enough to win now, we need style points. We need our superstars to win the right way, to dominate, to see their enemies driven before them, to hear the lamentations of their women. And to do it selfishly, individually, alpha male-style. That seems a perversion of everything we teach our kids and claim to want from our colleagues.

For obvious reasons, I have a soft spot for LeBron. I'm rooting for him to have a big game tonight and lead the Heat to a win. And then I want him to walk over to the nearest big-mouth media member and stab him to death with a pencil, exclaiming for all our blood-lusting benefit, ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?

Stephen A. would still call him a pussy.

Movie Month: Once More with Feeling

“Basketball is a vehicle…,” says Dru Joyce Jr. as the camera pans slowly across an empty gymnasium. The metaphor introduced in the opening scene of the aptly-titled More Than a Game powers a poignant and textured story of brotherhood, fathers and sons, and friendship.

First-time director Kris Belman benefited from both good timing and good fortune. The project began as a 10-minute film-school assignment (that earned Belman a B+) and might have been relegated to obscurity but for a real-world narrative arc that would make Disney’s screenwriters envious. Belman brought his camera back to his home town of Akron, OH just as five boys were beginning their high school basketball careers. He finally wrapped shooting seven years, three state championships, one defining loss, and one rocket ride to stardom later.

The film, which opens nationally today, will garner a great deal of publicity because of LeBron James’ involvement. The truth, though, is that the NBA star’s story is just one of five. Perhaps the most compelling scene in the movie comes at the end of the five teammates’ career at St. Vincent-St. Mary’s High School. On senior night, when players walked to center court accompanied by their parents, LeBron (whose love for his mother is clearly documented in the film) chose to make his final entrance with Sian, Willie, Romeo, and Dru III.

We’ve spent some time documenting the themes of friendship and loyalty in More Than a Game. But if the movie’s soul is the friendship between the teammates, its heart lies in the relationship between Dru Joyce III and his father. The elder Joyce set out to do what million of other fathers do (and many more should) – he set out to be there for his son, coaching rec league and then AAU teams. It was only an accident of fate that put him on the bench as the head coach of St. Vincent-St. Mary’s after the Vikings had won consecutive state championships. The following season tested his faith, his belief in himself, and his relationship with his son.

We love sports because they reveal character. In the end, More Than a Game succeeds because of this fact. Failure teaches Coach Joyce a lesson in humility and perspective, and he in turn offers the same gift to his team. “My job is not basketball,” he says, “my job is to help them become men.”

My biases with respect to More Than a Game are clearly established, so let’s get that on the record. But despite the fact that I’m in the tank for the film based on a unique personal experience, it definitively exceeded my expectations. This is anything but a star turn for LeBron James, and his emphatic refusal to promote the movie as such speaks highly of his love for the people that helped him get where he is today. We give it 70 Gheorghes out of 77.

More Than a Blog Post

So LeBron James walks in, and I shake his hand and say, 'Hi, I'm Rob from Gheorghe: the Blog'. Surreal? Oh, yeah.

I suppose an explanation is in order.

Friend of G:TB Shlara is both connected and a little bit of a marketing genius. LeBron and his high school teammates from St. Vincent-St. Mary's High School are featured in a forthcoming documentary entitled More Than a Game (Lionsgate). The movie started as a film school project for Akron native Kris Belman, a 10-minute documentary assignment by a novice filmmaker. The fact that it became a feature length film is nearly as unlikely as the story of our involvement.

One of Shlara's friends is responsible for the film's public relations push in Washington, D.C. One online introduction and several incredulous emails later, we received confirmation that G:TB's voice fit with the film's promotional strategy (I know what you're saying, and I agree. I wasn't aware that we had a voice. Again with Shlara's genius.) And that's how I found myself in a room at the Ritz-Carlton interviewing Dru Joyce III, Willie McGee, Romeo Travis, Kris Belman, and yes, LeBron James as part of a panel comprising three real journalists and one still-bewildered blogger.

We'll provide a review of the film itself closer to the October 2 release date - believe me, we've got a ton of material. Suffice it for now to say that I'd highly recommend More Than a Game to anyone who has a father, or children, or friends. This post is mostly about us. Forgive the indulgence; next time we get into the end zone we'll act like we've been there before.

