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Blog: Justice is Served

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People called him "Junior," and someday those same people will call Ken Griffey Jr. a Hall of Famer.

For now, they are simply saying farewell. They are waving goodbye as he walks off into the baseball sunset. Junior announced in a statement Wednesday that he was hanging up his spikes, his bat and his No. 24, ending a 22-year career that was as good as anybody else's from his generation.

Through most of it, Junior, the son of a big leaguer, was the best there was. He played baseball with a cool grace and a stylish flair that seemed to elude other men, and he was one of the few star ballplayers whose reputation didn't suffer the taint of steroids.

To even mention that word in the same sentence with Ken Griffey Jr. points the spotlight somewhere it doesn't belong. History will put the role 'roids played during Junior's career in proper perspective.

He was a once-in-a-generation ballplayer, the kind who often defines an era. He was a five-tool player, and he was a legitimate star -- the brightest in the galaxy of Major League stars in the 1990s.

Junior's enduring legacy will be his passion or his sweet as molasses swing, which might have been the envy of Ted Williams himself. 

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Now, Danny Ferry must go under scrutiny. Ferry is the last man standing in this disappointment of a season. It was his hands that sculpted these Cavaliers, and his hands that dispatched Mike Brown as their coach.

Looking at the Brown era in its totality, it wasn't as much as it should have been. All the pieces seemed to be there for more, but Brown produced not more with it but less. All of what those pieces will need to go under the same scrutiny as Brown did.

For despite the won-loss record, the team Brown coached didn't achieve what people thought it should. The expectations of Ferry, Brown, the fans here and the players themselves, particularly its star LeBron James, were for an NBA title, a sparkling banner that would hang high inside the rafters at The Q like the sun over San Diego.

But The Q will be absent that NBA banner, and the city, the team and its fans will go without a championship another season. And Ferry will do some introspection, trying to figure out where it all came undone.

To blame Brown, as poorly prepared as he was to coach a team to a title, wouldn't be unjust. His failures were glaring. They played out in front of people's eyes night after night. He was a man who could see no faults, and if he did see them, he didn't have the coaching experience to fit them.

Brown is stall news these days. Whatever shortcomings the man had will play out in the history of the Cavaliers. He will be judged along side Paul Silas, Bill Fitch, Stan Albeck, Mike Fratello, Gene Littles, Chuck Daly, Mike Fratello, Lenny Wilkens and the others who failed to bring a championship to the city.

Ferry survives the purge with his duty remaining straightforward: cobble together a team capable of winning a championship - a team stronger and better coached than the one that took the court against the Celtics during this postseason.

How Ferry does the latter will test his Duke education. For Ferry's isn't an easy job; it's one that borders on mission impossible if he can't smooth-talk LeBron James into staying the course.

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His firing is official. The Mike Brown era as Cavaliers coach finds its way into the team's history today as just another coach who couldn't bring this franchise to the "Promised Land."

No one should have been surprised Brown was fired. Rumors about his shaky future swirled around NBA circles like sands in windstorm. The consensus was that he would be fired sooner instead of later, because there was no reason to dangle a good man's fortunes on a tightrope for long.

And Mike Brown is a good man. He was a lousy coach, too.

I once thought Brown was the right man to lead the Cavaliers to glory. He had the support of the game's best player, and other men seemed to buy into what Brownwas peddling. 

Yet what did Brown in was his inability to put the X's and O's together. He was a coach who harped about defense, but it was his sieve-like defense that led to the disastrous ending to the 2009-10 season. Endings like this one have become familiar in Cleveland. Promises, promises, promises ... but no good ever seems to come from all of those promises, regardless of how hopeful they appear at first glance.

And plenty of hope was attached to these promises. General manager Danny Ferry had given Brown the expensive pieces that should have taken the team deeper into the postseason.

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Say you're leaving, LeBron.

Just say it, dude. Go ahead.

Say it now, and spare your hometown the heartbreak and angst that will come as it counts down to July 1 for you to go.

