Lebron is Sisyphus, And Cleveland Is the Boulder

The simple truth is that LeBron is Sisyphus, and Cleveland is the boulder. He has clamped a rope between his teeth and pulled clown cars full of feeble dipshits wearing Cavs jerseys into the Finals for years, decades, centuries now; this year’s model includes beloved Panera Bread spokesman Matthew Dellavedova and Iman Shumpert, who has minor accuracy issues. You’d watch James beat the Pistons or the Bulls or (briefly) the Magic with both arms and a dozen useless teammates tied behind his back, and you’d feel both electrified and really, really bad for him. He deserved to leave. The Cavs deserved to watch him leave. And now here’s another ludicrous game full of parallel-to-the-floor dunksand brutally nonchalant passes and blocks that make you want to throw your couch into your television. It is so hard as a Cavs fan not to pivot from jubilation directly into Ambient Cleveland Dread, to fear the worst on Sunday night — the sort of world-historical citywide defeatism that leads people like me to commission images like this, just to be ready when the shit goes down. The only real way to avoid that path is Total Distraction: Maybe just this on a loop until tipoff. We can do this. We can watch him do this. At his most transcendent, it feels like there’s no difference at all. 

By  Rob Harvilla for The Ringer; Photo from Getty Images/Ringer Illustration

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