Boston’s Fenway Park is deceptively small. You can spend four years watching the Red Sox on NESN (or, if they’re playing the Yankees, ESPN), and you’d get the decided impression that Fenway is a typical baseball stadium. Perhaps a low-capacity one, but still built on the gargantuan scale of such behemoths as Dodger Stadium or the Oakland Coliseum — spacious arenas built in a spacious country.
Few words in sports elicit such varying degrees of responses as the simple phrase, “He’s clutch.” Tony Romo? Please, don’t slander the good name of clutch by mentioning him and it in the same sentence. Eli Manning? Come playoff time, he is unstoppable. Michael Jordan? His Airness was the very definition of clutch. LeBron James? Just doesn’t have it.
Every sportswriter in the country feels compelled to write about LeBron James and where he will sign now that he is a free agent. It’s kind of like the Tim Tebow effect, or the Brett Favre saga, or the Barry Bonds did steroids thing – it just feels like it needs to be written. So here I am, like all of those sportswriters, with very little idea where James will end up, but still about to put in my two cents in the form of this 700-word column…
As Game 5 — the crucial tiebreaker — rolled around Tuesday night, I was thinking the game would come down to the final possession. What did I get? One of the worst performances of James’ career, leading to the worst home loss in Cleveland history by a score of 120-88.