LeBron James and the complicated art of saying goodbye

Above the Rim is a season-long series of essays around the NBA that looks at the game far beyond the hardwood and box score. Instead, it’s an examination of the characters, storylines, and conversations that fuel an insatiable appetite for the game and the conversations it spawns.

Retirement was the furthest thing from LeBron James’ mind 22 years ago today. That’s because life was a lot different for James, and certainly for all of us, on Oct. 29, 2003.

At the time, George W. Bush was in his first-term as president. Season 2 of The Wire — the connective tissue of the entire series — had recently wrapped. Donald Trump was gearing up for the debut of his new reality competition, The Apprentice. Jay-Z was weeks away from releasing what he claimed would be his final project in The Black Album. The Fast and the Furious franchise was only on its second installment, directed by the late John Singleton. And the NBA, just months after Michael Jordan’s third and final retirement, welcomed an 18-year-old LeBron James into the league.

For nearly a quarter of a century James has dominated the league. In his first game, he dropped 25 points, six rebounds and nine assists against the Sacramento Kings. And over the years, he became the face of the NBA, its marquee attraction, most dissected villain, its champion and everything in between. He’s an ecosystem of headlines, euphoric moments, unfathomable stats and controversies. Now, though, two months shy of his 41st birthday, James finds himself in an unfamiliar position. 

How does someone the magnitude of a LeBron James know when to say goodbye? What exactly does a goodbye look like? And what happens when James, the best player on the basketball court for the majority of nights since he had a learner’s permit, reconciles with a future that may or may not include the Los Angeles Lakers?

The life, times, and career of LeBron James stand at a critical juncture. How he responds, and how we respond to his decision, could make for the most fascinating point in a career that has shifted the needle in pop culture nearly as much as the points he’s scored along the way.

With James, one must understand this:

The Akron, Ohio, native’s biggest rival was never Kobe Bryant – a preps-to-pros megastar James saw as a friend, competitor and brother in later years. It was never Stephen Curry, Kevin Durant or even those maniacal Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett-led Boston Celtics. The ghost he chased, despite society’s best efforts to debate otherwise, wasn’t Michael Jordan either. It was always time.

The Los Angeles Lakers’ 119-109 loss to the Golden State Warriors on Oct. 21 marked the first time in James’ 23-year career that he didn’t suit up on opening night. Speculation as to why the four-time NBA Finals MVP and the league’s career leading scorer didn’t play is nothing short of a reality TV drama that would make Andy Cohen and Bravo network producers blush.

Maybe he’s actually dealing with sciatica, a painful nerve condition that can affect a person’s back, glutes and legs. Maybe this is an exit strategy to leave the Lakers at some point this season. Maybe it’s James grappling with the reality of a new world where he isn’t the unimpeachable focal point of a team. But maybe, just maybe, LeBron James is attempting to pull off the most difficult act in sports.

Trying to write his own ending.

A decade ago, Steve Nash opined on his experience dealing with the end of his Hall of Fame career. The two-time NBA MVP noted a belief that athletes die twice. When a person has done something as long and as great as Nash, who played 18 seasons in the league, the thought of leaving that part of themselves behind is a massive mental hurdle to overcome. 

“It’s hard. You’re going to miss it forever. You have to take some time and grieve your former self,” Nash opined.

Given James’ utter control over his career up to this point, knowing when, or how, to bow out might prove difficult. 

“These are guys who control everything, and almost nobody gets to do it because it requires a level of greatness for a period of time, and into an age that it just doesn’t happen,” said Yaron Weitzman, author of the recently released book A Hollywood Ending: The Dreams and Drama of the LeBron Lakers. 

“Basically, if you take the tennis players out of it, and you [look at] all the major professional sports, it’s LeBron and Tom Brady. There are no other comps,” Weitzman continued. “There’s two parts to it. One, it’s just anyone who’s done something forever. It just gets sad when that gets taken away, and you wanna keep doing that and doing it on your own. The other part is power, and this is where it gets interesting for LeBron. Where, like, ‘I’m not pushed out,’ or ‘You don’t determine where or when I go. I determine that. I earned that because I am the guy.’ That’s a big part of all this as well.”

