No cramps defeated the champs. "Long Live the King," more or less. "Toil and trouble," indeed!
The brawn of LeBron told us Thunder could not cramp the Heat style in procuring an early series championship. The NBA press machine was already there like three witches, and the Heat was anointed even as the cramp was massaged into a kinkly crown worthy of Macbeth.
Hobbled by a potassium deficiency (what else?), LeBron was unable to finish Game 4, but with the heat wave continuing on the East Coast, the arena was hotter than a Finals series in Burnim Wood. LeBron can only be defeated by one not born of woman.
The Thunder merely cramped LeBron's style, but offered no serious muscle to knock him out of the paint. He brushed them off like raindrops from heaven.
If certain animals find their leg clamped upon by the thunderous clap of a trap, they bite off their leg rather than wait for slow death. Using his reputation brawn, LeBron simply avoided those pesky fouls.
LeBron did not need to resort to any cauldron of boiling bubbles, cooked up by witches. The silver tray had been presented up in this series with a three referee soufflé as the entrée.
Now the insatiable PR machine of the NBA has another LBJ to match MJ. Alas, history foretells that LBJ might have defeated hapless Barry Goldwater, but we are not sure if LBJ of the NBA will even run for a second term.
Durantula meeting the Frankenstein Monster turned into a pale flick worthy of the SyFy Network's low budget extravaganzas. Worse, Kevin Durant may be sued for having the chutzpah to call himself "Durantula."
The cramp and hot flashes of the Thunder bore no rain or hail for the losers. It was just the side effect of summer doldrums.
Hail to thee, Thane of Glamis. All hail LeBron, Thane of Cawdor.