At some point between watching Dirk sink his game-two-winning lefty layup and watching his game-three-tying one-footed leaner hit the rim—approximately two inches too long—I realized that I don’t hate the Heat. More than that, I realized that while I don’t love them, I love that they exist, I take great joy from rooting against them, and I don’t know if I’d want it any other way.
The Heat have been a constant source of entertainment all year, at once the hungriest team in the league and the most self-satisfied. Their on-court feats, combined with the fascination in LeBron and Wade’s every move, best evidenced by the endless post-game questions about their shadowboxing celebration on Thursday or Gregg Doyel’s “shrink from the moment” question that LeBron comically shut down (after being a force on defense and making the game winning assist), provide me more entertainment than any other team in the league. Is there anything better than the best player in the NBA assuring a beat writer that if he watches more tape, he’ll “ask me a better question tomorrow”?
I like that LeBron, when asked a real question, gave a refreshingly detailed Xs-and-Os answer while wearing a pale mint-green suit and tie. I like arguing whether that suit is better than Wade’s, who’s sitting next to him in their customary interview tag-team (which I also find amusing), wearing a navy jacket, yellow shirt, light-blue tie, and emerald-and-cobalt pocket square (Wade’s suit, like his play, was superior). I like wondering whether LeBron and Wade share Pat Riley’s secret walk-in closet in Miami or whether they had their own installed as part of their contracts. I find the media whirlwind that follows the Heat nearly as entertaining as the Heat themselves.
The Heat have been wondrous and terrifying, like fast-moving lava. That’s probably not the most original image, but just like I’m never going to root for Mount Vesuvius over the townspeople of Pompeii, I’m also not going to turn away from a high-definition nature show on volcanoes in Hawaii.
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For a hundred reasons, most of which stem from entitlement issues and really stellar basketball, the Heat have become every bit as polarizing as post-2004, pre-2008 Kobe Bryant. I think that’s great. I was on the “love him or hate him, he’s the best” side of the Kobe argument during that period, but I haven’t been so strongly against a team winning since the Detroit Pistons of ’03–’05 dismissed my Pacers’ title chances two years running because of a Tayshaun Prince block, Ben Wallace acting like a punk, and some beer throwing fans. And while the Pacers weren’t much more entertaining, watching those Pistons teams—no matter how much you might like Rasheed Wallace—was like watching sand dune erosion.
In these playoffs, the Heat have been wondrous and terrifying, like fast-moving lava. That’s probably not the most original image, but just like I’m never going to root for Mount Vesuvius over the townspeople of Pompeii, I’m also not going to turn away from a high-definition nature show on volcanoes in Hawaii.
I watched the first half of games two and three at the gym and almost fell off the treadmill multiple times each game. I was holding my breath every time the Heat touched the ball, especially when they launched threes, which isn’t ideal during a jog. On every pick-and-roll, I braced myself for the dunk that would open the floodgates, also not ideal for a jog. I cursed every time Dwyane Wade did something great, grimaced every time they closed out Dallas’ shooters a little too fast, and muttered “Ball don’t lie” to myself after every Heat-missed free throw.
Do I want the Mavericks to win that badly? Yes, but I rooted against the Heat just as strongly when they played the Bulls (and sat in awe as LeBron made Derrick Rose disappear), and would be rooting against them just as hard if the Thunder or Grizzlies had managed to make it out of the West. So as much as I like the Mavericks and desperately want Dirk to win a title, it’s unfair to say I’m not invested in the Heat to the same degree, just for different reasons.
It’s not like the Mavericks are underdogs, either. So far, they’ve scored eight fewer points than the Heat in three games and have won five quarters, lost four, and tied three. They could easily be up 3-0, as could the Heat, yet each of the first three games has felt like the Mavericks are a mid-major team with one unforgettable do-it-all senior that’s made it through to the Final Four and are now fighting tooth-and-nail to hang on against the McDonald’s All American–stacked No. 1–seed Heat and slipping. Is that perception turning into reality? Or are Dallas’ role players, currently overwhelmed, going to give Dirk the help he needs to climb back out of the hole they’re in and even the series up?
—Photo AP