What other reaction can your city have? It has given you everything and discovered not even that was enough.

Just say it ... let this down-on-its-luck city -- its woe-is-me mentality justified because of the other stars it loved who fled to markets with bigger, brighter stages -- get on with the mourning that will accompany another rejection.

But be honest. Tell the truth. Say to all the men and the women who have fawned over you that your decision to forsake Cleveland is based on dollars and business sense. Admit to them that your desire to join the ranks of billionaires like Warren Buffett, Larry Ellison and Bill Gates means more than the undying love the city showed you.

This city can't deny you that. It can give you many things, but it must refuse to sell itself to the whims of a man who has everything and still seeks more.

Now, go build your global brand elsewhere if you must. Take the iconic figure you are here and ditch it like last week's Sports Illustrated. Your hometown can't ensure you achieve such stature, although it has tried. Your city has rolled out the red carpet for you, its native son, and it is the native son's decision on whether to stay or go.

Yours should be an easy call: leave.

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CLEVELAND -- "Dire straits" -- it ain't just the name of a '80s rock band.

Those two words describe the disintegrating fortunes of LeBron James and the Cavaliers. To say they resemble what AIG looked like 15 months ago wouldn't exaggerate their present state, and after their 120-88 loss Tuesday night to the Celtics, the Cavs might look more like Enron than they do AIG.

Life on the brink isn't what their fans had envisioned, not for these Cavaliers. Yet that's where they find themselves today. James, Mo Williams, Antawn Jamison, Shaquille O'Neal and the rest of their gang are a loss away from witnessing their sugar-coated dreams of an NBA championship turn into the latest edition of nightmare on Elm Street. They have learned the hard way that dreams can be made and unmade like a Murphy bed.

And who do they and coach Mike Brown blame for the unmaking of theirs?

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The question of what's wrong with the Cavaliers brings a two-word answer: Mo Williams.

Now, the blame game doesn't stop at Williams alone. But some in Cavs colors do deserve more blame than others. Coach Mike Brown fits into that group, and his peculiar substitution patterns make some wonder if Brown's the man to lead this franchise to an NBA championship. 

Why does he sit J.J. Hickson and use Shaquille O'Neal so much?

The Shaq situation presents a singular issue of its own. The Cavs picked  this incredible bulk up in the offseason to give Brown the muscle inside his team needed. Yet where the heck was Shaq's muscle when victory stood in the balance Sunday? To find the answer to this puzzler, look no farther than the end of the Cavs bench. Brown had Shaq's butt planted firmly next to the butts of Daniel Gibson, Leon Powe and Zydrunas Ilgauskas.

Sprinkle blame on Antawn Jamison for his uneven play, because if Jamison had performed to his pedigree, if he had shown more of the talent that made his midseason acquisition so discussed, the series with the Celtics wouldn't stand at 2-2.

Pardon Jamison for his shortcomings if you'd like, but you can't excuse LeBron James. Throw plenty of criticism his way. James deserves it. 

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Now, it's a best-of-three series.

So, how did LeBron James and the Cavaliers get there?

They were ahead in games, 2-1, and then they played Sunday as if winning and advancing were a foregone outcome. They underestimated the resolve of the Celtics, an aging team with a storied history - a history that wouldn't allow Kevin Garnett, Paul Pierce, Ray Allen, Rajon Rondo or anybody else in kelly green not to persevere.

And persevere the Celtics did Sunday in Boston, putting more energy into winning than James and the Cavaliers did. Theirs was an utterly carelessness and unkempt performance, a performance so sloppy that it didn't befit a team with claims of contending for an NBA title.

Titles aren't won with displays like the Cavs produced on the road. At times, they kicked the basketball around as if on the pitch of World Cup venue. The James Gang played the sort of loose defense that would anger the coach of a bad middle-school team.

