A tough act to follow: Will LeBron James Jnr ever escape his father's shadow

BIG SHOES TO FILL: Bronny James. (Photo by Christian Petersen/Getty Images)

FIRST, a little history: The tradition of giving your child your own Christian name —technically known as a “patronym”— goes back several centuries, when a child (usually a first son) was named after a parent (usually a dad) as a symbol of familial fealty.

Nowadays, bestowing your own name upon your eldest is a much more curious gesture. Some might call it lazy, devoid of imagination, others, a grand act of narcissism, but when you’re one of the most recognisable athletes in the world, and arguably one of the three greatest basketballers to every play the game, calling your son LeBron James Jr is the act of a dad clearly oblivious or uncaring to the pressure such an act of filial responsibility carries. There are grandmothers in Geesala who may have never watched basketball, but still have heard LeBron James’s name. That’s the power and the reach of the man, the myth, and the legend. Almost 18 years ago, during his sophomore season in the NBA, James’s now wife Savannah gave birth to their first son.

They called him LeBron James Jr. Although just 19, James was already a superstar, so choosing to name his son after himself did not come with the excuse of ignorance to any future fame. Last week, LeBron James Jr, 17-years-old dunked on a hapless opponent during a high school summer league tournament.

The dunk dominated segments on debate TV across the networks the following morning, prompting many to (unfairly) compare the teenager to his dad. None of this chat is new for the high school senior. His games are televised.

His father and his 6 foot 9 frame are ubiquitous on the bench, ensuring the cameras are too. James the younger has 6.4m followers on instagram, but it was in front of the prying eyes of LeBron the elder’s 131m followers that LeBron Jr. has grown up.

There was little or no protection from his dad from the unforgiving glare of an expectant public, quite the opposite. LeBron Sr seems adamant in his public execution of his paternal duties that one or both of his sons are destined for greatness, so, perhaps he thought it better for him to
facilitate rather than deny it.

To his son’s credit, he has taken steps to be his own man, eschewing the junior moniker, preferring to be called ‘Bronny’.

He also has backed up the hype as he approaches his final year in school, ensuring speculation over his next step — college, overseas, alternative leagues — will only intensify as adulthood beckons. The decision will not be straightforward.

James’s association with Nike and ESPN will almost certainly play a role.

Despite his lineage and obvious talent, there is a caveat to Bronny’s ceiling however, and ironically, it is his height. You can coach handles and an outside shot and a pick and roll, but you can’t teach tall. James Jnr. stands just at just 6 feet 3 inches, and though that might turn a few heads in a high school gym, it significantly limits his prospects as a career NBA player.

What does his dad want? As always with James, we are left in no doubt. He told The Athletic in February that his last season would be spent playing alongside his son.

“Wherever Bronny is at, that’s where I’ll be,” he said, reprising a scenario from his childhood in which Ken Griffey and his son Ken Griffey Jr. played together in MLB for the Seattle Mariners. “I would do whatever it takes to play with my son for one year. It’s not about the money at that point.”

The four-time champion would be making basketball history if he does play with his son, something he’s become quite adept at.

Golf has accidently become box office

Thanks to the insidious power of sportswashing and the far reaching hypocrisy it exposes, the arguments for cancelling LIV golf since its inception have become as redundant as they were (and remain) justified.

The initial outrage at the source of the LIV money (Saudi Arabia), has quickly given way to a chorus of “how dare theys” regarding the defectors attitude towards the PGA tour.

Forget about the human rights abuses, focus on Bubba’s disregard for commissioner Jay Monahan and tour untouchable Justin Thomas, that’s where the real story is (seriously…that now is the story, sadly).

One unintended consequence of this redirection is that golf is finally getting interesting. Golfers, worn out by years of manners being imposed on them by schoolmaster overlords, have started displaying actual personalities, likely emboldened by the sudden power thrust upon them by the civil unrest.

For too long, banality and dad jokes were the soup du jour. Now, golfers publicly hate each other, publicly hate fans, publicly hate their caddies and sometimes, most entertainly, publicly hate themselves. It’s not all about the hate, but it’s the animosity in their expressions that is most believable. Last week, world number one Scottie Scheffler walked across alleged defector Cam Smith’s line. That’s the golfing equivalent of Vinnie Jones grabbing Gazza by the nuts. This weekend, Rory McIlroy quickly tired of a fan’s bizarre antics with a remote-controlled golf ball, picking the object up and tossing into a greenside lake, inspiring a raucous reaction from the bleachers.

Every press conference contains at least one character assassination. Every televised round has a caddie either being flagrantly ignored or erroneously blamed for a player’s mistake.

Golf, so long the preserve of V-neck wearing amateur wine critics, has become box office. It is wrestling with stiff shafts and copper headed wedges.

Get on board while there’s still room.

Adeleke on fast track to national treasure

The Rhasidat Adeleke effect — that of drawing a passive public into athletics after a couple of decades of indifference — reached its apex last Thursday as the Tallaght athlete was the catalyst for the 4 x 400m relay team breaking the national record at the European Championships in Munich.

It was Adeleke’s 50th and penultimate race of a season that has catapulted her to the consciousness of a country in need of a track star to follow.

The sight of her in full flight is an incredible one, and something those within the Irish athletics community should stop at nothing to nurture.

Lamps and Stevie G are on thin ice

It’s reassuring to see Everton have picked up exactly where they ended last season.

Saturday’s 1-1 draw at home to newly promoted Nottingham Forest perfectly encapsulated Frank Lampard’s team’s ability to mask the most abysmal of performances with a moment of consequence.

It’s exactly how they survived in May, when historic scenes of fans rushing the field at Goodison Park following Dominic Calvert-Lewin’s late winner capped an incredible comeback on the second last day of the season.

That goal forgave a season of crippling mediocrity. Lampard seems to enjoy a little more leeway than most, given his status as an English legend, but, together with his old running partner Steven Gerrard at Villa, credit in the bank depends entirely upon the economy it lives in.

The mob is fickle, and both men are on thin ice.