The HoG's Totally Uninformed NBA Finals Preview

Ah, the NBA Finals. An annual rite of spring summer, the Finals were once the canvas on which Jordan, Isaiah, Bird and Magic painted their masterpieces. Since Pat Riley left the Lakers and ruined basketball, however, the NBA postseason has devolved into an unwatchable scrum punctuated by occasional brilliance.

Some people still watch this stuff, though, including my dad (a seriously bandwagon Spurs fan). In the seven weeks since the conference finals concluded, I’ve tried to convince Pops that the Cleveland Cavaliers have a chance in this series. I’ve argued that LeBron just may be reaching an MJ-level plane of singular domination. That the Cleveland supporting cast is better than he thinks. That a tight, defensive style plays into the Cavs’ hands. That the Spurs are too old, and the Cavs are too hungry. It’s all bullshit, of course (except maybe for that LeBron bit). Cleveland will win one game. They can win two games. They just might win three games. But that fourth game? I can’t see a logical way to give the Cavaliers four wins, but then I am not Yahweh. I think Jesus Christ is the only man who could tip the scales in favor of the Cavs, and he is currently a free agent that can penetrate, dish and D up.

The question, though, is does Jesus Christ hate the city of Cleveland?

Cleveland has not celebrated a major sports championship since before me, LeBron, Grady Sizemore and Brady Quinn were born. In 1964 the Browns won the NFL title, and that was before Lamar Hunt’s children invented the “Super Bowl.” In fact, I’m pretty sure that was back when Jim Brown was the only black player in the National Football League.

Fans of the Browns have endured a bitter existence since then. They had to watch Dave Logan play for them, for the love of Pete. They stood there with unthrown Milk-Bones in hand as John Elway drove a stake through their hearts in 1987. They watched Earnest Byner fuck them in the ass the next year (Jeremiah Castille!). They endured Bill Belichick’s awful first coaching stint, before he turned into a wizard. Worst of all, they watched their asshole owner Art Modell move the team to Baltimore in 1996, followed by Modell’s new Ravens winning the Super Bowl after the 2000 season. Guh.

The Indians have been, basically, the biggest joke in baseball since their last World Series win in 1948. The fabulous Major League motion picture series was based on this premise, as if Cleveland winning it all could only happen with the help of Hollywood shenanigans. The Tribe advance to the Series in 1995, losing to the Braves, and again in 1997, where they led Game 7 with one out in the ninth before the Marlins rallied to win a thrilling title. The fucking Marlins, who’ve since won another ring.

The Cavaliers’ past is shorter and slightly less miserable, but everyone remembers Jordan arcing a shot over the outstretched arm of Craig Ehlo back in 1989.

Did Jesus willfully and consciously make all of these events happen to perpetuate the suffering of the Cleveland fan? Perhaps. But why would the Messiah wish to punish these folks? What have they done to deserve this plight?

I’ll certainly be pulling for LeBron and his gang, and not just to be a contrarian with my dad. I’m sick of the Spurs. They’ve had their time, but their excellence comes with no measure of artistry. Duncan whines and politics for calls, their immigrant players flop and bail all over the place, and their coach looks like a hideous burn victim. Get them off my television, Jesus, I pray to you.

At the end of the day, God still hates Cleveland—Spurs in five.

Update: It turns out the fellows over at Lion In Oil have already covered what The Lord thinks about The Finals, those smarmy bastards.