Today, December 30, 2008, LeBron Raymone James turns 24 years old. It's also a Thanksgiving of sorts. Thank you, LeBron, for giving me and millions of other Cleveland fans a reason to go easy on the trigger of the shotgun stuffed in our mouths. Seemingly every year, the Browns redefine "debacle" and the Indians sordidly underachieve. But it's all good, because in the back of my mind, I know you'll be there to rape the virgin and poison the virtuous on our behalf. Some truly fine Cavs teams didn't win a title because of a dynamite talent who wore No. 23. Well, now there's a different No. 23 in the NBA, and hopefully you'll keep great teams and great players from winning titles just like the other one did. Yeah, today is also some golfer's birthday, but he plays for himself. You, LeBron, play for Cleveland, and that makes you my sunshine, my wonderwall, my Marshall Applewhite. You are my Liam, my Lennon, my own personal Jesus Christ. You are my brother, my captain, my king.
I love you.
Have a great one.
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