Miami Heat Storms Back Against Spurs in Epic Game 6 Comeback
The Miami Heat was seven seconds away from losing its NBA crown and watching the San Antonio Spurs celebrate a championship on its home court.
Heat fans were seven seconds away from having their hearts ripped out of their chests and their souls condemned to a weary and sullen existence, pondering the cruel fate of their beloved team.
This thing was over. Done. Kaput. The home crowd was exiting the building, the Spurs locker room was being covered in plastic for the champagne celebration, the ministage was being readied to be rolled out onto the court for the trophy presentation, yellow tape was being put out to keep nonessential personnel from walking onto the court during the Spurs coronation.
And then, it happened.
It has been something of a maddening series for LeBron James. The Spurs have done everything they can to make him uncomfortable: clog the paint, throw a chicken-wing-breath Boris Diaw at him, poke him with a stick, toss midgets at him, fill his car with popcorn, crank call him at 3 a.m., flush the toilet while he's in the shower, literally throw a kitchen sink at him.
The result has been LeBron turning in erratic performances and playing below his Cobradickish standards.
But you can keep the greatest player on the planet bottled up only for so long. If history has shown us anything, it's that LeBron is perfectly capable of going supernova on the opposing team's faces at any given moment. And in a game where everything was on the line, that's exactly what he did.
All it took was the Spurs knocking off his headband.
Since midway through the second quarter, the Spurs had been punching the Heat in the balls again and again until they puked out a newborn moose. San Antonio, as it has been all goddamned series, was relentlessly raining down buckets and thundered their way to a 13-point lead with less than four minutes to go. LeBron looked shaken and rattled and very much had 2011 Finals written all over his face.
Then the fourth quarter started, and he slammed home a dunk as Tim Duncan's contact knocked off his headband.
And it was LeBramageddon Time.
The next nine minutes was simply carnage.
LeBron, the hard-driving storm of chaos who rains down destruction from the heavens, simply took the fuck over. He did what we all begged him to do. He attacked the rim with the ferociousness of a man possessed, thundering through the Spurs' defense like an angry cyclone, devastating and laying waste anyone who dared get between him and the basket.
He crushed the rim and blocked shots. He ate Tony Parker, shat out Tony Parker, and then stuffed Tony Parker into a paper bag, lit it on fire, and placed it on Gregg Popovich's front porch.
LeBron led the Heat back from oblivion, as Miami took a late 84-82 lead.
The Spurs fought back and took back a five-point lead.
But LeBron was not yet done sewing people's asses to their own faces.
LeBron proved, again, that he's not just a wanton, mindless rim-killing machine. He can knock down the FUCK YOU J at any time. And with 30 seconds left and the season slipping away and the Haterz stupidly mocking his lack of clutch pants or whatever other ridiculous narrative they love to spew to make themselves feel better about their hollow existence, James nailed a three-pointer and kept Miami's grip on the ledge of the skyscraper like Harrison Ford at the end of Blade Runner.