Starless in South Beach

Have you ever had a really vivid dream? One that you could swear was real? Well when I awoke on the morning of July 23rd it was from one such slumber. Chris Bosh, Dwayne Wade and The King himself, Lebron James, had unthinkably signed together in Miami to create a super team that sent shockwaves round the league. They promptly navigated their way to the NBA Finals and were surely on course for the title when sunlight broke through my eyelids, denying a glimpse of Lebron James lifting the O’Brien trophy. Nevertheless a part of me thought it had really happened and so it was a warm, fuzzy excitement in the pit of my stomach that I woke up with. However it took just a few minutes for that warm, fuzzy feeling to make its way from my stomach, through my chest, up my throat and via a frantic dash to the bathroom be deposited into the toilet, a splitting headache almost immediately tearing through my skull. The empty bottles scattered around their room told their own story, and last night’s events became only too clear.
An ESPN broadcast that had prompted an ill-advised trip to the mini-bar, which became an extended trip when the news got doubly bad, reverberated round my tortured head. First they aired ‘The Decision’ where Lebron James announced his intention to take his talents to New Jersey and play for the Nets. That in itself was a blow, but not a death knell for our off season plans. Working as part of the front office for the Miami Heat I knew Pat Riley had spent the off-season wooing Lebron and Chris Bosh in an attempt to get them to join forces with Miami’s established superstar, Dwayne Wade, on the South Beach. Missing out on arguably the best basketball player on the planet was disappointing, but a core of Wade and Bosh would still be something to behold. In fact so long as Wade stayed in Miami, as he surely would, there was reason to be hopeful for many post-season forays. And then the moment when a casual drink turned into a binge to drown the sorrows, a news broadcast proclaiming that the Nets had pulled off an unbelievable coup, Dwayne Wade was to join Lebron in New Jersey. The rest is a little bit hazy.
Everything started to unravel remarkably quickly after that. In hindsight the pundits would pick apart the strategy we’d formed as a club, pouring scorn on Riley putting all his eggs in one basket, and the franchise, and even the city, sat around shell shocked as the lack of a Plan B became all too apparent. Pat Riley swiftly opted for early retirement, resigning his position as President of Basketball Operations just hours after ‘The Decision’ aired, crestfallen not only that his wooing of Lebron had failed but even more damningly that Miami’s adoptive son Dwayne Wade had followed ‘The King’ to New Jersey. Apparently Russian Roubles win out over silver tongues these days. The franchise went into meltdown as we scrambled to save the rest of the off-season, every free agent barring New Jersey’s new double act, and the recently re-signed David Lee and John Salmons was still on the market. The confusion, panic and need for swift action that followed led somehow to me being promoted well above my station. Wanting desperately to look like they weren’t floundering the owners assured the press I’d been groomed for this position by Riley personally. In truth the only conversations I’d had with the man were to ask how he took his coffee. Nonetheless I had a 12 month contract and so at least a season to try and get invited back.
The roster we had in place on day one of my control was nothing if not sparse. Three names on a piece of paper. Michael Beasley, the thus far underwhelming 2nd overall pick of the 2008 draft, was the only one to have played an NBA game. The others, both picks in the 2010 draft were promising wing Avery Bradley, an undersized shooting guard who was the 18th overall selection out of Texas and 2nd round big man Kevin Seraphin, a largely unknown quantity from France whose current ability filled nobody with confidence. With a $50m blank cheque burning a hole in our collective pocket we set about trying to pick through the rubble left by the disaster.
An ESPN broadcast that had prompted an ill-advised trip to the mini-bar, which became an extended trip when the news got doubly bad, reverberated round my tortured head. First they aired ‘The Decision’ where Lebron James announced his intention to take his talents to New Jersey and play for the Nets. That in itself was a blow, but not a death knell for our off season plans. Working as part of the front office for the Miami Heat I knew Pat Riley had spent the off-season wooing Lebron and Chris Bosh in an attempt to get them to join forces with Miami’s established superstar, Dwayne Wade, on the South Beach. Missing out on arguably the best basketball player on the planet was disappointing, but a core of Wade and Bosh would still be something to behold. In fact so long as Wade stayed in Miami, as he surely would, there was reason to be hopeful for many post-season forays. And then the moment when a casual drink turned into a binge to drown the sorrows, a news broadcast proclaiming that the Nets had pulled off an unbelievable coup, Dwayne Wade was to join Lebron in New Jersey. The rest is a little bit hazy.
Everything started to unravel remarkably quickly after that. In hindsight the pundits would pick apart the strategy we’d formed as a club, pouring scorn on Riley putting all his eggs in one basket, and the franchise, and even the city, sat around shell shocked as the lack of a Plan B became all too apparent. Pat Riley swiftly opted for early retirement, resigning his position as President of Basketball Operations just hours after ‘The Decision’ aired, crestfallen not only that his wooing of Lebron had failed but even more damningly that Miami’s adoptive son Dwayne Wade had followed ‘The King’ to New Jersey. Apparently Russian Roubles win out over silver tongues these days. The franchise went into meltdown as we scrambled to save the rest of the off-season, every free agent barring New Jersey’s new double act, and the recently re-signed David Lee and John Salmons was still on the market. The confusion, panic and need for swift action that followed led somehow to me being promoted well above my station. Wanting desperately to look like they weren’t floundering the owners assured the press I’d been groomed for this position by Riley personally. In truth the only conversations I’d had with the man were to ask how he took his coffee. Nonetheless I had a 12 month contract and so at least a season to try and get invited back.
The roster we had in place on day one of my control was nothing if not sparse. Three names on a piece of paper. Michael Beasley, the thus far underwhelming 2nd overall pick of the 2008 draft, was the only one to have played an NBA game. The others, both picks in the 2010 draft were promising wing Avery Bradley, an undersized shooting guard who was the 18th overall selection out of Texas and 2nd round big man Kevin Seraphin, a largely unknown quantity from France whose current ability filled nobody with confidence. With a $50m blank cheque burning a hole in our collective pocket we set about trying to pick through the rubble left by the disaster.