A glance through history shows that very few athletes choose how they exit their sport. Yet, exceptions to every rule exist. The two North Stars that James finds himself compared to the most, Jordan and Bryant, both had legendary send-offs. Bryant, in particular, went out in the most Kobe Bryant way possible with a 60-point swan song in the final game of his career. The difference with James is that both Jordan and Bryant played on bad teams in their final year. The only thing resembling relevance was the hysteria surrounding their impending retirement. And there was no one remotely close to the talent level of a Luka Doncic, whom James now finds himself paired alongside — for now. 

James saying farewell to the league on a fledgling team doesn’t feel appropriate. Not for someone who has been judged by a “championship or bust” standard from the moment the Cleveland Cavaliers won the draft lottery in 2003. Not for someone who famously, and egregiously, said he wanted to win north of seven rings with the Miami Heat. James’ farewell has to be cooked up with the same unrealistic ingredients that he’s battled and defied for the better part of his life: hoopla, expectation and pressure at the highest levels.

For so long, the “end” for James was always logical, but never felt realistic. He’s been nationally famous since his high school games hit ESPN’s airwaves, and locally renowned in and around Akron since he was a child. Only in recent years did injury concerns shed light on a reality that felt far more like a fantasy. Criticize James if you want to — and there are ample avenues to do so. But he’s the avatar for durability and availability — the chief reason why he’s accumulated accolades and numbers at a pace not seen since Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Since getting into the league, James has been the youngest player to reach every scoring milestone. Now he’s the oldest player in the NBA. 

James has access to damn near anything he could want in life — except time. 

The complexity of this, however, makes his time left in the NBA all the more urgent. His first genuine acknowledgement of retirement came in May 2016. He’d speak of it again nearly two years later. Both times, he said his family would be the most significant indicator of when he would finally call it quits.

Family has long been the area of James’ life he’s cherished beyond basketball — even as his oldest child, Bronny, is his Lakers teammate. In pursuit of the legacy he’s created, and still has yet to create, one has to wonder just how much James has sacrificed along the way. Perhaps more than his own, the lengths to which his wife and kids sacrificed so they all could gain from his God-given talents have to weigh on him. It’s a truth James has alluded to, most recently on his wife’s podcast Everybody’s Crazy, but one we may never know the full extent of until he decides to peel back the layers of his Truman Show-like life. 

Then there’s the entirety of his Lakers tenure, which brings into the discussion of how it’ll ultimately be remembered once the curtains finally close. Being LeBron James means he’ll go down as a legend in whatever jersey he dons. He’s a superstar in a city of superstars like the Dodgers’ Shohei Ohtani and Mookie Betts, or his new teammate Luka Doncic. But in L.A., the hunger for more remains, and the city’s relationship to James has been complicated, partially because of Bryant’s fervent fans.

“I think it’s still true today. He seems unconvinced or unclear as to what he actually wants and what his actual goal is,” Weitzman said of James’ time in L.A. “It’s never really been made [clear] why he joined the Lakers. You get 14 different reasons. It’s the legacy thing. His wife likes the weather. He was sick of [Cavs owner] Dan Gilbert. It was a good place for [his children]. A transition into Hollywood. There’s all these different reasons.”

Perhaps it was because James’ pinnacle moment as a Laker, winning the 2020 NBA Finals, came when the rest of the world was confined to their houses during the pandemic and basketball to a bubble. James and the Lakers never received a championship parade, an understandable omission given the times but one that stuck with James throughout the years. That, in itself, certainly robbed James of an emotional touchstone that would’ve connected him deeper to a fanbase that expects championships to be the bottom line. 

“It’s not what it should be. It’s just not,” said Weitzman of James’ tenure with the Lakers. “It’s weird because this is LeBron James. You should be celebrating him coming, right? I don’t want to paint with a broad brush, but some aren’t. Part of it was that LeBron was viewed as sort of a challenger to Kobe when him and Kobe were complete opposites in everything. For some reason, [many] Lakers fans never [completely] embraced him.”

In recent weeks, maybe it was James’ perceived falling out with former teammate Russell Westbrook.

“The idea that LeBron’s ‘phoniness’ is the reason that the Russell Westbrook partnership with the Lakers went to hell is so insane. That was [on] Westbrook, too,” said Weitzman. “He had no willingness to fit in. He was awful while he was with them. The idea that people would be like ‘Team Russ’ in that situation is so interesting that, for whatever reason, there’s just a lack of concern.”

