Is Steph Curry why we don't dig LeBron more, or is something wrong with us?

Our next-best-thing mentality is tarnishing the legacy of an all-time great

Even before the Golden State Warriors lost Game 1 of the Western Conference finals, and before LeBron James led his Cleveland Cavaliers to a win in Game 1 of the Eastern finals on Tuesday night, Kyle Lowry's words stayed with me.

"LeBron," he said in a television interview after his Raptors advanced to face the Cavs, "is probably one of the best players in the league, besides Stephen."

Probably.

But not as good as Steph Curry.

Probably one of the best players in the NBA.

But not on Steph's level.

This is no critique of Lowry, or of his comments. If anything it's a critique of myself. I have written, and still believe that Steph Curry is the game's best and has eclipsed much of LeBron's relevance and hold over a league he once dominated on and off the court because Curry is that transcendent.

But what if we don't regard LeBron as we once did because 2016 and all it means to live in it has made us hardened to awe, immune to the beauty of the familiar? What if Lowry's comments, Curry's unanimous selection as league Most Valuable Player, my perspective and our general obsession with Steph and the Warriors -- what if all of it has more to do with LeBron James and the fact we've grown accustomed to him? What if LeBron's biggest legacy issue is he came along in an age without wonder?

What if it's not that LeBron has become less remarkable, it's that nothing wows us anymore?

LeBron James shows the Raptors he's still boss, so why don't we believe it? USATSI

We take so much for granted today, a product, perhaps, of technology that defines our world. There certainly are side effects to having the ready availability of what seems like all information at every moment on earth. A friend of mine likes to say there are no secrets anymore, and a look around supports that: Not for governments (WikiLeaks, Edward Snowden), not for the famous (TMZ) or any of us with private moments in the cloud (ask Jennifer Lawrence), not from our employers (careful what you type in your work-based email), from each other (Twitter, Facebook), not from anyone.

And when secrets go, so does some of our sense of mystery, awe and appreciation for the rare.

We are in an age of the passé. If it's not new, if it's not the next thing, then the sheen has worn off. Facebook? Whatever. I'm onto Twitter. Twitter? How 2014. Snapchat, bro. Snapchat? Instagram's the thing. What, you haven't heard of Kik?

This has long been a part of human nature, craving the new, seeing so vividly the colors of the grass just there on the other side. But we have enhanced that, have sped it up. Once, 75 years ago, a president could be so popular we needed a Constitutional Amendment to limit his time in the White House. Today, any president -- regardless of your politics, this is true -- who gets eight years reaches the end of his (and perhaps soon her) tenure with dismal approval ratings. The person we last elected is so yesterday's news.

Perhaps it's fitting that the source of what has taken the bloom of the rose for LeBron, and all his remarkable gifts, is based in the Bay Area: Land of technology, the next big thing, the place where the search for unicorns never ends and the world is only better if it's constantly and drastically changing. Makes sense Curry, Klay Thompson, Draymond Green and the 73-win Warriors would change the game and make us laugh (for now) at the idea of big men in the game. They're owned by a technology maven and situated in the heart of the place where change is synonymous with success. But sometimes traditions matter, too. Sometimes the present -- or even the past -- should have more value than the next big thing.

How strange is it that not long ago LeBron was the next big thing? The Chosen One. The King. Prophet and ruler, all in one. The guy who would change the game. Michael Jordan was a man we never grew tired of, whose greatness and the appreciation we had for it lasted well past his career. Now, we're onto to something new. Always.

Once, we marveled at someone else stepping foot on the moon. Now we yawn and say, "Wake me up when SpaceX can send me to Mars."

Human beings can grow accustomed to anything. Miracles included.

And we've had our fair share of them in our sports over the past 16 years. Leicester City. The Red Sox remarkable comeback against the Yankees, and the 180 from cursed to the empire it created. The Warriors' 73 wins. The home run records falling. Lance Armstrong. And the scandals, the scandals and cheating and Deflategates and hand-wringing, that take the glow out of so much of the greatness.

And this is before we think about how many record-breakers and greatest-of-all-timers -- or those who came close -- have filled our world since Jordan. Tiger. Serena. Tom Brady. Nick Saban. Bill Belichick. Coach K. Pop. Mayweather. McGregor and Rousey, until not. Phelps. Bolt. Sampras then Federer then Nadal than Djokovic, one after the other, trampling our appreciation.

And, now, Steph.

We can forget. I can forget. LeBron James is unlike any athlete we've ever seen. His teams -- take just a moment to process this -- have won 17 straight Eastern Conference playoff series. That's stunning.

He transcends position. He went home to win. He can and has done things on a basketball court that should boggle the mind. He's special, even in a time where we don't seem to give a damn.

In last year's NBA Finals -- last year's -- he averaged 35.8 points, 13.3 rebounds, 8.8 assists and 1.3 steals. I said then that I would've voted for him for Finals MVP despite his team losing.

Yet, one year later, I'm all about Steph being the better player.

So what is it? Is Steph the real deal, a player so great he didn't just rise above LeBron but also rose above our own insouciance toward the familiar? Even when the familiar is a thing to behold? Or is he just another example of our need for something new to celebrate until we grow tired of that, too?

Herein lies the beauty of the NBA Finals best-case scenario: Steph vs. LeBron, Warriors vs. Cavs, might just give us the answer.

And that, even in 2016, would be something very special indeed. Because in an age that seem past wonder, a seven-game series worth you our awe would be sports at its absolute best.