Thursday, February 14, 2013

Lebron James form is so hot even fire itself gives him a wide berth.

Unlike fire deprived of oxygen, his form threatens to burn for many a decade. His foe can only stand the heat for so long. Eventually that furnace suffocates the opposition of their ability to counter his genius.

His is a brightly oiled vista of star spangled heavenly endeavours, culminating in a virtual feeding frenzy of elongated success, stretching the pre-conceived boundaries as to what his already prodigious bent could achieve. Said abilities were always there, perhaps not quite as refined as they are in the now, but still more than enough for his coaches to work with. More importantly, there is enough for the big man to improve on as he puts in all the extras in his own time. After all, desire comes from the depths of one’s mind. With James that mind is an oasis of well lubricated acuteness, as is his Basketball talent.

Since the small forward’s debut back in what seems like the distant past of 2006, the 6ft8” James’ statistics have improved with each passing season. Free-throws, rebounds, assists per game, field goals and shots from afar; every season he keeps expanding. Not for James to stagnate. He knows the way forward to greatness is to keep the progress in the positive. Nor is he one to concern himself as to what others think of him.

Three years ago he was ridiculed for announcing to the world that, along with Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh, he was going to decimate all before him for many a year to come. They signed with the Heat. In their minds a dynasty was on the verge of animation. The future foresaw a better countenance for him than the one he had in Cleveland. A few fans were, to put it mildly, disappointed that he chose to leave. But that is bye the by, I guess. It was onwards and upwards. There was to be a change in fortune. Indeed, he is one of the rare to prosper having had their form go south. Miami it was for the foreseeable future. Sun, surf and those few titles he was so confident of attaining beckoned.

Aiming for the stars and all that, it was going to be more than just a few. The Lebron James show was due to begin.

Now there is a risk that this outlandish prophecy could occur.

2012 came and went; he won an NBA championship ring. He finally did it. Eight seasons since his rookie year – it is here. It didn’t sink in immediately but, sure enough, it did eventually.

“Oh my God, I think it just hit me, I'm a CHAMPION, I’m a CHAMPION”. So said LBJ, on his twitter account, the day after. Now he knows what it feels like, you suspect he wants more.

And here is the chance to finally deliver on that enormous potential that he was lucky enough to be born with. Sure, there are not going to be eight NBA titles in a row like the great Celtics era of the 1960’s, what with the salary cap and all, but another few appear to be well within his grasp. It won’t be easy, but he has come to realise that. This, in part, is what makes multiple titles more realistic. He discovered that one didn’t come easy, and knowing now how hard it is to attain the heights of the heavens, he has taken to the current season with a verve of one who knows what fruits are at the end of the ladder of hard work.

Twenty-eight, it took him awhile, but that wait never stopped him. He kept rising, never knowing when the air would become too rarefied for his abilities. Soon the talisman of all talismens will be there. You know, the heavens - that abode made for you, where the sky is blue, the birds flew and the pantheon of stars awaits you.

Now he is the biggest of fish in the biggest of seas, without a care in the world such does his talent run free, addicted to the pursuit of excellence, many a enemy have attempted to stymie.

Not even Kevin Durant could stop the dream wrecking machine, the same Kevin Durant who has sparked quite the inferno himself in 2013. Along with James, he could keep fire-fighters in business, the Country wide. I mean, if it wasn’t for the presence of LBJ, Durant would be a shoo in for MVP. Instead his chances have been assassinated by LBJ’s continued quest for improvement. The NBA’s second best player has been made to look like a weekend hack. They were battering away at each other to gain the title of best in the NBA. Now James has won by a knockout and is the king. I suppose there is a reason that he is nicknamed King James, after all. And to think they said all those sightings were bogus.

He reigns supreme as the scarp of his talent loomed large over his foes receding hopes of success, shadowing their every move as the millstone of sobriety lowered its bow to the tentacles of despair, swimming for an eternity into a tsunami of forlorn hope.

That shadow only grows with time; darkening the air for all that cross that path, except, of course, LeBron James and his equally dedicated teammates.

Thursday, February 7, 2013

Not all that many years ago a new model was released into the tennis world. It was an original, one of a kind. Shots galore emanated from its pores. Strong off either wing, the results could be devastating.

