When I watch King James watch Steph Curry, I can't help but think he's thinking:
Man, I should've gone to college. Forget the fact that I was ready for the League at age 15. This would've been fun.
Sure, he's been spotted at precisely two Davidson games -- hardly meaningful on its face -- but he appears enraptured. He's not pecking out emails on his Blackberry, he's standing up, arms aloft, mouth agape in disbelief, just like a normal, or non-King, human might be expected to behave in response to Curry's wizardry.
It's easily to live vicariously through Steph Curry. I do it about twice a week when I don my Eric Blancett jersey and begin scrolling feverishly through the DirectTV guide in search of whatever oddball backyard southern sports network is broadcasting the game. It's easy to do because it's almost believable. We're about the same size as Steph Curry. Our egos are similarly proportional. And, for those of us fortunate enough to have gone to Davidson, we have a pretty good sense of what he eats everyday and where he takes those meals.
What is, of course, completely unbelievable (and makes this whole vicariousness thing fun) is Steph's performance on the court. The purity of his game, of his joy, is what this whole college thing is supposed to be about. Over the past ten or fifteen years, we haven't seen enough of that. Perhaps then it's understandable why LeBron would forego college. It all seemed rather perfunctory. I just have a feeling though, that if James were but a junior in high school today, he might be a hair more inclined to defer his entrance into the NBA.
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