There will be no LeBron James in the NBA Finals.
No puppets, no chalk, no oddly protruding right mandible.
In his place is the Orlando Magic, a team that has a star in Dwight Howard, but whose success relies mostly on unsexy things like defense and Hedo Turkoglu.
Like most people, I tend to watch sports for the human drama, and the departure of the ragamuffin Cavaliers pulls the rug out on a host of great storylines. Worse yet, this Magic team offers little in the way of replacement, unless you consider "When will Rashard Lewis shave that awful goatee?" a compelling plot.
All that leaves is Kobe Bean Bryant, ringleader of the Lake Show and last bastion of interesting in the 2009 Finals.
Kobe has always existed just outside the NBA fraternity. Drafted out of high school in 1996, he was a scrawny, 17-year-old alienating wunderkind - a persona he's yet to shake. He came of age under the sprawling shadow of Michael Jordan, the one-man championship-ring display case. Kobe walked like Jordan, talked like Jordan and longed to play like Jordan, despite the giggles of the league. No matter how dominant he was, he never could escape derision. Even his requisite nickname, "Black Mamba" - the most poisonous animal in the world - is largely laughed at, because Kobe made it up himself.
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Kobe, the perennial little brother, has three championships as it is, but all came alongside Shaquille O'Neal. Thus, the stock answer to whether Kobe is the best player in the NBA is a resounding "No," because he's never won without the future hall-of-fame center.
In 2004, after tantrums and rape charges, Kobe sent Shaq to Miami, sent coach Phil Jackson to the New York Times bestseller list, and sent the Lakers home for the playoffs for the first time in more than 10 years.
Scrambling, Kobe changed his number from No. 8 to No. 24 (one-upping Jordan?), and refined his focus. His boyish charm had disappeared in a courthouse in Colorado. Now, he fashioned himself an assassin, dodging public appearances - which was easier after he lost so many endorsements - and putting all his effort into winning.
Come 2007, Kobe's MVP year, the Lakers were rolling toward absolution. They came away with the best record in an insanely contentious Western Conference and clawed through the playoffs to reach the Finals yet again.
This was it. Kobe was in his prime, and the Lakers brought along dominant big man Pau Gasol and candy-swilling forward Lamar Odom. Kobe knew time was running out, knew his legacy needed a Shaq-less championship, knew he finally had the supporting cast to make it happen.
And then he failed.
The Lakers were bruised, battered and embarrassed by the Boston Celtics, a team with not one but three superstars who needed only a Finals victory to cement their legend. Kobe left the arena - under confetti and the howls of Kevin Garnett - another year older, another year losing.
And now Kobe's Lakers are back on the big stage, but this time, the stakes are higher. Trevor Ariza and Lamar Odom are free agents after this season, and there's no way the Lakers can keep both. Furthermore, after more than 100 games last season, the summer Olympics and 100 or so more this season, Kobe's 30-year-old knees can only take so much.
This, it seems, might be Kobe's last chance to take his place in NBA lore. If he wins, he's a legend who led four teams to championships and saved the slumping Lakers' franchise. If he loses, he was little more than an occasionally winning blip between the Jordan Dynasty and the coming LeBron Apocalypse.
Game 1 of the NBA Finals
Thursday, 7 p.m.
ABC
