LeBron James always called himself a football player. He’d say that after games spent moaning on the ground like a soccer player.
I’ll give him this much. If he were a football player, he’d be Brett Favre.
Without the championship jewelry.
The Summer of LeBron has been pre-empted by the The Summer of Brett’s Winter Years. People are debating which guy’s image took the sharper turn south.
The last time we could accurately say this about two celebrities, I believe Donald Trump and Rosie O’Donnell were threatening to settle things in a mud wrestling ring.
Clearly, James is the winner. His dumping of Cleveland is fresher than Favre’s revenge on Green Bay. And James is making sure it never gets old.
He lands on the September cover of GQ pointing at his biceps. Or his near fatal elbow injury. It’s hard to say which. He rips the same owner he didn’t have the courtesy to call, chastising Dan Gilbert for a lack of character. Beautiful. You can’t make this up.
Favre must’ve sensed he was losing the spotlight. The same day, three Vikings go to Mississippi to tell Favre how much they need him. Last year, Minnesota head coach Brad Childress picked Favre up at the airport. This year, three Vikings go on a recruiting mission.