So Now I’m Interested In LeBron James

Up until the other day, I didn’t have too much interest in LeBron James, that crazy Cleveland kid with hoop-targeting skills from Jehovah, apparently. But after his absurd television spectacle in which the only thing that happened consisted of the word “Miami,” I’m suddenly interested.

Because now everyone seems to hate LeBron James for a variety of reasons. Some people believe that his crass media manipulation has exposed sport as a crass, hollow¬†business, a rip in the tear of our cultural fabric through which the inevitable howling void can be seen to howl. Check out Ethan Sherwood Strauss’ gnashing of teeth on

Now, as a devoted NBA-booster and LeBron James fan, I feel taken for a ride. A man’s obsessed-over decision to wear different garb when he throws a ball into a ring was expressed in such a way as to make the absurdity of that situation manifest.

Miami and Cleveland sport similar colors, but LeBron James really exchanged gray skies for blue. He will abandon his hometown fans for a glitzier situation — because he can. LeBron probably never cared about them in the first place. And if he never cared about them, then why do I care about LeBron, athletes or sports in general?

My favourite blast of Bron-hate comes from the Dan Gilbert, majority owner of the Cleveland Cavaliers. In an open letter to James written in motherfucking Comic Sans, he promises that the Cavaliers will win the NBA championship before Miami. And he invokes heavy karma in the process:

Some people think they should go to heaven but NOT have to die to get there.

Sorry, but that’s simply not how it works.

This shocking act of disloyalty from our home grown “chosen one” sends the exact opposite lesson of what we would want our children to learn. And “who” we would want them to grow-up to become.

But the good news is that this heartless and callous action can only serve as the antidote to the so-called “curse” on Cleveland, Ohio.

The self-declared former “King” will be taking the “curse” with him down south. And until he does “right” by Cleveland and Ohio, James (and the town where he plays) will unfortunately own this dreaded spell and bad karma.

Seriously, go read the letter. The Comic Sans is big and blue and there are angry quotation marks all over the place, like tire damage spikes thrown down wherever.

Author: Aidan Morgan

Aidan is a very serious man who's saving up for a nice dignified pipe. Then we'll see who's laughing.

2 thoughts on “So Now I’m Interested In LeBron James”

  1. I’m Comic Sans, Asshole.
    – – – –

    Listen up. I know the shit you’ve been saying behind my back. You think I’m stupid. You think I’m immature. You think I’m a malformed, pathetic excuse for a font. Well think again, nerdhole, because I’m Comic Sans, and I’m the best thing to happen to typography since Johannes fucking Gutenberg.

    You don’t like that your coworker used me on that note about stealing her yogurt from the break room fridge? You don’t like that I’m all over your sister-in-law’s blog? You don’t like that I’m on the sign for that new Thai place? You think I’m pedestrian and tacky? Guess the fuck what, Picasso. We don’t all have seventy-three weights of stick-up-my-ass Helvetica sitting on our seventeen-inch MacBook Pros. Sorry the entire world can’t all be done in stark Eurotrash Swiss type. Sorry some people like to have fun. Sorry I’m standing in the way of your minimalist Bauhaus-esque fascist snoozefest. Maybe sometime you should take off your black turtleneck, stop compulsively adjusting your Tumblr theme, and lighten the fuck up for once.

    People love me. Why? Because I’m fun. I’m the life of the party. I bring levity to any situation. Need to soften the blow of a harsh message about restroom etiquette? SLAM. There I am. Need to spice up the directions to your graduation party? WHAM. There again. Need to convey your fun-loving, approachable nature on your business’ website? SMACK. Like daffodils in motherfucking spring.

    When people need to kick back, have fun, and party, I will be there, unlike your pathetic fonts. While Gotham is at the science fair, I’m banging the prom queen behind the woodshop. While Avenir is practicing the clarinet, I’m shredding “Reign In Blood” on my double-necked Stratocaster. While Univers is refilling his allergy prescriptions, I’m racing my tricked-out, nitrous-laden Honda Civic against Tokyo gangsters who’ll kill me if I don’t cross the finish line first. I am a sans serif Superman and my only kryptonite is pretentious buzzkills like you.

    It doesn’t even matter what you think. You know why, jagoff? Cause I’m famous. I am on every major operating system since Microsoft fucking Bob. I’m in your signs. I’m in your browsers. I’m in your instant messengers. I’m not just a font. I am a force of motherfucking nature and I will not rest until every uptight armchair typographer cock-hat like you is surrounded by my lovable, comic-book inspired, sans-serif badassery.

    Enough of this bullshit. I’m gonna go get hammered with Papyrus.

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