It began in earnest when LeBron *teleported* across half-court to block Iguodala’s layup. It continued, this swell of energy, when Kyrie dosed Curry on that deep 3. It clicked entirely at 0:00. It manifested as joyful chaos. It went on and on and on when we screamed and hugged and openly wept like children on East 9th, cheering into the wee hours and celebrating something that had always seemed like a story meant for others.
It happened again on Monday and on Tuesday, in millions of private and public moments — in cars, in cubicles, in bedrooms, in hallways, in break rooms, in basements, in group texts — the memories relived through words and wordless actions. It ran rampant through each minute, gathering steam all the while.
It came together in brilliant climax on Wednesday, with 1.3 million people flooding into downtown Cleveland — the unexpected epicenter of the universe for a moment — and with children in tow, with tears flowing again, with mid-June heat beating down and a cold Bud for anyone with the cash and the will to spare. It became a cloudburst of confetti over every chant for JR, Kyrie, Tristan, K-Love, and M-V-P…
In truth, it began long, long ago.
And it will never end.
I love Cleveland.