UPDATE (7/22/2015): Today LeBron James announced a partnership with Warner Bros., and as some media noticed, the studio filed new trademarks for Space Jam just last month, fueling speculation about a project in the works. In light of the news, we represent our case for the LeBron Space Jam reboot. We really hope it's happening.

This may bruise your ego, mere mortals, but it's true: LeBron James kills it in Trainwreck. The two-time NBA MVP's ace game extends from the court to comedy. In Judd Apatow and Amy Schumer's romantic comedy, LeBron plays himself... but also not. "Movie LeBron" is eccentric, cuddly, eloquent, overprotective, and frugal. His best friend is a scrawny physical therapist (Bill Hader). He is not the King of the World, nor an exhausted Olympiad trudging through post-game remarks. He's above the cue card-reading pawns seen in previous Apatow cameo parades. He acts. By the end of a scene in which James goes toe-to-toe with Hader over splitting a check—what, he should pick up the entire tab just because he's a millionaire celebrity?—it becomes clear that there's more to the athlete than hand-eye coordination. James is magnetic. Hollywood needs to figure out what to do with him next.

The athlete-to-movie star scorecard is full of hits and misses. Carl Weathers, Jim Brown, and Dick Butkus all pummeled their way through pro football to steady acting work. Derek Jeter teetered on the edge of a breakout after a one-two punch of Saturday Night Life and Will Ferrell's The Other Guys, but lacked follow through. The opposite is true for Shaquille O'Neal; the retired NBA center surprised in Blue Chips and failed upwards with his genie movie, Kazaam and his Superman riff, Steel. He'll soon appear in his own sitcom, because why not? Trainwreck is James' Blue Chips—easily leveraged with the right follow-up. The answer seems obvious to vocal fans and antsy producers alike. And for the first time since wishing Arrested Development back into existence, they might be right: James needs to make Space Jam 2.

Why does Space Jam hold a special place in anyone's heart? Seek out the nearest millennial. The live-action/animation hybrid that paired Michael Jordan and Warner Bros' animation characters, Space Jam was the epitome of preteen pop culture, a confluence of Jock Jams, Tazmanian Devil t-shirts, and sports idol worship. By 1996, a #23 Bulls jersey-clad Jordan was as iconic as any Saturday morning cartoon character (actually, he was a Saturday morning cartoon character). Jordan wasn't even playing the sport that made him famous when he filmed Space Jam, mounting a return to the NBA from minor league baseball. He only agreed to star in the picture after Warner Bros. built a gym inside the studio lot where he could play pick-up games between scenes. The role didn't demand too much—Daffy Duck and Bill Murray did the heavy-lifting—but the experience was surreal and empowering. A few years before the film's release, Sports Illustrated wrote that Jordan stood alone on a mountaintop, that he transcended sports. Clearly. There he was, hanging out with Bugs Fucking Bunny.

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Space Jam earned $230 million around the world. Every kid saw the movie. R. Kelly's "I Believe I Can Fly" played on repeat in their brains. The WB cartoon ensemble thrived again. And as Jordan-mania faded, the Space Jam website soldiered on, inviting unsuspecting web crawlers to enter "Planet B-Ball" and "Jam Central." The Web 1.0 nightmare continues to garner coverage as it collects Internet dust, a constant reminder of an IP dying to be revived.

When 19-year-old LeBron James burst on to the NBA floors in 2003, comparisons to young Michael Jordan were immediate. His rise to fame turned claims into argument: who was better? After this year's NBA finals, Scott Raab, Esquire's resident LeBronotologist, acknowledged the James-Jordan debate, then waved it off. No question, Raab said: the Cavaliers' forward trumps Jordan. It's not a lone opinion. When fans root for James, they root for his star power and future. They see a legend. Warner Bros. built Space Jam entirely off Jordan's mythological presence. James is ready for the same engineering. Obvious, but clear.

There's validity to the nostalgic dream. During

a Twitter Q&A in 2012, James admitted to not only loving Space Jam but aspiring to star in a

sequel.

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RT @Parletoo: @KingJames do you love space Jam ?(I love that movie. Wish I could do Space Jam 2!) — LeBron James (@KingJames) August 26, 2012

Sports blogs flared like the sun. Everyone could picture it. Including Charlie Ebersol, son of former NBC Sports chairman Dick Ebersol, who announced in February 2014 that he was developing Space Jam 2 for James, then playing for the Miami Heat. The plan falls in line with a grander trend; the X-Files revival, Jurassic World, and the instantly forgettable Mark McGrath/Better Than Ezra/Uncle Kracker supergroup snowball a full-blown 1990s revival. LeBron James' stature as the "new Jordan" comes from the same gut place. Space Jam follows.

Yes, Space Jam 2 would be another addition to Hollywood's tiresome everything-new-is-old-again trend, but James' involvement would give it promise. Trainwreck introduces a willing and able performer, more Kareem Abdul-Jabbar in Airplane! than anything in the Dennis Rodman oeuvre. His physical presence alone would give him an advantage over Jordan. He's wide-eyed and capable of wackiness—his first entrance into Hader's character's office is Krameresque—in a constant state of elation that's either true to life or a crafty trick (which is more than Jordan could muster opposite Space Jam's cartoon ensemble). Few people could stand next to Porky Pig and fit right in. James is one of them.

The existing adoration for James isn't entirely born from his in-game skills. A dunk only gets you so far. James is the NBA player because he can emote. We see it in Trainwreck when he drops Apatow's improvised dialogue ("When you look at the clouds, do you see his face?" he says to Schumer in one riff-filled scene), but we know it from his commercial work. Like Michael Jordan, James can make a Nike sneaker as essential as mankind's first wheel:

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And he can make gag-filled Powerade promos tolerable. Did I really just watch a five minute energy drink ad? LeBron James, you master deceiver.

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Grown men don't need Space Jam 2, but their kids could. James' included. The star has a 10-year-old son, a demographic Hollywood abandoned over the last ten years. Between adult-skewing blockbusters and animated cheesewhiz, there's no room for a Space Jam-ish feature films. There aren't movies that speak to kids with language they understand, few that refashion their immediate interests into legitimate thrills. And who's teaching the next generation that Bill Murray is a godsend? Space Jam was someone's first exposure to the droll actor. Hollywood wouldn't make the movie today without a great reason. After Trainwreck, James is one.

LeBron James has a future in Hollywood—and it's already in motion. His production company, Spring Hill Productions, is behind the Disney XD child athlete reality series Becoming and Starz's Survivor's Remorse, a scripted series launching its second season in August. And like Jordan did his prime, James turned himself in a cartoon with The LeBrons, a down-to-Earth sitcom. He has an eye for show-business, and if Trainwreck's an indication, may finally turn it toward himself. Why spend the effort cranking out a sequel to a fleeting '90s kids movie? Or why stick around Hollywood at all, when there's basketball to be won and $42 million a year to reap from endorsement deals? Because James is a millennial. And he can do anything he wants.

Matt Patches Senior Writer Patches is a Senior Writer at Esquire.com.

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