James’ entire Lakers tenure has seemingly been a potluck of emotions and reactions, deservedly and not so deservedly. If the Lakers are the last team he suits up for, just how will it be remembered? On the surface, the union between the NBA’s most glamorous franchise and the sport’s biggest name made sense, and still does. No force has had more chapters and transitions to his career than James. Which is why realizing he’s played a third of his career in L.A. is only usurped in fascination by how it actually ends. Is it a Hollywood ending fit for a king? Or a divorce only Hollywood could script?

From the outside looking in, this doesn’t seem like a friction based on Doncic being the franchise’s newest cornerstone. The reverberations that sent James’ close friend and teammate Anthony Davis to Dallas were part of the business of basketball James has understood since high school and mastered during his professional life. Yet, for the first time, his next chapter and the franchise that has drooled over his talents may not be in total lockstep.

Mortality humbles everyone, even someone like James, whose heroics are immortal. During last year’s All-Star Weekend in Indianapolis, he was asked about the idea of a farewell tour. Then, at least, he didn’t seem sold on the idea.

“I’m 50-50, I’m going to be honest, because there’s times when I feel like I guess I owe it to my fans that have been along this journey with me for two decades plus. To be able to give them that moment where it’s every city and whatever the case may be and they give you your flowers. … That seems cool,” he said. “But the other side of it I’ve never been that great with accepting, like, praise. It’s a weird feeling for me. … I’ve seen Mike’s. I’ve seen Kobe’s. I’ve seen a lot of guys. I just don’t know how … I’d feel. I don’t know if I’d feel great about it.”

The truth is James does, in fact, owe it to his fans to give them an opportunity to see him one final time, whenever that may be. Players like James — and the shortlist is ridiculously short — are similar to Halley’s Comet. They come around once in a lifetime with many never getting a chance to experience someone with the level of his talent, charisma and entertainment value. Whenever James decides to retire, and should he opt for the farewell tour route, it will be a season-long odyssey the likes of which we’ve never seen. 

James is, after all, the first megastar of the internet era to have navigated it as flawlessly as one could in an age of 24/7 hyper-surveillance (last month’s cringeworthy Hennessy ad notwithstanding). James is a basketball savant who understands the game perhaps better than anyone. He still plays at a ridiculously high level, evident by his All-NBA nod last year as a 40-year-old. But the truth is what denial can’t deny and what a lie can’t avoid: There’s far more in his career’s rearview than what lies ahead.

To James’ credit, he’s been (albeit passive aggressively at times) warning the Lakers about his exit for years. Time is of the essence, and not even he is capable of replenishing that resource. Time, honestly, has been one of James’ greatest weapons. He’s never allowed a franchise to truly take his services for granted. Yet, to the Lakers’ credit, they’ve appeased to James but never completely kissed the ring either.

In 2017, on his seminal 4:44 album, James’ longtime friend, mentor and business partner Jay-Z reflected on the longevity of his career — one that extends further than James’ sustained dominance. Y’all be flirtin’ with death? I be winkin’ through the scope, Jay rapped on “Marcy Me.” James has done the same on the court, in no uncertain terms. The great majority of his peers have long retired. Some, like Dwyane Wade and Carmelo Anthony, are already in the Hall of Fame. No one has been as great as James for as long as he’s been great. Few have gone toe-to-toe with the physical limits of a basketball lifespan like James.

On any given night, and certainly in the playoffs, James can be the best player on the floor. But whereas games felt almost like a given when James was at the peak of his powers, each dribble gets him closer to goodbye. It’s a goodbye that remains foggy. It’s a goodbye that has no true timestamp. But it’s a goodbye that saunters closer and closer for an athlete who has been in a Game 7 battle with basketball mortality for the better part of decade and fended it off in immaculate fashion. 

Which brings us back to his biggest rival.

It’s not about outrunning time. Time’s endurance is undefeated. Where James hopes to catch time slipping is the end. Either James can say goodbye on his own terms, or time will do it for him. That’s the daunting part in all of this. The only certainty is that the end is near.

Where it ends, and how it ends — as far as we know — that’s as much up to LeBron James as time itself.

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