Kurtenbach: Bob Myers’ heist of LeBron reminds us he was secret sauce to the Warriors’ titles

The NBA is a league driven by superstar talent, but it’s ultimately run by elite operators.

And that’s why LeBron James signing with the Philadelphia 76ers is the single funniest outcome of this interminable and now embarrassing (for the Warriors) saga.

James signing a discounted two-year deal with the Sixers isn’t just a league-altering blockbuster; it’s a brutal, hilarious punch to the gut of Warriors CEO Joe Lacob’s ego.

It’s the death kneel to the concept of “lightyears ahead.”

For years, the Warriors’ lead owner has desperately wanted everyone to believe that he and his kin — not former Warriors director of basketball operations Bob Myers — were the true masterminds behind four championship banners.

Now, Myers is running the Sixers and landing Golden State’s long-coveted white whale for pennies on the dollar, while the Lacobs hold an empty bag and a shallow roster.

It turns out that when you drive away the guy who actually knows how to close deals, you don’t stay at the top of the game.

The Lacob family — featuring Joe and his son, assistant general manager Kirk — has long operated like venture capital disruptors LARPing as basketball savants.

They desperately want to be seen as the ultimate wheelers and dealers, the shadowy puppet masters moving the NBA behind closed doors.

Above all, they wanted to prove that Golden State’s golden era was entirely their product, rather than the work of an elite front-office executive.

They secretly loathed the universal truth that Myers was the actual adult in the room, the smooth diplomat who turned Joe’s manic Silicon Valley bluster into actual hardware.

So Lacob did what any hyper-sensitive billionaire would do: He nagged, meddled and undermined Myers until he ran him right out of his hometown dream job.

Joe was convinced that he and Kirk could run the front office themselves, with Mike Dunleavy Jr. taking on the GM role, but ultimately doing their bidding and tossing in some solid bottom-of-the-roster players, to boot.

They would prove that they were, in fact, the secret sauce behind success.

Instead, they proved that navigating the NBA isn’t anything like angel-investing in a failing crypto app.

The real league business still gets done in figurative smoke-filled rooms, where trust, instinct and real human connection dictate where legends choose to spend their twilight years.

Myers is a master of those dark arts — he’s a people person above all other people persons. The Lacobs are just guys who like hearing themselves speak at conferences.

The ultimate punchline is that the Warriors had a massive, 41-year-old-legend-shaped void on their roster.

It was the dream scenario for Golden State: partner LeBron with Steph Curry for one last cinematic run before the lights went down in the city, if for no other reason than financial.

Instead, LeBron spurned not just the Bay but also Cleveland, ignored Miami, and voluntarily took a pay cut for two years to join Myers’ new empire in the City of Brotherly Love.

The 76ers didn’t even desperately need him, which makes Myers waltzing into free agency and pulling off this casual heist even more delightfully sadistic.

He didn’t just beat the market; he took the whale out of Lacob’s backyard just for fun.

Ultimately, it was LeBron’s decision, but Myers created the comfort and credibility that sealed the deal.

LeBron took one look at Golden State’s meddling front office and mediocre roster and decided he’d rather trust Myers than bet his final years on the City of Fatherly Intervention.

The Dubs might have one of James’ best friends in Draymond Green, the ultimate superstar teammate in Curry, and Macklin Celebrini’s miracle-working dad in the training room. The Bay might have incredible year-round golf, top restaurants, elite investment opportunities, and the ability to jaunt to L.A. in 45 minutes on a private jet.

And yet the Warriors were never really in contention for his services.

All the while, Myers assembles a possible titan in Philly, and the Warriors are left staring down the pipe at another depressing play-in tournament exit at absolute best.

The Lacobs were ultimately too risk-averse, too cautious, and too self-absorbed to build anything of worth without their former general manager.

They ran off the one guy who knew how to turn ambition into trophies, convinced they could do it better on their own.

One wasted late-stage Curry prime later, how’s that working out for them?