Just call him L-Bogus.
For seven years, LeBron James told us we were all Witnesses to The King, The Chosen One, the person to lead the Cleveland Cavaliers to the enchanted land of world championships.
Instead, James abdicated his throne in a cowardly way (just ask Cavaliers owner Dan Gilbert) to join his supposedly magic kingdom of South Beach -- with a heavy emphasis on "supposedly."
Before we continue, I haven't a problem with James bolting Cleveland, and not only because of the obvious: Who wants to live in Cleveland, which only became slightly less ghastly with the Rock And Roll Hall of Fame? And even with James, the Cavaliers were destined to rank no better than fourth or fifth in the Eastern Conference, which isn't good for somebody whose stated goal is to win world championships.
I just didn't like how James bolted and where he went.
Somehow, given that James spent the opening seven years of his NBA career with the Cavaliers, and that he was the messiah in northeastern Ohio after doing otherworldly things on and off the court as a native of the area, he had to tell his old team something before he informed everybody on national television that he had a new team.
Then, somehow, whenever James mentioned his old team and his former city after making that announcement, he had to look sympathetic and sound remorseful and act concerned.
James did none of that. In fact, he appeared as worried about Cleveland's psyche as Michael -- as in the only one that counts in sports -- after Michael fired The Shot over Craig Ehlo.
Nearly as disturbing, James didn't do the other sensible thing by taking his free-agent wares to Chicago, where the Bulls have everything from a Derrick Rose to a Carlos Boozer except the next Michael, who was a true king, chosen one and witness along the way to six world championships.
In theory, James was the next Michael Jordan.
In actuality, James is the current Alex Rodriguez, because he chose the Miami Heat to ride the jersey tails of his Derek Jeter named Dwyane Wade, but why should you be surprised? He showed that he is the ultimate front-runner by ignoring his Cleveland roots to flaunt his love affair with the Dallas Cowboys and New York Yankees.
Which brings us to how you think if you're LeBron James, and if you love your perception of sure things in sports, and if you are more of a prince than a king: You thumb your nose even more at your home area by helping to create one of the greatest trios in NBA history hundreds of miles away -- especially since you know you won't have to carry the burden of operating as the face of the franchise.
Well, you can clip and save the following: The supposedly Terrific Trio of Chris Bosh, Wade and James won't win the NBA Finals this season. That's because it won't even reach the Eastern Conference finals, which will feature the Orlando Magic and the Boston Celtics.
Speaking of those Celtics, they have the real Big Three, which is a collection of superstars who actually complement each other and have a wonderful supporting cast around them.
This Heat team will have none of that -- and not only because Miami guru Pat Riley will have to do his version the rest of the summer of making a Cuban sandwich without the meat and cheese. He spent the bulk of the Heat's meal money on forming that supposedly Terrific Trio.
And, please, stop insulting the NBA's real Big Three with these ridiculous comparisons.
Let's start with the biggest contrast: Three years ago, when Ray Allen and Kevin Garnett joined Paul Pierce in Boston, they all gathered on an ESPN set, and they spent less than a millisecond answering a question about who would take the last shot during a key game.
James was asked that same question Thursday night on ESPN during his contrived news conference, over-the-top coronation to form the supposedly Terrific Trio, infomercial for LRMR Marketing (the business that LeBron formed with his high school buddies) or whatever that thing was to waste our time.
And James' answer to the question?
"That's the (coach's decision)."
In other words, the inevitable clashing of these three egos and their various high-octane games (Wade and James both need the ball more often than not) will be L-Disaster for Miami.
Such already is the case for James regarding his legacy.
That is, if James really does wish to rank among the elite of the NBA's all-time elite. And that remains a huge "if," especially given James' vanishing act last season against the Celtics during large portions of that playoff series. He became the anti-Magic and Michael.
To translate: Even though Gilbert is responding these days as Alex Forrest (you know, the Glenn Close character in "Fatal Attraction") since James' sudden departure, Gilbert still tells much truth when he says James "quit" during the playoffs.
But back to James as Alex Rodriguez.
They both failed to bring a world championship to their teams as The Man despite operating as the maybe the most gifted athlete in their sports over a stretch of time. They both hinted of screaming inside their souls, "I just can't take the pressure anymore!" Then they both sprinted into free agency in search of becoming the other guy to The Guy.
Try as they might to deny it among the supposedly Terrific Trio, Wade was Mr. Heat in this past, and he is the same now, and he will be such a thing for the unforeseeable future.
Wade is Jeter, all right.
You already know about the other guy.