Let The Evil Begin… Oh Yeah, The Season Too
It’s time to embrace evil and the Miami Heat. Join us.
by Allen Powell II
“Oh, pardon me.”
“Sorry about that, I didn’t even see your feet.”
“Whew, I think this is my seat. Hmm… Yep, I see the placards for Eboy, T-Money and JTaylor 21, so I must be in the right place.”
“This is the bandwagon for the Miami Heat championship season, correct?”
“Then I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Rooting for the bad guy is fun.
I was enthralled when Clubber Lang abused Rocky Balboa. It wasn’t just the violence and wrath embodied in every blow that sucked me in. Nor does my youthful fascination with all things Mr. T. explain why I cheered for the scowling boxer to destroy Balboa.
No, what really hooked me was Clubber’s ridiculously evil swagger. That potent mixture of bravado and cold-bloodedness that only true villains possess. This cat actually told Rocky’s wife that she got more pipe than a plumber!
Clubber didn’t want to beat Balboa, he wanted to humiliate him. He didn’t respect the champion, he didn’t respect the champion’s fawning press corps and he didn’t respect Balboa’s insufferable fans. His goal was to destroy the myth and claim the throne.
Please God, let that be the 2010 Miami Heat.
There have been glimmers that Clubber is coming to South Beach. LeBron revealed this summer that like Santa Claus, he’s constantly updating his Christmas list. All the chatty folks from this offseason are in the naughty column, and they can expect facials and chase-down blocks in their stockings come winter.
The dancing is gone and so are the smiles and jokes. Sacrifice, unity and focus are the buzzwords bandied about by the Heat in public, but it’s obvious two other unspoken words are really driving them.
We’ve never seen angry LeBron. We’ve seem him focused, we’ve seen him driven and we’ve seen him push himself to the outer reaches of his immense physical gifts. But that’s not angry.
Angry takes each little interaction personally. Angry wants to prove a point on every defensive and offensive possession. Angry is not content with winning, no, angry is only sated by destruction.
LeBron, Wade and Bosh are angry. They have read the insults and they’ve heard the jibes. They know that Miami is now hated for far more than inspiring an insipid Will Smith song. Things have gotten personal.
We saw what angry Dwyane Wade did to the NBA and FIBA in 2008. Can our imaginations conceptualize the capabilities of an angry Chris Bosh and LeBron James?
Imagine an angry Wade and LeBron hounding opposing swingmen until they can only look at their coaches and beg for help? Like gazelles on the grasslands, they will flow across the open court, leaving gasping predators in their wake as they attack the rim.
Picture an angry Bosh pump-faking at the free throw line and then ramming home lefty dunks with “no regard for human life”? Better yet, how about defending the paint like his very life depended on it?
Can’t you just see Eddie House’s sneer and Mike Miller’s smirk as they drain wide open three pointers in NBA arenas from coast to coast. Visualize Udonis Haslem ripping down rebounds and frustrating opponents with well-timed elbows and shoves.
I can see it.
Dammit, I need to see it.
I want to cheer for that type of anger. I want to cheer for the type of raw aggression rarely seen in today’s NBA. Sure we get the screams, and chest thumping, but that’s just spectacle, not anger. Russell Westbrook and Kobe are the only players I can think of who consistently play angry. That’s not good enough.
I want to cheer for a team where the superstars FORCE the role players to become evil like Sith Lords bending Force-wielders to the Dark Side. I don’t want butt-slapping and handshakes, I want trash talk, stare downs, shoving matches and clotheslines. I wouldn’t mind more blood.
I want that in my NBA and only the Miami Heat can fulfill my wish.