The peculiarity of the LeBron James reality show has settled, and he's been expertly criticized and mocked in equal measure. The outcry has been negative in all precincts outside Pat Riley's beach house. Team LeBron tried to convince the public that the surrounding speculation was without precedent, and in major sport that may be true. But there is one realm where heroes become villains, switch allegiances, gang up with each other, and infuriate their devoted fans: professional wrestling.
Disbelief as a story line goes off the rails.
A nation of Hulkamaniacs mourns Hogan's strategic flirtation with the dark arts.
In the ignominious tradition of Hulk Hogan becoming Hollywood Hogan, discarding his iconic gold unitard, and proving the depth of his conversion to evil-doing by dyeing his stubble black--LeBron emerged from his time at the Greenwich Boy's Club as villain number one. All he needed was a mask and a patented move. Incidentally, Vince McMahon, chairman of the WWE, who no doubt approved the stagecraft of such nefariousness, is married to Linda McMahon who's running for Senate in Connecticut. LeBron can now campaign with the good and godly Mrs McMahon throughout Greenwich, lobby for cuts in the capital gains tax, and his trip to the dark side will be complete.
Uneasy lies the waist that wears the belt.
In a power grab worthy of Nature Boy Ric Flair, LeBron sought to unify the belts in South Beach. Only now he doesn't look like such a heavyweight. LeBron, enabled by his entourage and the sweet people at Nike, mistook attention for admiration, and bought into their own story line. Now it's time for LeBron to shed the advisors and enablers. They don't know what he goes through--that's why he's an athlete and they're accountants. Any good little Hulkster knows what you do when you're up against it: you enter the ring alone.