There are bigger cities. There are richer cities. There are flashier cities. But there isn’t another sports city that can make the greatest player alive feel like he’s discovering something entirely new.

As the news settled over the weekend, as the throwback Sixers blacks sold out and the first preseason game climbed to Red October prices, as he docu-signed to make it official I saw a tweet: “LeBron James has already received more love in Philadelphia than he did in all his years in Los Angeles.”

Facts.

In the year of its 250th birthday, the city that gave birth to a nation now gets one final act from basketball royalty. How fitting that LeBron James chose Philadelphia.

Not his hometown.

Not Hollywood.

Not South Beach.

Not Silicon Valley.

Philadelphia.

A city built before America was. A sports town that still measures greatness in scars instead of followers. A place that has never cared how famous you were before you got here, only what you’re willing to become once you arrive.

LeBron James didn’t simply join the Sixers.

He chose Philadelphia.

And in doing so, he becomes part of something much bigger than basketball.

History has a funny sense of timing.

We’re on a helluva heater. We were easily a host-with-the-most city for the World Cup. I know Boston had the Scots, but we had 500,000 fans wade through heat and storms and Canadian smoke for Fan Fest at Lemon Hill generating over $5 million in food and beverage sales. During that epic 40-day Soccer Palooza, Croatia crashed a wedding, Brazil blessed Broad Street, Ecuador and the Elephants of the Ivory Coast adopted the Linc, and Iraq and France joyfully celebrated together at the Rocky Statue.

Then we crushed the Home Run Derby with our boos of passion (everyone got that they were good boos) and the All-Star Game with our Sandlot enthusiasm and the blessed-by-Betsy Ross-Red

Carpet festivities, and Major League Baseball left town applauding us.

The Eagles’ fingerprints on the Lombardi from Super Bowl LIX remain alive and legible – and that’s three Big Game appearances in less than a decade. And who’s to say they can’t return soon again with that roster and that front office, which has operated, undeniably, as a gold standard.

Red October 5 will premier in two months, with or without a right-handed bat.

Fly Guys swung for the moon with Leo, a proclamation of return to relevancy more than anything – and at the very least got the attention of McDavid.

This isn’t the first time Philadelphia has stolen the biggest story in sports.

History repeats like fried onions.

Long ago, the Phillies had a hump problem. Three years in a row, from 1976-78, they lost in the NLCS. The first one, falling to the Big Red Machine, okay. But then came two more defeats to the Dodgers, despite having the better team.

But when Pete Rose walked into Veterans Stadium the following year, Philadelphia didn’t just get baseball’s biggest star.

It got permission to dream bigger.

The city’s identity changed overnight.

Every conversation.

Every sports page.

Every bar.

Every Little League field.

And he taught Schmidt and Bowa and Carlton how to win.

The Hit King’s arrival announced to the baseball world that Philadelphia wasn’t content being part of the conversation anymore.

It intended to own it.

Sound familiar?

Whether LeBron James has played on stacked teams or not, this King knows how to win.

The Education of Prince Maxey has begun.

Let’s go back again to Bicentennial Philadelphia. The Sixers lost the ‘76-77 Finals to Portland in a series so excruciatingly blundered, the marketers began the following season with the slogan, We Owe You One.

They owed us FIVE by the summer of 1982, following two more Finals losses to the Lakers, a blown 3-1 lead to the Celtics in the Eastern Conference Finals and a couple of other playoff meltdowns.

Another hump problem.

Then Dr. J got his Pete Rose.

Moses Malone.

The league’s most dominant big man.

People forget now because championships have a way of making history feel inevitable.

Moses turned a really good basketball team into one of the greatest ever assembled.

Fo’, Fo’, Fo’.

The confidence wasn’t arrogance.

It was inevitability.

The Promised Land.

LeBron is different.

Different age.

Different stage.

But even if you weren’t alive for the past, you can feel the deja vu.

