There’s a handy little life trick you learn growing up in Cleveland. It’s called pessimism. And it can get you through a lot of dark days. I learned in Cleveland that the way to handle a foot of snow is to expect two feet. The way to deal with large potholes is to imagine them to be bigger than moderately priced New York City apartments. The way to beat an endless string of gray skies is to embrace the gray, cherish it, bask in it. And the way to overcome crushing sports defeats is to always, always, always see them coming.

And so, the person who let me down Thursday night was not LeBron James. No, it was myself. I knew what was likely going to happen — it was IMPOSSIBLE not to know. The Miami rumors had grown so loud that season tickets in South Florida were already flying off the shelf.

And yet, to the end — to the very last word of the only question that mattered in Jim Gray’s interminable interview with the man who would be King — I just didn’t think LeBron James had it in him to create his own ESPN show dedicated to dumping his hometown. I always thought he might leave for another team. But I didn’t think he would do it so readily, so impassively, so cooly, I didn’t think he would so publicly spurn and embarrass the city that has dedicated so much of its energy to loving him. I didn’t think he had that in him. Even with all the Miami reports, even with all the signs, even with all the people telling me that he was gone, once he got to that decisive moment on television I still expected him to say: “I’ve decided to stay in Cleveland.”

And that was my fault. Remember the scene in “The Natural,” when Robert Redford was lamenting his dark past (when he got shot by a pouty Barbara Hershey)? He was beating himself up to Glenn Close.

Redford: “But I didn’t see it coming.”
Close: “How could you know she’d hurt you? How could anyone?”
Redford: “I didn’t see it coming.”
Close: “You should have?”
Redford: “Yes. But I didn’t. Why didn’t I?”

That’s what I thought about after the first wave of LeBron disgust passed (and I was onto the second wave). LeBron James joins Art Modell, John Elway, Michael Jordan, Mike Davis and Willie Mays as just a few who have broken Cleveland’s still-beating sports heart. But that’s not the point. I didn’t see it coming. I should have. But I didn’t. The Cleveland inside let me down.

* * *

It’s worth remembering the last game. That was really the day the aura of King LeBron died in Cleveland. He is the most brilliant basketball player on earth — I believe that sincerely. He plays the game with an energy and a spirit that is unlike anyone else — he can do anything. He can transform himself into Magic Johnson or Larry Bird, Dr. J or Karl Malone, and at certain times, at his most inspirational, he can even become Michael Jordan for a few heady minutes. It’s like he’s a master impressionist, the Dana Carvey of basketball, and he can change his 6-foot-8 frame into any form he needs at that moment.

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