The PR team confirmed the interview with us early last Wednesday. I spent the better part of the next two days trying hard not to puke. What do I wear? What do I ask? Could I talk about mustaches? I wanted the participants to think I knew what I was doing, even though the last interview I conducted was as the editor of the Woodbridge Senior High School newspaper. And that was probably with one of my friends. I didn't want to piss off the professional writers who were doing their jobs. I sure as hell didn't want to let Shlara down in front of her friend. Did I mention that I didn't want to puke?

Before the interview, Shlara, Teejay and I attended a press screening of the film at Regal 14 Cinemas in the District. (We'd have pictures of Teej with Kevin Durant, but for the fact that Shlara is as technology-clueless as she is public relations-savvy). Father-turned-coach Dru Joyce II opens the film saying, "Basketball is a vehicle." In his telling, it's a vehicle to build character, to turn boys to men, to teach even adults the lessons hard won in failure. In the words of Belman, the director of the documentary, it's also a vehicle to tell a story about loyalty. About fathers and sons, brothers - in arms and in fact - and best friends. About sacrifice and redemption and passion. The movie benefits from a cinematically perfect real-world narrative arc upon which Hollywood's finest scriptwriters would be hard-pressed to improve. And in a great many ways, it's about all of us. As it was pointed out to me earlier today, if the St. Vincent-St. Mary's guys had a blog, it'd be like Gheorghe, only with different YouTubes and more posts about sneaker culture.

Gheorghe: the Blog hasn't traditionally been a venue for deep thought. It was conceived by a bored middle manager as a reaction against raging self-importance in sport and society, and evolved into, well, I'm not sure it's evolved much - we're still mostly an exercise in niche entertainment. Over its nearly six years, though, it's become a metaphor for the brotherhood and camaraderie we share in real life, a bond that might have been weakened by time and distance kept intact. A pale electronic echo, in some sense, but real nonetheless. In the same way, the four boys who began their basketball careers at a Salvation Army in Akron, OH (joined later by a fifth) stand in for everyone who's ever laughed with, fought, yelled at, mocked, heckled, and loved their buddies. LeBron and the boys are a mirror image of the G:TB team. A funhouse mirror image, for sure, but the similarities resonated with me throughout this experience.

After seeing the movie, nearly all of my nerves disappeared. (Nearly, but not entirely all. I almost spilled coffee on myself as I killed time before the interview because my hands were shaking so much.) As portrayed on film, and revealed in a question-and-answer session immediately after the screening, Dru, Willie, Romeo, LeBron, and Sian are a likable, friendly, comfortable, natural group. One of them just happens to be among the most transcendently gifted athletes in the world. The interview itself flew by in an instant. I tried hard to be respectful of the other interviewers, and tried even harder to listen to the conversation instead of thinking about my own questions. My only regret was not asking the group their thoughts about Gheorghe Muresan; that'll be the first thing I ask the next time I talk to LeBron.

Thanks to the enterprising Teejay Doyle, Team G:TB purchased a digital voice recorder in advance of the interview, enabling me to capture the transcript that follows. I'll note for the record that I have a substantial newfound respect for real journalists and how hard it is to both conjure insightful questions and transcribe the responses accurately. I think I did okay on the former, and I hope I've done the latter, with apologies in advance to the Fab Five if I missed a word or two. The following reflects answers to questions posed by G:TB only, though as I noted above, we've got tons of material. Enough for a few more of these posts in the runup to the movie's release. Our loyal readers have become accustomed to redundancy as an editorial strategy, so this should be nothing new.

Willie McGee and Dru Joyce II joined us first. These questions are for them.

G:TB: He (Director Kris Belman) got a lot of stuff from you guys, sort of after the fact (note: the film features interviews conducted with each of the players in the present day). You guys sorta opened up and were really comfortable talking about a lot of stuff. Was that because of the comfort level you guys have with each other, or was it just kinda the guys you are?

Willie McGee: I think it was that Coach Dru gave his blessing. At the time we had a lot of media at practices around at times. He said it was a college student doing his project and really gave his blessing for him to be in the gym at times. Like Dru said (note: in response to a previous question), he really wasn't in our faces. He just kinda let things unfold. Plus, he was a good guy, y'know joking around. And after a period of time, we really became comfortable with him. It was like he was a friend who just had a camera.

Dru Joyce III: I think the questions, when we sat down and started doing our first interviews...we're a real comfortable group. We give you realness and if you ask the right questions and get the conversation rolling, we have no problem sharing our story. I mean, because we've been blessed, you know, been blessed with a great opportunity, and who wouldn't want to tell their story. We've got so much to offer.