There’s nothing like the gift of an arrival.

The Doctor.

Iverson.

Lindros.

T.O.

Bryce.

Saquon.

Each represented something different.

Julius brought the cool. He gave Philadelphia style.

A basketball revolutionary, Iverson brought Fight The Power
amid unrelentless Gangsta Ball and a ‘round the way charm.

Bryce brought elite back to the Phillies.

Owens brought attitude and a berth in the Super Bowl.

Saquon brought an already great Birds squad to another level
and the Promised Land of multiple Super Bowls, making the
fluke nature of the first one irrelevant.

LeBron?

LeBron changes the gravitational pull of the entire city.

LeBron has spent two decades living among the elites in celebrity ecosystems.

Cleveland loved him because he was theirs.

Miami embraced him because stars live in Miami, some of them, like Riley, on the enclave, Star Island.

Los Angeles welcomed him because vapid Los Angeles welcomes big names.

Philadelphia is different.

Yes, Philadelphia loves investment. It loves for you to bleed to win. To play hurt and take criticism and own failure and celebrate your teammates and always tell the truth.

But you know what Philadelphia loves the most?

To be chosen.

That’s why “Love LeBron” has already been erected by City Hall.

I didn’t see it. All along, I thought Cleveland or Miami.

Because Philadelphia isn’t easy.

It’s harder.

Far harder.

The expectations are relentless. The criticism is immediate. The demands are exhausting. Truthfully, I didn’t think sport’s megastar would want the hassle in his twilight years.

Here’s the cool thing for the King. He already possesses global fame. He’s recognizable from Rome to Tokyo. He doesn’t need another market. He’s already conquered the world.

But there’s one thing he has never experienced.

Being completely consumed by one sports city.

Philadelphia doesn’t divide its attention between entertainment, celebrity culture and professional sports.

Sport is the entertainment.

Athletes become family. Good or bad. When Jalen Hurts goes to the store, people don’t see a celebrity. They see Jalen. LeBron has never lived inside that kind of sports culture.

And he’s going to love it.

LeBron didn’t choose sentimentality. He chose basketball. He looked around the league. He looked at the West. Oklahoma City and San Antonio stood in the way of an Expendables sequel with Steph in Golden State.

He looked East. He loves Riley, but with Bam and Giannis already in the frontcourt there wasn’t much of fit. Other than sentimentality and Donovan Mitchell, the Cavs were a whole lot of meh on the floor and too much Harden.

Then he looked at the Sixers after acquiring Jaylen Brown. Maxey and VJ, the young backcourt, explosive and energetic, teachable and moldable. Embiid. Nobody wants to hear it, but when healthy …

He is still the Embeast.

Good depth.

The only hole in the lineup he fills at the four spot. He doesn’t have to shoulder the scoring burden. He loves to facilitate and he’s great at it with his off the charts hoop IQ. It was actually obvious that Sixers gave him his clearest path to another championship.

That matters.

Superstars don’t spend their final years making charity decisions.
They chase rings.

LeBron believes Philadelphia gives him one more realistic shot.

This is the first Sixers roster that feels this overwhelming on paper since basketball fans watched the Warriors roll out Steph Curry, Klay Thompson, Kevin Durant and Draymond Green. And here, since Maurice Cheeks, Andrew Toney, Julius Erving, Moses Malone and Charles Barkley.

Different styles.

Different ages.

Same feeling.

Every night begins with one question.

How exactly are you supposed to guard everybody?

There’s something beautifully appropriate about all this.

America celebrates 250 years. Philadelphia reminds everyone why it mattered first. The birthplace of the country becomes the center of its sports universe again. Sometimes history repeats. Sometimes it rhymes. Sometimes it writes an entirely new chapter.

Now comes LeBron James.

The greatest player of his era.

Standing at the doorstep of the city that gave America its beginning. Looking for one more ending.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s the perfect final chapter to one legendary career in the city where so many great American stories began.