#cleveland cavs

[damailbox]

April 1993

[eternal--returned]

Donovan Mitchell soars for a dunk against the Cleveland Cavs (c. 2019)

[freshthoughts2020]

[hoopsmedia]

❆❆❅

[manwalksintobar]

Biography of LeBron as Ohio // Sean Thomas Dougherty

When is a poem one word? Even at 17 he was Baraka            on the court, Coltrane gold toned, a kind of running riff, more than boy-child, man-child, he was one word like Prince.             How back in those drunken days when I still ran in bars & played schoolyard ball             & wagered fives & tens, me & my colleague the psych-prof drove across Eastern Ohio              just to see this kid from powerhouse St. Vincent, grown out of rust-belt-bent-rims, tripped             with the hype & hope & hip hop blaring from his headphones, all rubber soled             & grit as the city which birthed him. We watched him rise that night scoring over 35,             drove back across the quiet cut cornfields & small towns of Ohio, back to the places             where we slept knowing that Jesus had been reborn, black & beautiful with a sweatband crown rimming his brow.             He was so much more than flipping burgers & fries, more than 12-hour shifts at the steel plant in Cleveland.             More than the shut-down mill in Youngstown. More than that kid selling meth in Ashtabula.             He was every kid, every street, every silo, he was white & black & brown & migrant kids working farms.             He was the prince of stutter-step & pause. He was the new King. We knew he was coming back the day after he left             his house in Bath Township. He never sold it. Someone fed his fish for years. Perhaps our hope? Fuck Miami. Leave Wade to wade through the Hurricane rain. LeBron is remembering that woman washing the linoleum floor, that man           punching his punch card. He drives a Camaro, the cool kid Ohio car driving through any Main Street. He is the toll-taker, &             he is the ticket out. He keeps index cards documenting             his opponents’ moves. One leans forward before he drives. One always swipes with his left hand. The details like a preacher             studying the gospel. He studies the game like a mathematician conjugating equations, but when he moves he is a             choreography, a conductor passing the ball like a baton. He is a burst of cinders             at the mill. He is a chorus of children calling his name.             The blistered hands of man stacking boxes in Sandusky, the long wait for work in Lorain. A sapling bends             & reaches in all directions before it becomes a tree. A ball is a key to a lock.             A ball is the opposite of Glock. America who sings your praises,            while tying the rope, everyone waiting for Caesar to fall, back-stabbing media hype city betrayed             by white people with racist signs.             I watch the kids play ball in the Heights, witness this they say. We will rise. I watched             LeBron arrive & leave, I walked, I gave up drinking as he went off & won a ring. The children’s chorus calls out sing             brother, sing. Everything is black. Storm clouds gather out on Lake Erie. But the old flower-hatted women             at the Baptist church are heading out praise cards, registering teenagers to vote. To turn a few words into a sentence. He is a glossary of jam, & yes he is corporate             chugging down green bubbly Sprite, running in Beats head phones, he is Dunkin his donut, he is Nike, witness, ripped.             On a spring day in Akron a             chorus of children is chanting his name on the court by the chain-link fence. He is forged steel, turning his skinny body into             muscle, years of nights lifting, chiseling, cutting, studying. Watching the tape. To make a new kind of sentence. He is passing             out T-shirts, this long hot bloody summer he was returned to the rusted rim along the big lake. He is stutter-step. He is             spinning wheel. He has a cool new hat. He is speaking of dead black children. He is giving his time. To make the crowd             sway like wind through a field of corn.             Does LeBron think of dying?             Does the grape think of dying as it withers on the vine by the lake? Or does it dream of the wine it will become? He is wearing a shirt that says I Can’t Breathe. They said he was arrogant. I said he was just Ohio.             He married his high school sweetheart. Bravado laid out on the court. No back down, he is Biggie with a basketball inside             of a mic, no ballistics, just ballet. He is Miles Davis cool, quietly cerebral, turning his back, tossing up             chalk like blue smoke, blue notes, blues. He is Akron, Columbus, he is heart & Heat turned to lake effect blizzards,             freighters frozen in ice, looking for work & no money to eat. He is Ashtabula & Toledo. He is carrying so many across the             river, up through Marietta.             The grapevines are ripe in Geneva.             He returns, Man-child, Man-strong, Man-smart, Man- mountain, Mansfield to East Akron, minus into Man, or should we             say Mamma raised? Single mother fed, shy child, quiet child who grew, who suffered & taught his body to sing, his             mother worked how many shifts, doing this, doing that, never gave up for her son. He is third shift at the rubber             plant in winter, he is farm hands & auto parts piecework & long nights the men at the bar, eyes on the television.             The lake tonight is black as newly laid asphalt. There are no ellipses. He is turning paragraphs             into chapters. Long ago the hoop Gods made this deal at the crossroads, Old Scratch is flipping the pages             of his program & waiting high in the stands—to belong to a place most people would call             nowhere, to show the world how tough we truly are, twelve-hour shifts at the Rubber plant in Akron. How he is, how             he is a part of this asphalt court we call Ohio, & how we suffer, & how we shine.

[instructionsonback]

[5280customframing]

🏀 Custom framed Sam Merrill Cleveland Cavaliers & Milwaukee Bucks jerseys framed in the same frame along with a signed card. Whatever the vision is for your jerseys, we can help make it a reality!

[stacksandkicks]

SPORTS: THE #CAVS BEST THE #CELTICS IN GAME 2

The Cavs lead by Donovan Mitchell’s 29 points 7 boards and 8 assist to beat the Boston Celtics on Thursday night at the Garden. The series is now tied at 1-1 and they go to Cleveland for games three and four Mitchell got some help from Caris LeVert who had 21 points with Evan Mobley matching him. Hit the like and subscribe button to stay tapped in for more content. CC: SD X NBA TAGS:…

[ivmandco]

Enjoying the suite life at the Cav's game with potential clients! 🏀🏟

[deadthehype]

Kobe Bryant and LeBron James first matchup on January 12, 2004

[doubleclutch]

13-0

[freshthoughts2020]

"ALL IN GARLAND" tee

WELÇOME© presents the "ALL IN GARLAND" tee—a bold tribute to Cleveland’s own Darius Garland. This design is hand-drawn, capturing the energy, precision, and confidence that Garland brings to the game. The vibrant colors against a premium heavyweight tee make this piece a standout, whether you’re courtside, out in the city, or just repping greatness wherever you go.

This isn’t just merch; it’s art you wear. Perfect for hoop heads, Cavs fans, and anyone who knows what it means to go all in.

Premium heavyweight cotton for a clean, structured fit.

Hand-drawn artwork for that one-of-one vibe.

Available in Black, Brick Red, and Vintage Gold colorways.

Signature WELÇOME© branding for authenticity.

Pair with Some Fire New Balances !

[hurricanejarvy]

living for this unexpected crossover 😌

credit: cavs social media

[fatmagic]

[lbjx23]

[cavspickandrollpodcast]

There it is! 👇💰