The Lakers Are Completely Squandering LeBron’s Final Act

Getty Images/Ringer illustration The Olympics proved LeBron is still (somehow) LeBron. But instead of gearing up for one more title run, Los Angeles appears content to dribble out the clock. The ad begins with a voice-over. "I'm going for my third gold medal," LeBron James says, as his body fills the frames. The camera slowly zooms in as he labors through a workout, exhaling at the top of a pull-up. "But I'm still thinking …" The camera holds as he dips out of view. When James rises again, all we see is his face. It's strained and glistening. Sweat drips from a black durag, down his nose and into his beard. His eyes burn. "... about my first bronze." Two decades ago, LeBron's first taste of Olympic basketball was a cocktail of humiliation and disappointment. As the youngest member of the infamous 2004 USA men's basketball team that lost to Argentina in the semifinals, James was an ascending afterthought who logged a grand total of three points in three minutes of action during what will be remembered as the most egregious defeat he's ever experienced. In that aforementioned Nike spot, James looks hungry. Twenty years removed from a loss that still haunts him, he is the most prolific player in basketball history, with four NBA championships, four regular-season MVP trophies, three Olympic gold medals, and several records—including most points—that are extremely unlikely to be broken in your lifetime. The dust has settled on all legacy-related matters. And still, with his 40th birthday on the horizon, he wants more. LeBron's return to international competition in the Paris Olympics was initially seen as more ceremonial than necessary. On a roster that featured more talent than had ever been assembled, some assumed James could ride shotgun while younger stars like Anthony Edwards, Jayson Tatum, and Devin Booker took the wheel. As if those names weren't big enough, fellow MVP winners Steph Curry, Joel Embiid, and Kevin Durant were more than capable of holding down a squad of basketball royalty with a combined salary that could rival the GDP of some competing nations. Instead, on his way to being named MVP of the men's basketball tournament, James was the most irreplaceable, grounded, and consistently productive American in France. He led the United States in minutes, rebounds, and assists (LeBron's 46.6 assist rate was second only to Brazil's Marcelinho Huertas in the Olympics) and tied Edwards for the most steals. He was second only to Curry in points (85 vs. 89) and plus-minus (plus-84 vs. plus-86). LeBron logged time at every position as the hub of their offense, the backbone of their defense, and a reassuring compass whenever Team USA seemed lost, owning enough gravitas to herd a proud group of natural-born leaders wherever they needed to go. He guarded Nikola Jokic and Victor Wembanyama. He was a bullet train in transition, merciless in the post, and the most tactically efficient pick-and-roll partner any of his teammates had ever played with. (LeBron's immediate synergy with Steph yielded a breathtaking nirvana that the basketball world missed while these two were rivals instead of copilots.) "To watch him up close, … just to see his approach, to see his professionalism, how coachable he is," Team USA coach Steve Kerr said. "Then, of course, how gifted he is at everything, at every part of the game he seems to have mastered." In six games, James made 77.5 percent (!) of his shots inside the arc. He was a go-to option whenever Team USA faced any pressure, including in crunch time. He orchestrated the U.S. in all the right ways, never failing to understand or appreciate that "right now" is all we have—a basketball Buddha who opened a portal to almost everything his body could once do, maximizing that muscular 6-foot-9 frame with dexterity, touch, and force. He pushed pace like men half his age can't. He threw behind-the-back passes in the paint. He had chase-down blocks and became a brick wall whenever challenged on the block. Graying beard and all, few demand capitulation like James. His impressiveness sits below only his singularity. I don't think any athlete has ever made me feel older and younger at the exact same time. He's a living, breathing, alley-oop dunking Faustian bargain sans consequence. But throughout the Olympics, as we watched a 39-year-old LeBron resemble the conundrum opponents still have no answer for, a dichotomy began to emerge. Hand in hand with his dominance and poise was a cruel reminder of what the final act of his NBA career could have been if not for an expert squandering of hope and possibility by the Los Angeles Lakers. For all the positives that emerged over the past few weeks, watching James do what he just did must make that fan base nauseous. How could a roster spearheaded by that—plus Anthony Davis, Team USA's top-performing big man and the Olympic leader in PER!