LeBron James was right when he intimated how toxic the discourse is around the game, and how it feels unlikely someone will step forward to become the face of the NBA when he finally walks away.
Well, if he walks away.
There will be a vacuum of sorts, but at some point we will have to reset the conversation. The crown is heavy, and ever since James showed up as a high schooler with a Hummer, it feels like all eyes have been on him, all the time.
For better or worse.
He’s been an admirable statesman, and even his public missteps have been minor. Perhaps he was confident in the team of advisers he surrounded himself with, armed with unusual maturity and foresight. Perhaps he thought it was ordained he carry the weight.
Either way, he’s one of one and, more importantly, last of his kind.
There isn’t a game he’s played that hasn’t been televised, no urban myths about his 50,000 career regular-season and playoff points. We’ve witnessed it all, every interview, every Nike commercial, every exhausting endeavor.
It’s exhausting to consider, the scrutiny he’s been under for well over 20 years. Perhaps that’s a reason there’s been no natural successor, and even LeBron’s co-star atop the NBA’s mountain, Stephen Curry, didn’t come from the NBA machine — he came out of nowhere, and his presence, like LeBron’s, has been a blessing.
Finding the next face isn’t clear, and there’s no criteria for who it should be. There are no artificial boxes one must check in order to receive the torch. On one hand, the people decide. On the other, a player must want it.
One without the other leaves a void. One without the other is Jayson Tatum, who may want it but seems to lack the extra “it” factor — either in personality or in excitement of his game — for everyone to embrace.
One without the other is Anthony Edwards, who has the look, the game and the charm, but doesn’t want the responsibility. That smile is on display for Sprite commercials and Adidas spots, but he clearly has shied away from it, knowing a clean-cut image is required, knowing the attention can be suffocating, and the conversation can be exhaustive and incomplete at the same time.
So we sit with LeBron’s words: “Why do you wanna be the face of a league when all the people that cover and talk about our game on a day-to-day basis s*** on everybody? To have that responsibility is just weird. It’s weird energy.”
LeBron’s words were sparked by his friend Channing Frye’s comments about the game being too tied to the past — as if that isn’t self-serving to endorse — but we start there nonetheless, because James is uniquely qualified to be at the forefront of matters.
“Every great player, whether that’s Ant, Wemby, Bron, Steph — you know [who] they compare them to? A motherf***** [that played] 40 years ago,” Frye said on a podcast. “Nobody celebrates these new people, so why the f*** will anybody want to be the face of the league when you’re going to get s*** on, on every network for not being somebody from 40 f***ing years ago? It’s ridiculous. It is unfair.”
Frye’s statement holds truth, but it is incomplete. For whatever reason, only the NBA conversations use comparisons as a negative relative to the past. But it’s not a one-way, generational tug-of-war here, and that’s where it gets tricky.
In other sports, comparisons are compliments. Here, it’s a challenge.
LeBron James is an original, just as Michael Jordan was, just as Magic Johnson was, just as most greats are. Those conversations used to be fun, sometimes serious, but usually educational.
Now it’s contentious, and it’s sad for the growth of the game. Even something as unfortunate as Kyrie Irving’s ACL injury was turned into a weapon in the never-ending conversation surrounding the Luka Dončić trade. Usually the cycle waits a couple days before moving in that direction, but it hit that intersection at warp speed Tuesday afternoon.
The social media cyclone has found a way to lump the certified critics in among folks with a random microphone or smartphone, and players don’t know the difference, so they’re forever fighting a battle that they’re always seeking out.
It is a bit annoying when James is always trying to win the argument of best player of all time. His game has been unnecessarily dissected, both by credible and bad actors who hold too much real estate in this space — so it’s natural he wants to plant his flag. But he’d probably do this no matter the environment. The narrative overrides the actual case, and being turned off by that doesn’t just go down generational lines — and besides, no one is changing their mind at this point.
Not even a fifth championship alongside Dončić would turn the tide in his favor, and neither would a playoff failure or meltdown dissuade his supporters.
That’s where, unfortunately, the toxicity has big-time roots that sprout into other areas of the game, and disrespect soon follows.
It’s not enough that today’s players have the advantage of technology, better playing conditions and higher salaries that are still climbing. They also appear to need the validation from the previous generation — those players who’ve honestly deposited more into the league and the game than the current players, yet won’t reap the financial rewards.
Then the previous generation has to be told they’re plumbers and firemen, and their game wasn’t great because 7-footers weren’t taking 3-point shots with extreme freedom. And to make matters more grating, some of today’s players go out of their way to lecture about how this generation is subject to the most unfair media treatment of all NBA athletes.
As if Magic Johnson wasn’t booed at home, after winning a championship no less, because he got Paul Westhead fired and had been signed to a then-unprecedented 25-year, $25 million deal.
As if Julius Erving didn’t have to carry a league branded as drug-infested.
As if Michael Jordan didn’t have his gambling habits blamed for his father’s murder in 1993, with no such evidence to support a wild claim while the man was grieving — not the media’s finest hour 30-plus years later.
None of that was fair, nor should it give license to anyone to be unfair to today’s players. But perspective seems to be lacking in our recency bias.
