What would the haters say now, his supporters asked? Why were they so quiet? Surely they would at last admit defeat?
But here's the thing: There are at least two kinds of LeBron James "haters." There are those who "hate" in the modern, Internetty sense, which is to say they are critics more than haters. They criticize James for not being Michael Jordan, for not being clutch enough, for taking too many shots, for not hitting enough game-winning baskets, for not winning enough Finals. I suppose these are the "haters" everyone was wondering about Tuesday night, and yeah, it wasn't a great night for them, what with James going for 40 points, 12 rebounds, eight assists, four steals and two blocks in another win.
But there are also "haters" in the more traditional sense, those who simply root against James at every opportunity, from preseason to regular season to postseason to Finals to offseason cornhole matches. I would put myself in that category. Why? That's the puzzling part. I sat around for an hour Tuesday night trying to figure out a reason, and I came up with virtually nothing, other than he's just too big, too strong, too smart and too talented. He is sui generis, and so is my rooting interest against him.
"They criticiSe James for not being Michael Jordan, for not being clutch enough, for taking too many shots, for not hitting enough game-winning baskets, for not winning enough Finals."
Maybe this "hate" has roots in the Wizards-Cavs stuff from the mid-2000s, when James seemed imperious, humorless, and overly taken with himself. And maybe those roots expanded during "The Decision," with its Miami Super Team aftermath. But that LeBron seems almost entirely gone. He appears more self-aware now. His interviews are charming enough. His return to Cleveland was admirable. His play is just about flawless. MVP or not, he's the most terrifying force in the NBA, with the possible exception of Matthew Dellavedova.
What this means, though, is that there is probably nothing James can do to satisfy my brand of "hating," in the same way Alex Ovechkin can never quite satisfy Mike Milbury. (Oh no, I'm turning into Mike Milbury. Send help. And shoe polish.) The sports-fandom key has been yanked out of my soul after years of sportswriting and general life apathy, but the "root against LeBron James" button still flashes red every other night.
I root harder against James than for or against any other athlete or team in any sport. I cringe when he shoots — my brand of haterdom assumes he will make every shot — and exhale when he goes to the bench. I would cheer for literally any NBA team that faced the Cavs in the playoffs, while also assuming that Cleveland would eventually win. This has nothing to do with Cleveland, a team that interested me not at all when James was gone. It's the same thing with Miami; I didn't care about the Heat pre-James, marshaled all my rooting power against the Heat when he arrived, and then went back to apathy when he left.
"I root harder against James than for or against any other athlete or team in any sport. I cringe when he shoots — my brand of haterdom assumes he will make every shot — and exhale when he goes to the bench."
In fact, most of my clearest recent NBA memories involve rooting against James. I rejoiced, wide-eyed, when the Mavericks beat the Heat in the 2011 Finals. I collapsed onto the ground when Ray Allen hit that game-tying shot in the 2013 Finals, setting up Miami's win. (Really, straight onto the floor.) I had to look away during James's dominant Game 7 in those Finals, and I celebrated again in 2014 when the Spurs topped the Heat. It feels almost squalid, rooting against someone so great, but this is now ingrained on my innards, something impossible to deny, even if it's impossible to justify.
What's the equivalent in other sports? Individual players can't dominate like this in football, baseball or hockey. Tiger Woods and Roger Federer never activated this feeling, at least not for me. The best comparison I've come up with is Jeff Gordon; he famously attracted legions of "haters," and their explanations often sounded as feeble as mine. Gordon was too good, basically.
"Now that I'm a totally hip, rational adult you'd think I would have matured to the point where I can appreciate the talent and career of someone [Dale Earnhardt] dubbed as 'Wonder Boy,' " Gordon hater Danielle Matheson wrote on Uproxx. "But haha, nope."
"Haha, nope" is about as good as I can do on the James matter. Tuesday night found me screaming at the television as the favored Warriors fell behind, charged back and petered out. I wanted officials to call touch fouls against Cleveland. I ignored the arms draped over James. I cursed at Dellavedova. I hoped the refs would botch that crucial last-minute out-of-bounds call; an illegitimate James loss is better than no loss at all. And I pretty much always expected that the Cavs would win.
They did, and James's defenders then wondered where the haters were. Speaking only for myself, I can report that I was sitting forlornly on my couch, hoping James would lose Thursday but expecting the opposite, for reasons I can't at all explain.
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