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It’s one thing to leave. I get it. You’re 25. You don’t know any better. You’re tired of carrying mediocre teams. You want help. You want the luxury of not having to play a remarkable game every single night for eight straight months. You want to live in South Beach. You want to play with your buddies. I get it. I get it. But turning that decision into a one-hour special, pretending that it hadn’t been decided weeks ago, using a charity as your cover-up and ramming a pitchfork in Cleveland’s back like you were at the end of a Friday the 13th movie and Cleveland was Jason … there just had to be a better way.
Bill Simmons: The All-LeBron sound-off - ESPN
† That just about sums up my feelings about this LBJ business.
