LeBron's Mission

As any semi-regular reader of this blog knows, nothing concerns me more than 100% factual truth. That said, and despite the fact that I thought I had made my feelings about the Cavaliers clear a few days ago, I just can't stop myself from passing on this atomic nugget--a rumor, I guess, but in name only until it is officially confirmed--not so much out of a desire to scoop anyone, but to express my feelings about this significant news item before all the other media-heads go nuts over it.

LeBron James is indeed leaving the Cleveland Cavaliers, but instead of heading to New York or Chicago as many pundits believe, I have it from a very reliable source that LeBron is heading to Salt Lake City to play for the Utah Jazz. The really big news about this move, though, isn't so much LeBron's desire to play for well-respected head coach Jerry Sloan and alongside Deron Williams, but because LeBron has recently converted to Mormonism and believes playing in Utah will be best for his soul.

As part of his conversion, LeBron must embark on a two-year mission trip. Therefore, we will not be seeing LeBron playing basketball until the 2012-13 season. Well, not NBA basketball. You got to believe that as LeBron mission treks through Nepal, Mongolia, and Laos (the tentative itinerary), a basketball just might find its way into his hands.

Where did I get this information? Well, from LeBron himself. As I woke up today I had an insatiable urge to bite my left ring finger's nail, whch, in my experience means only one thing: unwanted knockings at my door. Now I long along mailed in my census form, and it seems to me Jehovah's Witnesses in these parts only come knocking on the weekends, so, as I did everything in my power not to give in to the urge and gnaw my nail to the nub, I sat in anxious turmoil wondering who would be knocking. Well, at precisely 10:15 a.m. I got my answer: the King himself, LeBron.

Despite being dressed in black pants, white shirt, and a black tie, and carrying a Bible, I knew instantly it was LeBron. He was very polite, introducing himself as LeBron, and asking me immediately if I ever read the Bible. Respecting religion as I do, and realizing the guy has had a tough week, I refrained myself from fawning and begging him to stay in Cleveland. He was on my doorstep to talk the Bible, so I obliged. We had an interesting discussion about the Beatitudes, and a civilized, if somewhat argumentative debate about whether Corinthians 1 or 2 is the better written letter, but we bonded like sailors over Revelations. Eventually I took the pamphlets he offered, promised I would read them over, and we each thanked each other for his time. As he started to walk away, I couldn't resist: "Bron," I said, and he turned to look at me, "I've always been impressed by how you've carried yourself on the court, and I'm so pleased to see you carry yourself so well preaching door to door, as well."

"You really mean that?" He looked like a little kid, all smiles.

"Yes."

It was then that he broke down. Not a sobbing fit or anything, just an unburdening, I guess. Over the next thirty minutes he told me the whole story. He had just converted two weeks ago. This was his first ever door-knocking. He was more nervous than at any time on any basketball court anywhere. He asked me what he thought the reaction to his conversion, his two-year mission hiatus, his move to Utah would be like. I told him to have faith. He had given Cleveland everything he had for seven years. People know it in their bones, even if they don't want to admit it. The rest was between him and God, only. He smiled, chest-bumped me, and went on his way. Godspeed, LeBron.