I was driving home from Indy yesterday afternoon, the unlikely site of LeBron’s imminent Waterloo, and I found the game on ESPN radio. I was fairly pleased when the Pacers jumped out to a 9-0 lead, and according to the announcers, the Heat were coming apart. Wade looked sour and LeBron was shouting at Mario Chalmers, who just threw the ball out of bounds.
I know it’s sad to take delight in the demise of your enemies, but Schadenfraude is the closest a Cleveland fan will ever come to tasting victory. We wish it were different, but the imprecatory Psalms are in the Bible for a reason, and we’re not too proud to use them. They’re all we’ve got.
I turned the game off because it was difficult to hear with the windows open in my non-air conditioned Honda, which is only 5 years younger than LeBron James, and just as rusty in the fourth quarter. I also knew that the first three quarters in the NBA don’t matter anyway. Sure enough, when I turned it back on the Heat had flipped the score and now were ten points ahead.
I was sorry to hear this, but also relieved that my best argument for God’s existence just got a little stronger. Cleveland sports pretty much proves there is a God, for if life was merely a random series of events, we would have to catch a break every now and then. The fact that we have never won in my lifetime, and our heroes never win until two years after they leave town, means that God has cursed Cleveland sports. This makes my life a tiny bit less enjoyable now, but it gives me added confidence that there is a God who hears my prayers. Especially the imprecatory Psalms.
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