Lebron James snubbed New York when he chose to take his talents to South Beach. Now, on the eve of the Miami Heat’s season opener, the New Yorker has exacted a measure of satisfaction by covering the Miami Herald and WLRN King James poetry contest with brows raised customarily high. The tone of the Ben McGrath piece isn’t overtly condescending, but, considering the New Yorker’s historic role as a gatekeeper of American poetry, I can’t help reading it through Eustace Tilley’s haughty monocle. (“O Lebron, My Lebron” appears in the precious “Dept. of Iambs,” for Naismith’s sake.)
I’m sure New Yorkers, still smarting from the King-sized rebuff, will be snickering in the subways as they read McGrath’s piece. To them, I offer the following six lines (the maximum length of contest entries):
Has a “ring” to it, no?