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It’s a sentiment that probably won’t ring true with the white-clad fans who packed American Airlines Arena this post-season, but the Miami Heat losing the NBA Finals was a good thing. It was good for the game, good for sports in general and good for the long-term psyche of The Big Three.

Especially in a culture where self-absorbed, entitled athletes clutter the landscape.

We live in a world where in time, we learn that nothing good comes easy. It’s a valuable lesson we’re told early in life and in all reality, the acceptance of that outlook is what gives us the grit, drive, passion and heart needed to negotiate this rugged terrain called “life” and everything it throws our way.

Like most sports fans (and honest, unbiased Heat supporters), I felt “The Decision” was idiotic, uncomfortable, selfish and strange. LeBron James in a presidential, prime time, State of the Union-like address where the lame, “taking my talents to South Beach” line was birthed. Nothing about it flowed at the whole thing left sports fans feeling dirty, embarrassed to have even tuned in.

Furthermore, why was the pride of Akron and then-current Cleveland Cavalier coming to us live from a Boys & Girls Club in Greenwich, Connecticut instead of somewhere in Ohio or Florida?

The money going to charity was nothing more than a scapegoat. James could’ve written a check for twice that amount without blink. Simply put, this was a purely narcissistic act. Nothing more, nothing less.

As embarrassing and ego-fueled as LeBron TV, equally as pointless was the The Big Three’s coming out party – which played out more like a late 80s a Poison concert than a franchise introducing two new players .

When the cheers died down, Dwyane Wade took the mic and talked about this union being a “dream come true”, while he and his new teammates sat in their freshly pressed, sweat-free, stark white jerseys (re: workout clothes) moments after parading around on a smoke-filled stage with nothing more to say than, “we’re here”. Even scarier, fans turned out in droves and ate it up.

“Yes We Did”? No you didn’t. All that ego stroking and back patting should’ve been saved for a mid-June championship parade – not a pre-season hype fest.

When the smoke cleared almost a year later, you saw a team that had the talent, but lacked hunger – the kiss of death in sports and is something all Miami fans have seen too many times this past decade.

Cliches become cliche and are overused for a reason; because there’s some usually some truth in there. In this case, cliche as it will sound, Dallas simply wanted it more. They were hungrier.

Dirk Nowitzki and Jason Terry spent the past five years living with the 2006 collapse. Every time Wade’s million dollar smile pops up on ESPN, guarantee that these two long-time Mavs (and the entire Dallas organization) winced.

To be up 2-0 and minutes from creating an insurmountable three game lead in a best of four series? You don’t get ever get over that. Ever.

But occasionally there is a light and if you’re lucky, the sports gods smile down upon you, throwing you a bone and letting you finally get yours. In this case, sweeping the defending champion Los Angeles Lakers, who have been a perennial thorn in your side and when reaching the main stage, a shot at redemption against the one who broke your heart half a decade ago.

The fact that LBJ and Chris Bosh had been added to create a Dream Team mystique only made it that much sweeter. Seriously, it’s been a while since Hollywood penned a script with this storybook an ending.

Dallas learned their lesson last time around. Even Mark Cuban learned his, lurking in the background, becoming a wallflower and letting his team’s play do the talking. The Mavericks were on a mission and it was fueled by the pain that comes from losing.

As much as Miami losing was good for sports (and the general order of the world), it sucks for the Heat fan and a city hungry for a winner.

Like any Miamian, I was thrilled when professional basketball came to South Florida. I was in ninth grade and had neighbors with season tickets, who often took my brother and I along for the ride. Indoor sports was a new thing for kids who had only seen the Orange Bowl and Mark Light Stadium. Air conditioning, chairbacks and an array of food options; sign this then-lazy teenager up.

I still have an album with photos from a game against Detroit. In some pictures players looked like ants, courtesy of our nosebleed seats – in others, blurry shots from above the locker room entrance as Glen Rice, Rony Seikaly and Rory Sparrow hustled to the showers after another loss.

I still recall taking the Metrorail to a game against the Jordan-led Chicago Bulls after Pat Riley pulled off another masterful trade. I think Miami only suited up eight players that night and I’m sure Rex Chapman couldn’t miss a three (OK, he missed one; 9-of-10) as the Heat pulled off the unthinkable 113-104 upset.

