he meant to shine, to the end of the line.

I make lists.  I love reading lists.  If someone’s being called the greatest player ever in their sport, I want to see where they fit in a list – why not number two, or number three?  Who else would fill those spots?  So naturally I was excited when I found a list of the greatest players in baseball via a stat called wins above replacement (WAR), i.e., how many more wins a player contributed to his team than the average player at his position.

If you average WAR out per season (roughly 700 plate appearances, although that’s on the high side), the only current players in the top 25 are Alex Rodriguez (no. 20), Joe Mauer (no. 14), and Albert Pujols (no. 6, I can dig it).  If we go by totals WAR, Pujols is only 40^th overall.  Coming in at number one in both lists is, unsurprisingly, Babe Ruth.  His total WAR of 172 is only six tenths of a win higher than Barry Bonds, but Ruth’s value averages out to more than two full wins a season better than Bonds.  Add in Ruth’s value as a pitcher—another 18 total wins—and his total of 190 WAR is effectively untouchable.

Ruth was a singularly dominant player, and he was a singularly beloved personality.  He was maybe the most famous American of his time (although Charles Lindbergh would certainly have a case) and has since been ensconced not only in the Hall of Fame but also in baseball lore.  Ruth is, along with Cy Young, a central deity, whose larger-than-life antics seem innocent after (and, in part, helped to facilitate) decades of mythologizing.  Ruth’s alcoholism and womanizing are venal offenses compared to, say, Ty Cobb’s violent racism, Shoeless Joe Jackson and the Black Sox, or decades of greenies, steroid controversy, and centaur portraits.  Instead, they're proof of his humanity.  Ruth is the great American athlete, and rightfully so—no one has ever dominated a sport as thoroughly as he dominated baseball, nor combined talent with humanity like he did. 

Football, true to its roots as the most democratic of American sports, has many candidates for the position of greatest ever.  Quarterbacks are the most obvious:  Otto Graham and Bart Starr, the definitive winners; Johnny Unitas, the pioneer; Joe Montana, Tom Brady, and Peyton Manning, all master practitioners of innovative strategies.  Running backs are also awash with possibilities:  Jim Brown and Barry Sanders, the best pure runners; Walter Payton and Emmitt Smith, well-rounded workhorses; Marshall Faulk and LaDainian Tomlinson, who redefined the position.  The competition runs deep at every position except wide receiver, and even with a well-established pantheon, there’s no Zeus here.

Basketball, though—basketball is different.  Its greatest player has come and gone, and we know him by the trail of his dead (see: Cleveland, Ohio).  Jordan was unquestionably the greatest offensive player in the history of the game, and possibly the best defensive guard as well, to say nothing of his dominance in the playoffs.  There’s precious little democracy in a sport that puts such a premium on athleticism and single-minded focus, and among its aristocracy no one has staked a realistic claim to His Airness’ throne.

But unlike Ruth, Michael Jordan was Achilles, not Hercules.  His relationship with his teammates was begrudging acceptance at best, snobbish resentment at worst.  Although Jordan cared about basketball's history, his goal from the beginning was to remake the game in his own image, a vision that precluded recognizing the achievements of his supporting cast.  MJ’s selfishness on the court, coldness in the team’s hotels, and wealth of indiscretions both minor (such as his constant rudeness to those he considers beneath him) and major (serious gambling problems and habitual cheating on his ex-wife Juanita) have made him a more polarizing figure than his suave postgame interviews and occasional moments of vulnerability would indicate.

In Jordan’s case, the king acted like a king, and after his egomaniacal run with the Wizards, he declared no heir.  Even the worthiest successors have black marks next to their name.  Tim Duncan, the greatest power forward of all time, has neither the ambition nor the flair to succeed Jordan—he’s more Dr. Manhattan, a reclusive deity, than he is Superman.  Kevin Garnett, who toiled endlessly in the hopes of a championship, and who turned rabid in his quest to retain it, only became a household name after his prime.  Kobe Bryant, easily the closest to Jordan in terms of personality, was doomed through a combination of his petulance and the specter of rape allegations.  Dwyane Wade looked for all the world like the grinning Next Big Thing, but injuries and talent-optional supporting casts have cast serious doubts.

Which brings us, finally, to LeBron James.  James was anointed the Next Jordan upon entering the league, even though his player profile and in-game tendencies owed more to Magic Johnson.   Like Jordan, LeBron labors under a tremendous ego.  Having been told since childhood of his destiny, having had fawning media coverage since his sophomore year of high school, and having dominated both in the regular season and, sometimes spectacularly, in the postseason, it’s easy to see why LeBron would be arrogant.

But even if LeBron came off as annoying or even detestable as a person, he was unimpeachable as a teammate, whether through assist totals, pregame antics, or his closeness to teammates amateur and professional.  That said, LeBron’s arrogance looks more and more like hubris since his team’s loss to the Magic in last year’s playoffs.  He’s been less tolerant of adversity and his teammate’s mistakes, to say nothing of his flagging devotion to the Cavs organization.  Factor in the ongoing quest to become the first billion-dollar athlete, the dunked-on cover-up, and the relatively listless performance in last two games against the Celtics, and it’s clear that LeBron has done more damage to his own reputation than anyone else. 

Basketball needs LeBron to follow through on his original trajectory of talent combined with teamwork.  I wish it weren’t the case.  I love Chris Paul, and I think he’s every bit the talent that James is with half the ego, but he may languish in New Orleans like Garnett did in Minnesota.  Dwyane Wade may stay in Miami and find his Scottie Pippen in a Chris Bosh or a Dirk Nowitzki, but it may also happen that his injury history renders him a more successful Grant Hill.  Kevin Durant and Brandon Roy are probably the best candidates for the James' crown, but who can say for sure that they (or Tyreke Evans, or John Wall) will avoid Kobe’s mistakes in letting early success get to their head, or that they’ve got LeBron’s potential?

Basketball needs LeBron, and he’s still got time.  I don’t know if staying in Cleveland is the answer (although Americans certainly appreciate loyalty), and perhaps it’s a fallacy to imagine someone so talented remaining grounded or sincere.  But LeBron can, over the next decade, prove that the achievements of an MJ or a Kobe don't have to be tied to bitter, dehumanizing competitiveness.  He can give the NBA its Babe Ruth, its Hercules, its king.