
CLEVELAND -- In any other city, any other country or planet or solar system, a 22-point lead would be enough to soothe any psychosis. Not here, though. The good people of Cleveland realize not to grow overly giddy about any perceived edge, having experienced every imaginable collapse, heartbreak, shot, fumble, drive, blown save and choke job in the most cursed ongoing existence of any American sports town.
And sure enough Thursday evening, that 22-point lead disappeared in a matter of 13 minutes in the second and third quarters, a stunning and confounding blackout even by northeast Ohio standards. Earlier, the fans had saved their loudest boos for Alex Rodriguez, C.C. Sabathia, Ben Roethlisberger and other local pariahs watching in Quicken Loans Arena. A minute into the second half, when Orlando party boy
Hedo Turkoglu -- in the bar again on Game 5 eve -- hit a three-pointer from Lake Erie and gave the Magic the lead, those boos were turned toward an unthinkable target.
Their very own Cleveland Cavaliers, featuring the lifeblood of a city and its fleeing dreams, LeBron Raymone James.