"Kyrie, how are you going to replace LeBron?"
A skip. A beat. An awkward silence as he leaned down to the microphone, still hesitant though he has been asked this question for what feels like a millions times before.
"I'm not... I'm not looking to replace LeBron."
The sound of the 2011 first pick's voice rang through the conference room, an eerie touch to his tone, he sounded unsure, worried, overwhelmed. It was 2012, and Kyrie Irving was just about a noose ends' done with these repetitive, seemingly endless interviews constantly speaking on the hole that LeBron left in Ohio. The dark pit of which Kyrie was having a terribly difficult time filling.
"Kyrie, just ignore 'em," Tristan assured, as Kyrie sat stumped in the locker room looking as depressed and worn out as a homeless man on the dirty streets of NYC. Tristan patted the young rookie's shoulder, "The comparisons die down eventually, trust me. And hey, you're in discussions for ROTY. Isn't that nice?"
Rookie of the year? How could he accept that award when he has one of the worst teams in the league?
...
First Game. Heat v Cavs. Jan 2012.
Would it be fair to place in front of such young feet, the shoes that perhaps could never be fully filled?
"Man, head up Ky," Tristan said, nudging Kyrie who was slumped on the benches eyeing LeBron during the pre-game, "Your posture is depressing." "T, we're literally on a LOSING streak," Kyrie grunted, letting himself slide further into the bench and unenthusiastically looking up at Tristan who sat back-straight beside Kyrie.
"But look, you get your first game against THE LeBron James," Tristan said, following Kyrie's gaze to watch the 6'9ft man with God-like athleticism move in what seemed was poetry. There was music in his movements despite his rugged muscle look.
"I hate LeBron," Kyrie grumbled, narrowing his eyes and crossing his arms, a child-like pout running across his face. A teammate of Kyrie, Antawn snapped his head in Irving's direction the look of shock painted in his features if the jolt did not already accentuate his feelings.
"You? You hate LeBron? Why would you hate LeBron?" Antwan asked, straightening himself up beside Tristan. "Because," Kyrie sighed, shook his head and took a sharp inhale, "Okay, I don't hate him. I hate all the interviews I get ON him," Kyrie said bitterly, tightening the cross in his arms.
"The pressure," Kyrie rambles, "It kills me, everyday! Everyday someone tells me how disappointed they are, how I don't fulfill what LeBron ever did!" Kyrie says bringing his hands to clutch over his head and crumpling into a ball, "Man, how do people get used to shit like this!?"
"They don't," A voice sounded, causing all 3 of them to jump up from their seats. All stares were directed to Dwyane who stood in front of them, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. He had a plaid grey tuxedo prim and fitted over his body. He wasn't playing today. "Did you SEE LeBron's first game back in Ohio? Shit was scary," Dwyane chuckled, scratching the back of his head.
