Mike Segar/Reuters

This N.B.A. title — and all that comes with it — belongs to LeBron James, the player of unspeakable talent, unbelievable growth and the target of unprecedented criticism. But while his personal journey has become the narrative of an entire league, he shares the Heat’s scene with so many others. Dwyane Wade tabled injury and personal trial to compete for another title. Erik Spoelstra pushed the Heat into the future with his adaptive rotation. And Chris Bosh — the unbelievably strange target of a raging public’s remaining bile — thrived for Miami in a more crucial capacity than ever.

James and Wade are in a class of their own, so it’s convenient to consider Bosh as a second-class star. It’s hard for anything to compare to the obsessive dissection of James’ game, but the over-analysis of Bosh — thanks to his perceived lack of old-school toughness — managed to come close. His rebounding ability and even his masculinity became the subject of heated criticism, the former sometimes deservingly so and the latter ridiculously not. It didn’t take very long for irrationality to take hold when it came to all things Miami Heat, and Bosh found himself berated from all angles for the fact that he wasn’t James, wasn’t Wade, and wasn’t in line with ridiculous ideals of basketball manhood.

Which makes it all the sweeter that Bosh became an N.B.A. champion by sticking with his mid-range proficiency, playing championship-worthy defense, and retaining his fundamental weirdness.



Bosh may operate on a different frequency than we’re used to, but that uniqueness should never have made him the object of such scorn. James was turned into a punchline for each of his perceived faults, but the stones thrown at Bosh were just as unyielding and far more despicable. It’s not unusual for sports to foster rage, and given James’s actions in the summer of 2010, the scenario nudged a certain breed of sports fan toward berserk. Bosh was “accused” of femininity and homosexuality, insults wielded with all the grace and perspective of a 13-year-old bully. The taunts aimed at James were unquestionably personal, but those hurled at Bosh skipped ahead to far more general repugnance.

I’m not optimistic enough to think such comments might dissipate, but if nothing else, let Bosh serve as a shining example of an odd personality. He was deemed to be soft, weak, and many things unfit for print. He was a big man with a perimeter-oriented game, and was clubbed over the head with a public demand for machismo. Yet without altering course by a single degree, Bosh has claimed the prize that some said he never could. He’s not James, he’s not Wade, and he’s far too thoughtful and interesting to fit into a hyper-masculine mold. He’s just Chris Bosh, and while that may not be good enough for some, it’s clearly good enough for the Larry O’Brien trophy.