(NB: A large portion of this article is dedicated to a vacation story. If you don’t want to read about what a bunch of yobs get up to in the sun, skip between the bold parts).

It’s been nearly three weeks since “The Decision” and LeBron’s decision still confused me.

Why Miami?

It certainly wasn’t the best move for his public image. Given the entire lead up which had already made him look like a preening diva, the only way he could have salvaged his image would have been to stay in Cleveland.

It’s not about business. The smartest move to maximise his earning power would have been to join either the Knicks (and therefore the New York market and all the business leaders of the world available) or the New Jersey Nets and Mikhail Prokhorov’s global reach.

You can’t even say it’s all about winning. Had LeBron gone to Chicago, he + Derrick Rose + Boozer + Noah would have been as good a core group (possibly even better) than Wade + Bosh + spare parts. And had he won in the Windy City, his legacy would have remained intact.

As it is, going to Miami has shattered many of the beliefs that we once held about the Man Who Would Be King. Which leads me to the question – why?

Why would a supremely talented basketball player like LeBron, who at 25 is just entering his prime, piss it all away just to go play with his mates? That surely can’t be the only reason he left.

I ended up thinking for a while until I got distracted and started looking through some old holiday photos.

When I came to the Miami file, it hit me.

Of course.

I was looking at the photos that we had taken last year when me, my cousin and my two best mates Joe and Fish spent a week in Miami. There were hundreds we had taken, but they all had one thing in common.

Each and every one had a hot woman in them.

(The holiday stories start here, so you can scroll down.)

Every single one. Whether we had convinced a random girl on the beach to get her photo taken with a bunch of not-so-studly young Aussie tourists (too easy), the girl in the photo was a sexual/attempted conquest for the night or simply walking in the background and she was all blurry but you could still tell she was a decent sight…all of them.

There was a reason we picked Miami for our Man Trip to celebrate getting back together for the first time in two years. We had originally planned Amsterdam, but that plan got deep sixed when Joe’s mum caught wind of it and refused to let him go. (He’s Asian and has issues with his mum). So to cover my ass with my very conservative Indian mum, I made up a BS story about going to the US to catch up with my cuz (who I won’t name in this article because he’s just graduated college and eventually wants to enter politics. I wouldn’t want to destroy his future by accident) – as soon as I told him our plan, he wanted in on the trip. Given that we all believe in “the more, the merrier” when it comes to drinking, partying and debauchery, no problemo.

Anyway, since we were limited to the USA, picking a destination became easy. Vegas was ruled out because we a) couldn’t procure fake IDs from a nearby state and b) none of us are good gamblers, and I’m a problem one. New Orleans was considered, but in the end Miami was the best choice.

And did it live up to our expectations.

Let me put it this way. Our days basically went like: wake up mid morning, either take woman in bed out for breakfast (sneak into fancy hotel we can’t afford to stay in and pay out the ass; I do this cause I’m a gentleman) or kick her out, crawl out by midday for lunch hungover, spend a couple of hours recovering, go do our own thing until about 6pm (for me, this generally meant heading to the beach for a few hours) before getting together, splitting a pizza and hitting South Beach until early next morning in between taking willing ladies back to cheap motel room. Repeat the next day. It was like living in a Tucker Max story.

We partied like rock stars for one week despite being broke uni students. While the fact that three out of four members of the crew had Australian accents always helps with American women, that’s merely one thing in our favour out of many stacked against us.

As we left Miami airport, we coined the slogan “If you can’t get laid here, you can’t get laid anywhere.” Ripping off New York? Yes, but it’s accurate.

And the tales of perversion and depravity are over, so you can start reading again.

The point is, all those things happened to a group of uni students over summer.

How do you think LeBron’s gonna do?

Hmm, he’s a 25 year old guy who just happens to be one of the best players in the NBA (if not the best). He’s in incredible physical shape, can probably buy every club in South Beach if he so desires and also happens to be famous.

If he takes one step down Lincoln Road he can probably take his pick out of 500 women.

Don’t think D-Wade hasn’t been doing the same for the past seven years. Or the Bosh didn’t come to Miami for the same reasons.

Like so many single young blokes, LeBron made “The Decision” not with his head or his heart, but with his penis.

The difference being that most guys making a career choice his age aren’t putting their legacy as athletes at stake, their chance to become global superstars or their home town’s hopes and dreams on the line.

Hey, I’m sure Cleveland women are great.

But they can’t compare to South Beach.


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