David Axelrod on what it means to be progressive, and how Obama fits the bill
It’s been four years since you came into my life, and filled my heart with joy. You arrived on golden wings, big man, with promises of rings. Multiple rings. You were my king, my friend, my savior — my workingman, the rim-grabbing superhero.
You told me you’d be a man who could deliver. You’d bring me my rings. Remember when you said, ‘there will be more than one?” And you did it. You brought home the goods.
But now you’re leaving me? Did all that time we shared together, the plans we made, the rings we shared…all mean nothing? You’re gonna leave me for her? Cleveland? Dassit. What’s she got that I don’t got? A filthy river? Really, over my sultry, tropical nights? Barefoot on the beach…like I can’t.
I know we’ve had some great times together. Pero, like, you have to admit that much, you know? If you’re saying that you’re leaving is all about you and not me … I don’t want to hear it! That won’t dull the pain of this bittersweet moment. I’m happy for you, I guess. OK, not really, not yet, but one day I will be. I’m just sad for me.
I know there’s no place like home, so maybe this is for the best. I’ll always love you, LeBron, just not as much tomorrow as I do today.
The People of Miami