Reflections on the Nature of Crows and LeBron - Alex Jackson

I believe most birds, with a few exceptions, seem highly unintelligent when measured against human standards. Their actions seem to be guided only by the most ancient of animal instincts, which are limited in scope. Birds are one of the few species where the moment they emerge from their egg, their intelligence stagnates until the day of their certain, untimely deaths. Determining a bird’s potential lifespan is difficult, if not impossible to determine, since the lure of illogical, fatal ventures time and again takes their lives prematurely. Too many human children have been forced to cope with the agony of organizing bird funerals. If only the crow would lead.
Crows have such a high degree of intelligence; they could very well lead the entire bird population towards unseen prosperity. The fundamental problem is they have no desire to lead. The potential literally goes to waste. Instead, crows use their keen intellect to determine the best way to eat human garbage, which they are highly effective at doing.
If the NBA consisted of birds, LeBron James would be a crow.
LeBron James has the talent necessary to score the ball every time he touches the basketball. Realistically, how could anybody stop him? He’s the strongest, fastest, highest jumping individual in the NBA, and he is entirely unaffected by physical contact when taking the ball to the basket. Additionally, he has a decent jump shot, despite being equally as ugly as Charles Barkley’s anatomically defying golf swing. If those abilities are not impressive enough, LeBron is also one of the best passers in the NBA. What does he do with this talent? Stand outside the three-point line and let Dwyane Wade handle the ball for the entirety of nearly every possession. Even though LeBron James is an adult crow, with all the capabilities in the world, he gives in to the demands of a less capable bird, Dwyane Wade, by chewing up all of Dwyane’s food and feeding it to him with his own royally minted beak.  If LeBron is not feeding D-Wade, he resorts to eating garbage (letting the other Miami Heat players touch the ball). It is interesting to note that a flock of crows is often called a murder. This is appropriate for the Miami Heat, since they have an incomparable ability to collectively eat garbage and murder talent. 
The idea that a player like LeBron could be compared to the greats, even Michael Jordan, is nonsense. It is hard to imagine Scottie Pippen would consider making a Jordan-LeBron comparison. Pippen is like a bird that has zero ability to achieve long-term memory. He is the bird that repeatedly dives into a window, forgetting that he broke his beak five seconds ago doing the exact same thing. I would be curious to know if Scottie Pippen has any recollection of being a Chicago Bull or who Michael Jordan even is (if the question “who is Michael Jordan?” were to be presented to Pippen, I would expect an answer along the lines of “what is a Michael Jordan and what does it do?). It is also possible that Pippen might be coaxed into saying whatever a person wants him to say given enough birdseed. It is sad really, the things a bird will do for that precious birdseed.
Furthermore, Jordan was not a crow at all; he was an eagle. He was a bird of prey, far more wise, intelligent, and focused than other birds. He would attack other animals and eat them alive if necessary. He would do anything in his arsenal to survive and dominate, and in doing so set himself at a level that no other basketball player will ever likely reach, including LeBron James. “King” James simply does not have the drive to dominate the game of basketball like Michael Jordan did. He seems content with going through the motions instead of challenging himself to achieve the highest of accolades.
Which leads me to the conclusion LeBron James loves eating garbage.

On being Michael Jackson. No, not that one.

There were none more than me cool,

For Michael Jackson doesn’t go to every school.

Chased by the girls, admired by the boys,

Royalty had nothing on me.

But things changed after that first day. 

No longer pursued, no longer a display,

Now the butt of every joke, 

Is he your brother? No. Why would our mother give us the same name?

Are you him?  No, I’m caucasian.

Can you moon walk? Yes. Hey, why did you stop watching as soon as I started?

Are you married to your sister Janet? Why would I marry my sister... if I was him, I mean.

Year after year it continued on,

Embarrassment in class, attendance did spawn,

Titters from my peers, hiccups from the teacher,

Right up to the end of University.

Even, Buck Shot, yes, Buck Shot,

That cowboy favourite of Calgarian kids,

Announced my birthday with a long list of tykes

But of my name said it must be a joke.

Does he call you? No, having the same name doesn’t mean he knows me.

Where’s your glove? I don’t have one.

As a child, tears of being lost in someone else,

Found a home in my mother’s shoulder at night.

But I grew up.

I found myself.

And started enjoying the prank phone calls...

Wherever you are, if it was really you, Janet,

I’m sorry for what I said on the phone late that night,

I thought it was a prankster, I don’t really think you’re fat.

Now as I meet someone new I know just what to say,

Hey, I say, waiting for the bloom of surprise,

And with a smile in my face, and in my heart, I announce,

Guess what? My name’s Michael Jackson.

Can you sing?  Yes, but not quite as good as him.