Capable of mountainous snow filled highs, it also came with the lows of the dales.

This model, the Djockovic mark1, sparkled on the outside. Flash it was, though some would suggest that, at times, he was nothing more than over-paid primadonna; strutting, preening, swaggering and prancing to the beat of an over-rated drum, unable to do the dance.

You see, the problem was that this particular model came with optional extras – and not necessarily the good kind. There were imitations of other players. This may be amusing to the fans but it is not exactly the way to endear oneself to your peers. Often it appeared that it could not last the distance physically, either. Oh, and those breakdowns (injuries) that happened along at the most inopportune of moments. Usually when he was losing, it has to be said. Mental toughness had not yet struck up a lasting friendship with the man from Serbia.

It turns out that even though bones may not be malleable, a foe’s will can be manipulated to bend.

Unfortunately for Novak Djockovic it was his will that was contorted with monotonous regularity. At the tender age of twenty he had yet to truly find his rightful existence. Such was the psyche of his vexing vanity vainly attempting to validate its various visages as the vague valedictorian in him verified venomous volumes of visceral vitality that could no longer be sustained.

Never mind that this model had won its first grand slam title in 2008 at the Australian Open. It was to be another three years before Slam number two was to countenance more than a horizon.

It was not generating the results that had been hoped for.

Something had to give - and it did. So it was back to the garage and an overhaul while the potential superstar was still young enough to rotate his fortunes to the good.

Come the beginning of 2011 and the Djockovic mark2 was launched. Now this was a model that wasn’t just a veneer of showy one-upmanship. It was to contain much more in the way of the necessary substance required to be a championship contender on a regular basis.

Gone was the fair weather mind of the mark1. The icy winds of his now hardened mind were furnished with the rigid decor of steel readying itself to send a wintery blast in the direction of yet another unsuspecting foe. No longer was he the yellow belly of days rendered obsolete, ready to concede defeat at the slightest hint of tough times ahead. Indeed, his vast range of talents throttled their way up the ramp of prosperity, veering towards the likeliest of other-worldly attacking displays, setting up camp at the utopia of high end performance and leaving his opponents damp from their stay at the coalface of tyrannical hardship without the lamp of hope to light up the dimmest of roads ahead.

This was much to the dismay of many an opposition like Andy Murray.

And ask Andy, he’ll tell you of the effectiveness of the Djockovic model. He was the one, at the recent Australian Open Final, going hammer and tong at the reigning champ.

No matter how hard or how delicately he struck his shots, the Djockovic would out hit and out finesse him right back.

With a memorandum of nonchalant negligence neatly heralding in a sinisterly smelling smorgasbord of fiendishly fickle dalliances, daring one frozen defender to double his efforts from afar, this attacking perpetrator of doom and gloom went about his business busily busting barricades of defence to smithereens as he smashed his way to yet another smothering victory.

Eventually, Murray’s slathering slant of defence shivered in its slivering shell of slanderous shelter sharing not so slight melodramatic masses of fluctuating fortunes that the arguably fermented fervour of a cascading concourse careering headlong his way, with yet another mercilessly cruel wall of deceit, could not be starved off.

And by the end of the final, Murray was as far from a win as he had ever been.

That is the thing with Djockovic. You can match him for two and a half sets, but such is the ferocity, not to mention his relentlessness, that anyone brave enough to challenge the champ is eventually worn down mentally. For his game often appears to be one rocket propelled missile after another, each weapon seemingly content in the knowledge that widespread destruction will encompass his foes hopes of success in a darkened capsule of despair.

Djockovic at his best was simply too good for the rest.

It turns out that his bumper year of 2011 was no mirage. This time the makers had come up with more than just a few fancy mod cons in the form of superlative ground strokes to be hauled out every so often. They had made the complete model: brilliant shots, superb fitness, and maturity mixed with an unbeatable brand of mental toughness. This all adds up to one of the most reliable ever seen on the market.

Three years, three Australian titles in a row, that long walk down the sanctified corridor of champions to centre court, and he is in the process of transcending all before.

What is truly frightening is the thought of a Djockovic mark3.