—be such an also-ran? Thanks to a front office and ownership group that have spent half a decade simultaneously catering to and disregarding their franchise player in some spectacularly detrimental ways, championship goals have been replaced by hollow determination. It's not often a team wins the title (as L.A. did in 2020) and then spends the next five seasons destructively validating the popular adage "If it ain't broke, don't fix it." The shrewdest organizations know what they are. Delusion is replaced by harsh truths. They also know whom they have and map out myriad ways to accentuate their best players with mutually beneficial on-court relationships. The Lakers have repeatedly misjudged that last part and shown little understanding of where they stand. When change is urgent, they choose continuity. When continuity is key, they make identity-shifting alterations. To repeatedly screw this up—with LeBron (!), on the NBA's most popular franchise (!!)—is malpractice. There are too many examples to list in full here, but from the cataclysmic Russell Westbrook trade (which had predictably negative ripple effects that are still felt today), to choosing D'Angelo Russell over Mike Conley at the 2023 trade deadline, to deeming Talen Horton-Tucker untouchable in 2021 when Kyle Lowry could've been had (only to move Horton-Tucker the following year for Patrick Beverley), to drafting Jalen Hood-Schifino one spot ahead of UCLA's Jaime Jaquez Jr., to letting Alex Caruso walk in free agency, the self-sabotage is avoidable enough to feel intentional. Under Rob Pelinka, the Lakers have consistently eschewed the 3-point line and any players with defensive versatility. Both are critical ingredients for James (and Davis) to be the best versions of themselves, individually and harmonizing together. When the Lakers made a miraculous run to the conference finals in 2023, they convinced themselves that the one-way cogs on their roster were worth new contracts even though several of them were unable to contribute in the fourth quarter of playoff games. Last year they finished eighth in the Western Conference—19th in net rating with an average offense and below-average defense—and were eliminated in the first round by the Denver Nuggets in five games. Their response was to fire Darvin Ham, hire JJ Redick, draft Bronny James and Dalton Knecht, and sign no players of consequence. (They were spurned by Klay Thompson, who went against his father's wishes and took less money to play for the Dallas Mavericks.) They don't own their first-round pick in 2025 and owe a top-four-protected first-round pick to the Jazz in 2027 but can trade their own firsts in 2029 and 2031. Most of the middling salaries on their books can be dealt. There are moves to make. But the general overview here is a systemic faux pas. It's also a shame. The last few years of LeBron's career could've been an exclamation point on the greatest career ever seen. Instead, every individual achievement is neutralized by the franchise's habitual shortcomings. Some of this is on the power he and his agency exude over L.A.'s personnel decisions, along with the surprising degree of apathy he's shown in the face of perennial letdowns (this man really loves Southern California!). But a majority of the blame should be thrust onto a front office that has demonstrated narrow vision and little control. The monotony and strain of an 82-game season are much different from an Olympic sprint that lasts only two months. But what these games did was reaffirm LeBron's capacity as the most powerful, skilled, and prepared player every time he steps on the floor. James is not the only all-time great who may come to accept this gold medal run as their last opportunity to spray champagne and bite a soggy victory cigar—a special window in which they could come together under bright lights and remind everyone (including their NBA teams) how special they still are. Curry is an enchanting folk hero whose flair and audaciousness can be topped only by the stories people who watched him live will tell their grandchildren in 50 years. A mythmaker in real time. Durant's identity as a traveling mercenary will be forever countered by all-encompassing reliability on the international stage, where he'll be remembered as the most successful Olympian the sport has ever known. But as arguably the most venerated athlete in the world, the stakes and standards are always higher for a man who's been at this—competing professionally, being scrutinized intensely—for over half his life. It's not a tragedy that LeBron stopped being relevant in championship conversations. What's wrong is how his exit from the main stage happened. He's somehow been able to avoid a hook from Father Time that should've come by now. Instead, the call is coming from inside his own house. Next year, on the Lakers, he won't have Curry or Durant by his side. But that doesn't mean LeBron should have to settle for another bronze medal. Sadly, that's all L.A. has allowed him to shoot for.

The Lakers Are Completely Squandering LeBron’s Final Act

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