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The Whore of Akron Includes LeBron's Penis, Drugs, Disses at City of Miami

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Remember Scott Raab? The lifetime Cleveland sports fan who set out to chronicle LeBron James' first season for Esquire only to get banned from American Airlines Arena by the Heat for calling the star "the whore of Akron"? Well, he's been busy at work penning a book entitled, obviously, The Whore of Akron, and the first excerpt went up today on Esquire's website, and includes a cameo from LeBron's penis, and Raab's own love/hate relationship with the City of Miami.

Yes, LeBron's penis.

"I never did find LeBron's soul, although I did see his penis once," writes Raab. "Inadvertently."

"LeBron's penis does not play any sort of major role in the book," he clarifies. "It has a cameo appearance -- Hitchcockian, really. And you should not let the fact that it appears at all sway you one way or the other in terms of the book's merit, at least not until you buy it. Also, you should know that my penis has a supporting role as well."

Charming. All that cock talk is just a means of a way to introduce the excerpt, which includes jabs at Micky Arison's daddy issues, Raab's own prescription drug habits, his ever expanding gut, and his desire to see LeBron suffer a season ending injury.

There's also this passage, in which Raab surmises Miami's particular sports culture:

Goddamn, it smells great in here. This has to be the best-smelling sports venue I've ever walked through. Bars everywhere, but the food grilling is what makes my nostrils twitch. Cuban chicken chop-chop. Arepas. Empanadas. It is a heavenly smell, and nearly enough to distract the brain from the women.

Nearly, I say, because damn, the women are fine. Dark hair, darker eyes, dark skin and plenty of it. Liquid they strut, supple brown legs and heart-shaped asses, teeth agleam, the peals of their laughter melding into the stew of aroma, wafting high a soft yielding cloud of spice and sizzle and samba and sunshine and everything that Cleveland, Ohio, is not.

This doesn't even feel like a sporting event -- it feels like a party to which I have never been invited.

By God, it is a party: The arena itself is nearly vacant. I find my seat, an excellent seat, and study a two-page spread in the front of the program -- FAN UP, MIAMI! -- devoted to instructing Heat fans how to act like actual fans. Beginning with a Rileyesque us-versus-them taunting -- " 'They' say that Heat fans are fickle fans," that "Heat fans don't deserve to have a team like this," and that "it's time to prove the naysayers wrong" -- it promises freebies and discounts to fans who get to their seats for tip-off and stick around for the whole game.

Lord. This is where LeBron James wants to play basketball, in front of sun-dried cretins who must be bribed to act as if they care about the game and the team.

Of course, this is his view of Miami from the Heat's season opener, a game where tickets went for several hundred, if not thousands of dollars to the kind of people with tons to spend a deep desire to see and be seen. As in: maybe not the best representation of Miami's true sports fans, most of whom were watching from our about-to-be-foreclosed-upon homes.

Raab's book hits stores on November 15.

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