Willie McGee: All we need is someone to listen (laughter).

G:TB (to Kris Belman, who had just entered the room): We were just asking them how you got them to open up...

Kris Belman: What'd they say?

G:TB: Well, they said they're the kind of guys who like to tell their story anyway. Were you surprised to get that level of openness in some of the interviews and dialogue?

Kris Belman: Well, I think it was kind of two things. I think, first of all, with them loyalty to all five of them and Coach, I think loyalty is one of the most important things. And I think a lot of that was exemplified by the way they grew up. I think loyalty was of the utmost paramount, and, you know, once they did accept me and what I was trying to do I was kind of accepted and that loyalty was given to me. It's one of those situations where when you're on the in, they'll do anything for you. Pretty early on, that trust was given to me. I asked for photos, I called Romeo up and said, 'Hey, I need photos of you', he'd FedEx a giant box the next day of the original baby footprints and original photos of him as a baby. That's unbelievable to me, you know? I'm in college, I'm in L.A., and his family trusts me that much they're sending me his original baby photos. That's the trust that you get when you're on the inside with these guys because loyalty's so important. But as far as getting some of those interviews and so on, I don't know, I feel like it was just because we'd been together for so long at that point I was going back and doing more and more interviews and most of the interviews in the finished film were shot after knowing the guys for five or six years. I think that trust allowed us to go into certain areas that maybe a year in they wouldn't have been comfortable going into.

G:TB (to Dru Joyce III): You could probably look at how tall I am (note to our new readers: not very) and see who I identified most in the film. (laughter from Dru, who stood all of 4'10" when he played for St. VM as a freshman) One of the other things I identified with was that, you know, my Dad was a lot, I think, like your Dad when he was coaching me. And in our relationship there were times when it was kind of strained. For you, watching that again on the screen, what was that like and how do you think that affects you as you want to move into coaching and someday have kids of your own?

Dru Joyce III: I think my Dad did a wonderful job. The film tells the real tough times, it goes into the times that weren't good, but, y'know, our relationship was never broken. I just want to put that in the clear. It was never broken. We were always there for each other. He was always there for me no matter what was going on, that didn't separate us. But, you know, there were tough times where I probably couldn't stand him. I didn't want to hear another word from him. And he was tough on me, but things like that, they pay off. And I'm living the payoff right now. I went to college to play Division I basketball - that was a dream of mine. I'm playing professional basketball - that was another dream of mine. I pay tribute to how my Dad coached me, because he put the basketball in my hand and he made me work, and those things that he taught me can never be replaced.

Note: It's not a spoiler to note here that Willie McGee moved from Chicago as an 11 year-old to escape a tough environment and live with his brother, Illya, in Akron when the latter was a senior in college. And it'll help the next question make a lot more sense.

G:TB: Willie, one of my favorite parts of the movie was your relationship with your brother. I'm 39 years old, I have a 7 year-old daughter, and I don't feel like I'm ready. You're roughly now the same age as he was when you came down. Have you thought about that, and what something like that would mean for you?

Willie McGee: Yes, I definitely have. I definitely give him credit for being man enough to take on the challenge. Because he didn't know what was ahead of him. Two years ago, I thought the same thing. It was at that time that he brought me here and would I be ready to do the same things like that, and I don't know if I would have. But if I had to, I would, for my younger brother. It'd be something we'd go through together and I'd give him everything I had. And I definitely commend him for that.

Romeo Travis enters the room, and Willie McGee leaves


G:TB: You guys played for Coach Dambrot there (at Akron University - Dru Joyce III and Romeo Travis played there after graduating from St. Vincent - St. Mary's for Keith Dambrot, who coached them to two state championships during their first two seasons in high school), right? How was the transition going back to him after playing for Coach Dru (Joyce II)?

Dru Joyce III: It was kind of like a 3-year break. We did 2 years with my father (note: as head coach) and another year while he was the assistant. It was different because he (Coach Dambrot) couldn't approach the game the same way he did as when we were in high school. The passion and his effort was still there, but his philosophy had to change a little bit because, you know, college is a different level. It was kinda surprising to me. i thought, you know, it was just Coach D, we're gonna just pick everybody up from the locker room and we're gonna push the ball until everybody in the gym is tired of looking at us. But that wasn't the case - we had to play a different style. I think it catered more to the rest of the team, but Coach D, what you see is what you get. You seen him jumping in the film, stomping his feet and pointing, still sticking his face right here (puts his hand on his chin) in guys' faces. That doesn't change. That's what he's gonna do.

