Kelly: LeBron James’s flop reminds us that it works more often than not

Three years ago, in the midst of another one of his convenient spates of disequilibrium, LeBron James denied what is demonstrably true.

"I don't flop," James said during a series against the Chicago Bulls. "I've never been one of those guys."

Au contraire. Whoever "those guys" are, James is their spiritual leader. Wherever they gather, they do so under a portrait of James, eyes wide, expression affronted, spinning wildly to the ground after being hit hard by a light breeze or a harsh word.

In the intervening years, he's adapted his position. He still doesn't use the word "flop," but has sadly conceded that it must be done.

"I will protect myself," the Cleveland Cavaliers star said after two gob-smacking dives during Saturday's Game 3 against the Raptors, which led to three Toronto fouls. "When I was in high school … a kid just low-bridged me and I fell and broke my wrist. So, that kind of thought kind of always plays in my mind when I'm being thrown to the ground or if it's a borderline dirty play … I always think back to the Jay Z line, 'If I shoot you, I'm brainless/If you shoot me, you famous/What am I to do?' That always plays in my head any time I want to react. I gotta keep my brain."

James plainly does everything at an elite level, even his sophistry.

If I follow his logic here, he pretends to be hurt when he is not in order to discourage people from actually hurting him. In real-life terms, this is you calling the cops every time someone drives by your house, just in case one of them is a burglar.

We know where diving started – soccer. It's hard to say exactly when. It grew out of control in the 1990s and remains a major problem whenever the stakes are highest (i.e. World Cups and the like).

The NBA picked up on it after the turn of the century. It grew epidemic four or five years ago.

The league has cracked down with new rules and postfacto fines, which are financial pinpricks to the game's multimillionaires. Their main efficacy is in embarrassing fakers. It's a dubious prevention strategy.

The key problem with flopping in any sport is that it works more often than not.

If you get away with it, then you've got away with it. If you don't, you've reset a referee's internal guidance system mid-game. Now he's going to suspect everything, which hurts your opponent as much as you.

As such, it's as effective a tactic as any other game-plan tweak.

Does it work?

"Flopping? Why are you asking me about it?" Raptors forward Luis Scola said Sunday. He laughed, but without much humour.

The best I could come up with is that he's an Argentine. His soccer-playing countrymen didn't invent the practice, but they may have perfected it.

And Scola well knows why I'm asking. His former teammate, Shane Battier, once said of him, "I love Luis Scola, but he's the most egregious flopper on the offensive end."

Battier went so far as to suggest Scola's shaggy mane was an effective flopping prop, as it tended to whip around as he hit the deck, helping him sell the con.

Scola doesn't think flopping is a problem (because what flopper, even a reformed one, would?).

"You see a little bit of exaggeration, but I think it's pretty much gone," Scola said. "For a minute, it became a little bit of a problem, but the NBA took care of it."

What about the moment in Saturday's game when James – 260 pounds of immovable, carved granite when he's being buffeted under the rim – was sent sprawling by a light tap in the mouth?

"I didn't see that play very well. Or the replay."

I must say that "or the replay" was a very nice touch there. Later, Scola would refer to the widely acknowledged phenomenon of NBA officials giving stars star-type calls a "rumour."

If you need someone representing your interests in front of a Senate committee, I'd suggest Scola. You'll be taking the fifth a lot. And neither of you is American. He's that good.

A day later, still warmed by the glow of their surprising Game 3 win, the Raptors were circling their wagons. Around James.

"I don't look at [James] as being a flopper," coach Dwane Casey said. "We don't even talk about that."

Two things. Whenever anyone says, unprompted, 'I don't even talk about that', I will 100-per-cent guarantee you they've been talking about it. And the logic here is sound. Why rattle the cage of the NBA's alpha predator?

Whatever they say, James's behaviour isn't going to change. Neither is the way he's treated by NBA officials. If you want perfect fairness, forget basketball and try competitive horseshoes instead.

At the highest level, floppers and divers don't think they're cheating. They believe they're levelling the field. That's where James's explanation – 'I'm trying to prevent people from hurting me' – falls apart. He's not worried about injury (or any more than any other player). He's trying to dissuade people from touching him, full-stop.

It's the same reason the most flagrant divers in soccer are its biggest stars. They get hit more than most because they have the ball in dangerous positions more often. They'd like to be hit less. Going to ground is the most effective way to discourage it.

As with any other instance of rule-bending or dark artistry, you just wish people wouldn't pretend it works any other way.

You don't have to honest. That'd be dumb. Just don't be dishonest. Like most of us, James wants it both ways. It's a big reason so many fans have never warmed to him.

Speaking later about his own muscular and irritating brand of play, Raptor Bismack Biyombo – the antithesis of a flopper – said, "On the floor, I don't have friends."

No great player does. And, for reasons that go beyond his talent, James is the greatest of them all.