I remember arguments in high school about Harold “Baby Jordan” Miner being the next MJ and still have VHS tapes from the 1998 series against New York, where P.J. Brown looked straight out of the WWE and Jeff Van Gundy resembled an ankle-biting poodle or a rag on the end of a mop, being pushed around the bottom of that pile, cleaning up the sweaty Arena floor.

Even though I’d rather the Canes bring home one football titles than the Heat winning the next five, I still rejoiced when Miami got its first ring in 2006. Shaquille O’Neal bringing a lifelike presence to the city, promising a ring and delivering, while Wade went from Boy Wonder to superhero overnight.

Down 2-0 and looking like game three was in the bag, Wade rose like a phoenix from the ashes that June evening five years back and from there the Heat rattled off three more for a title.

Everything that was right about 2006 feels wrong in 2011. Dallas deserved that storybook ending, while Miami needed this horrific chapter so their story can eventually be told. Heat loyalty aside, Wade and James needed some humble pie year one of this new relationship.

Winning it all year one? That’s like telling your boss to shove it, buying one lottery ticket on the way home and collecting a nine-figure prize.

A good story needs some suffering and there was none of that for the Heat this year. From the rock-n-roll introduction to cameras catching Wade and James mocking Nowitski’s cough, there was an air of arrogance. A sense that this thing was in the bag from the get-go.

Even late in Game Six, down double digits, there still didn’t seem to be any urgency. It wasn’t until it was over-over, with the final seconds ticking off, that Wade and James seemed to realize that their inevitable and unthinkable happened.

Had Rocky Balboa taken out the champ in the first installment, there would have been no series and nobody would’ve cared. It was Balboa’s redemption and climb to the top that made for a compelling story.

This new-look Heat squad had the arrogance of the Balboa we saw in “Rocky III”. The one with the big house, fancy cars and inflated ego. The one who danced around the ring with ‘Thunderlips’ and didn’t take Clubber Lang seriously … until Clubber whooped that ass.

Lang was hungry and on his way up. He wanted Balboa’s title and was ready to take out anything that stood in the way of him getting it. Conversely, Balboa was comfortable and with a false sense of invincibility, living in a world of ‘yes men’ and having forgotten how he got to the top in the first place.

At the time, Lang prevailing felt like the worst thing that could’ve happened to Balboa. That said, it was precisely his fall which eventually made him great again.

Former foe, champ and longtime friend Apollo Creed picked him up, dusted him off and brought him back to his roots, stripping the training sessions to the core. He let Balboa pity himself and bottom out and one all that was flushed out, the rebuilding process began.

Again, cliche as it will sound, Balboa found that “eye of the tiger” only after he lost everything and had to start anew. It was a legitimate hunger; one that couldn’t have been fabricated.

Some might disagree, but truth be told, this squad wasn’t hungry. Sure, it wanted to win – but never truly embraced a, “losing is not an option” mentality. Heat enthusiasts with their blinders on too tightly, remove them for a moment and look at the fourth quarter; Dallas owned it.

Game Two, the Mavs outscored the Heat 24-18, erasing a fifteen-point fourth quarter deficit. Miami took Game Three when a Nowitzki game-tying shot was off the mark, but again collapsed in the fourth, getting outscored 21-14 in Game Four.

In a series-defining Game Five, the Heat were outscored 28-24 in the fourth, but the real story is the game’s final minutes.

After being down seven early in the final quarter, Miami led 100-97 with 3:38 to play and was swiftly outscored 15-3 down the stretch.

A legitimately hungry team with a chance to go home up one with two to play? You put that game away. Period.

You have to assume deep down that this Heat squad took on the mentality of a fan base that also felt bulletproof. Even after losing two in a row and down 3-2, the belief seemed universal that Miami would just “show up” and win two at home.

Instead Dallas again took over, got redemption, earned a coveted ring and drank overpriced champagne until sun up inside Club LIV on South Beach while Wade, James, their teammates and an entire city of Miami were the ones who woke up with the hangover.

The lesson to be learned; nothing good comes easy.

Miami is at least one more year away from claiming a title and attempting to start a dynasty. Here’s hoping that every minute of that journey is painful and haunted by this Finals face plant.

In the name of winning, pain is a good thing. Let it motivate you from this day forward, Heat.

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