Romeo Travis: Going to college was like getting demoted.

G:TB: How long did it take you to - sounds like you never got comfortable with it, but how long did it take you to work in that environment?

Romeo Travis: Until my junior year. Well, he was a point guard (gestures toward Dru Joyce III). When you're a point guard they let you lead, but I'm a forward, so it takes a lot longer for me. But once I became pushed to the forefront as one of the better players, it's easy. My sophomore and junior year, that's when it was more like, I can say how I feel and be able to talk to other guys.

LeBron James enters the room with Willie McGee. He's tall, but leaner than I expected. Wore Size 15 Ferragamos. I know because he put them up on the table, completely at ease in the environment.

G:TB: Is there something in the film that really stuck out to you as positive, and is there something that you wish wasn't there?

Dru Joyce III: It's a documentary. It's supposed to tell the truth. I like the film. I don't have any problems. It includes the necessary things for us to get the point across and to tell the story. It's all a positive message, even when we lose our minds a little bit, it shows you that people can get off course but you can always get it back, you can always refocus.

G:TB: When you guys lost to Roger Bacon (in the 2002 Ohio Division II State Championship game. Kind of a spoiler, but it is public knowledge, my friends.), how much did Coach Dru have to push you guys the next year, and how much did you guys just say, 'we're not gonna do that again'?

LeBron James: He didn't have to push us at all. That one loss was an eye-opener for us, so that probably was the easiest coaching year Coach Dru had, our senior year because we was just focused.

Romeo Travis: We governed ourselves that year. If one of us actually did something, somebody else would yell 'get it together'. So it was like that loss changed our attitudes.

At this point a revealing discussion regarding the number of sellouts in the history of Cleveland's Gund Arena (now Quicken Loans Arena) ensued. It was probably my favorite part of the interview.

LeBron James: ...only sold out two times that year [their senior season]; once when we played and once when Michael Jordan came back with the Wizards.

Dru Joyce III: They only sold out [Gund/Quicken] two times in history.

LeBron James: ...hmm, yeah, before then. It's probably happened a few times now. They sell out a lot now. (smiling, eyes twinkling, while the others groan)

G:TB: Alright, so when he does stuff like that, do you guys give it back to him? Is it different now? (Yeah, that's right. I just broke LeBron James' balls. Sort of. A little. Tiny. Bit.)

Dru Joyce III: It's coming right back.

Romeo Travis: What I've learned is, you can't really listen to half the stuff he says. It's just gonna be outlandish. (laughter) It's just gonna be out of control. If you try to [accurately] depict everything he says, you're gonna be frustrated.

G:TB: As you look back, you know, six/seven years ago [when you were in high school], is there something you wish you could have carried forward to today that you don't have anymore?

Romeo Travis: I wish I didn't have to pay bills.

Dru Joyce III: I wish I was still playing with these guys, man. I never had teammates who shared that passion for winning and wanted to work hard to win. At all levels, I just never was on a team that had that same passion. It makes it tough at times. It's frustrating when you get guys out there who really don't care if we lost, it's not a big deal to them. Because it's a big deal to me. And I want everybody to feel like it's a big deal.

G:TB: You still feel it every game? Every loss?

Dru Joyce III: Man, I hate losing. (note: I take it back. This was my favorite part of the interview. Dru Joyce III will be a terrific leader of men, as a coach or whatever he chooses, when he retires from basketball.)

(L-R: Romeo Travis, Your Humble Blogger, Willie McGee, LeBron James, Dru Joyce III)

After the interview concluded, as the public relations team moved us quickly on our way in a precisely choreographed dance, I managed to get the photo you see above. The four friends from Akron could not have been more congenial about it, welcoming me into the photo and then chiding me good-naturedly later as I botched a picture for another of the participants. The friendly mocking tone was so familiar that I didn't even think to be embarrassed. I've taken much worse from my own friends. I walked from the hotel - bounced, really - buzzed on adrenaline and relief. And convinced more than ever that true friendship is a gift that transcends money, fame, and glory. Make plans to see More Than a Game when it comes out. You'll see what I mean.