None of it pleased coach Mike Brown. Looking ahead to Game 5, he is still waiting for somebody to slow Rondo, who is playing with the temerity of a great Celtic from an earlier era. Brown sounded puzzled that Rondo grabbed 18 rebounds.

Eighteen rebounds for a smallish point guard like Rondo? How does that happen? How can it happen?

OK, Rondo's been unstoppable in this series; he'll likely be so until this series ends. Let that be understood. But Brown's Cavaliers might still have eked out a victory Sunday had they done a decent job of handling Tony Allen.

Tony who

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General manager Danny Ferry constructed this team to beat the Magic, but Ferry could never have imagined that this Cavaliers team wouldn't get to avenge the playoff loss last season to Dwight Howard and his teammates.

The Magic is doing its part, rolling through the Hawks on its way to another berth in the Eastern Conference Finals. Leading that series, 2-0, Howard & Co. seems assured of its spot.

Not the case with Ferry's Cavaliers. They take the floor tonight in Boston facing more questions than the governor of Arizona or the CEO of BP. To list some of those questions in no particular order, let's start with coach Mike Brown.

Never the most ingenious coach in scheming offenses, Brown has made curious decisions in the playoffs. His insistence on using Shaquille O'Neal instead of J.J. Hickson is a puzzler. Shaq's immobility and his inability to stay out of foul trouble bogs down whatever strategies Brown does plot. Using the 38-year-old Shaq and not Hickson slows the offensive rhythm, limiting what freelancing teammates can do.

Now, what teammates can do is suspect these days as well. Ferry is waiting for Mo Williams to show consistency throughout a postseason. Williams has had more ups and downs than the Dow Jones. Don't bother to mention how he's allowing Rajon Rondo free reign with the ball. Rondo goes wherever he wants, much to Brown's chagrin. 


Women just throw sex at star athletes like Lawrence Taylor. He can have all of it he can handle -- with women of no certain age. For star athletes are like rock stars, chick magnets for the groupies, the hangers-on and the sycophants.

So buy sex?  Why would Taylor when he could find sexual healing for free?

Yet that's what he is accused of -- and more. Taylor, 51, is facing multiple felony charges that could send him to prison. And if he's guilty as accused, he deserves a cell next to O.J. Simpson's.

Now, I can't get too self-righteous as to question Taylor's visiting a prostitute. Friends of mine have gone that route, and they never have been accused of anything so unseemly. Besides, getting inside a woman who practices the world's oldest profession isn't the crime of the century, is it? Hell, it ain't the crime of the day.

It might be worth noting that the "prostitute" was 16, an age where she couldn't consent to sex. Taylor should no more be having relations with a teenage girl than he should be smoking crack.

Neither is a good bargain. 

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Two things I can count on in life: The sun will eventually come up -- even in my chronically overcast hometown of Cleveland -- and Milton Bradley will jump off the deep end again.

The latest in the decade-long saga of "Game Boy" unfolded earlier today in Seattle, his new place of residence, when Bradley asked the Mariners to help him deal with the "stress" in his life. 

His decision to seek help came after he had another Milton Bradley moment. He balked at manager Don Wakamatsu's decision to bench him Tuesday night in the sixth inning.

Like Elvis, Bradley left the building.

His is an old, tired performance, played out earlier with teams in Montreal, Cleveland, Los Angeles, San Diego, suburban Dallas and Chicago. He has worn out his welcome everywhere he has put on a uniform. Yet team after team thought it could harness Bradley's rage and turn it into a star.

The athletic gifts have always been inside Bradley, which explains why teams have gambled on him. But he's a bad bet -- like going all-in before the river with a pair of deuces while staring at a flop of ace, king and queen and a 10 on the turn. He's been a bad bet for all his baseball career. 

Justice B. Hill (View Profile)

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I'm a former baseball writer for MLB.com. Just call me a victim of the lousy economy. While I still enjoy baseball, I also enjoy writing and covering the other sports. In my mind, sports are a mirror on America, and I hope my blog will put a different spin on what people see in that mirror. ... Justice B. Hill

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