Instead of history being a guide, it’s being spat upon.
Everyone is in such a rush to “crown” their guy even after mundane regular-season games that the conversation has become limiting and nauseating. The attention economy seems to demand such daily declarations that the celebration of the game, or the mere discussion and critique of it, becomes lost.
Who knows if the attention economy demands it or if we are led to believe it. And even if it does, it’s upon the players and gatekeepers to fight against the wave of the moment, to keep the game at some level of pure — to bring the people along as opposed to being seduced by the ever-changing news cycle.
It’s as if the game itself isn’t good enough to stand on its own. It’s as if we need all this random shrubbery to entertain us and keep our attention rather than remarking on the nightly feats.
At some point, the game will reset and so will the conversation. Perhaps it’s too toxic to do it now while James and his generation are still alive and kicking and, some would say, pushing the narrative.
It’s their right, but it’s also exhausting to watch the battles as opposed to celebrating the differences and evolution in today’s game. At some point, overall greatness will be appreciated — even if we have no idea who will be the next mantle-holder we’ll be appreciating.
Dissecting Shai Gilgeous-Alexander’s response to LeBron James, ‘face of the NBA’ dialogue
SAN ANTONIO — Shai Gilgeous-Alexander was being asked the questions weeks before they were dipped in turmoil.
The face of the Oklahoma City Thunder — the West’s No. 1 seed — and an MVP favorite, Gilgeous-Alexander has been tugged at, quizzed about whether he envisions himself as face of the league when the smoke clears from what feels like a transitional period for the NBA. SGA has yet to reject the notion. He’s enticed by it. But comments from his superstar peers have called for reassurance from an increasingly important voice.
During All-Star weekend, Minnesota guard Anthony Edwards was asked if he held any desire to be a future face of the NBA.
“Not really,” he replied. “That’s what they got (Victor Wembanyama) for.”
Polarizing comments from a polarizing player who’s already been nudged into the prospect of eventually snagging the crown. Talk shows debated, and players of old dug their feet into the ground behind his stance. Longtime NBA player Channing Frye questioned why anyone would want to represent a league shrouded by media coverage he views as negative, carrying a penchant for comparison to previous eras.
He’s cold, but he ain’t Mike. Kobe would’ve never folded like that.
Frye seethes at the barbershop dialogue.
Asked about Edwards’ words, Lakers star LeBron James echoed the sentiment: “Why do you wanna be face of the league when all the people that cover our game on a day-to-day basis s*** on everybody?”
All of which leaves inquiring minds turning their attention back to Gilgeous-Alexander.
Truthfully, SGA licks his chops when asked his opinion on the matter, a chance for him to wax poetic about something he’s preparing himself for. It can feel like a job interview for a guy who’d like the position but will live without it. Above all else, he understands what it entails.
And that the title’s reach extends beyond desire.
“It comes with responsibility,” Gilgeous-Alexander said after Friday’s win in Atlanta. “Now, whether you want the responsibility, it’s up for you to decide. And ultimately, you don’t have any control over it. You can go out there and be a monster every night. Now, if the fans and the media and everyone gravitates to you, then you’re gonna walk into that, whether you want it or not, like LeBron James. I’m sure LeBron James wasn’t 12 like, ‘Yeah, I can’t wait to face the league.’ It just happened because of who he was, the way he carries himself in the player he is. So I think you don’t have no choice, unless you literally, like Anthony, ever say, ‘I don’t want it.’
“I think we’re in a weird transition right now with older guys and young guys, and so there’s a lot of conversation around it. But it’ll happen. It’ll trick out, and we’ll see who it is. You can’t control it. So for me, I don’t even put two cents into it. I just go out there and try to be the best basketball player, the best teammate, best dad, best best husband I could be every day and call it.”
Gilgeous-Alexander hasn’t been rash with the mic. His flow is closer to Common than Kodak Black. He grips these topics like a politician at times, like he’s taken time to consider them.
And his mind is made: He would embrace being the face of a league that will soon need a new set. He’s done the lifting in preparation for the baggage, just in case the people choose him.
He hears his peers. He’s empathetic of their gripes. He just hardly shares them, willing to accept new titles and the subsequent vitriol, ironically because of the way he watched his idols carry themselves.
“Personally, I don’t care to be scrutinized,” Gilgeous-Alexander said. “It doesn’t bother me at all. You can think of my game however you want to think about it. You can think of my teammates however you want to think about them.
“I don’t care to be praised. I do this thing to win basketball games and ultimately to try to hoist the trophy at the end of the year. If I don’t do that, it’s a failure, then I work at it again and try again next year.”
It doesn’t just seem as if Gilgeous-Alexander has braced himself for a responsibility that he could stumble into someday soon. It feels like, for some time, he’s triple-checked the terms and conditions of the mantle. His words carry that notion. His image has been crafted for the long game.
All the makings of a healthy campaign.
Joel Lorenzi covers the Thunder and NBA for The Oklahoman. Have a story idea for Joel? He can be reached at jlorenzi@oklahoman.com or on X/Twitter at @jxlorenzi. Support Joel’s work and that of other Oklahoman journalists by purchasing a digital subscription today at subscribe.oklahoman.com.
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