Commentary June 17, 2010, 5:00PM EST

A Problem Like LeBron

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He holds the all-time record with more than 50 New York Times best sellers to his name. Patterson is well compensated—Forbes valued his current 17-book deal at $150 million—and money is not terribly important to him. "I'm not particularly interested in squeezing every penny out that I possibly could," he says. Instead, Patterson wants a commitment from his publisher to work hard and make a big deal of everything he does.

Movie studios, naturally, are expert at this kind of pampering. "Tom Cruise has a caterer he's been using since the movie The Firm," says Edward Jay Epstein, author of The Hollywood Economist and expert witness in film contract disputes. "If he complains he has a stomachache, you're delaying the movie at a cost of $300,000 a day, so you're not going to screw around with the caterer. Makeup, trainers, security, all that, the star will get." Studios will go so far as to give bit parts to the members of a star's entourage. "The point of these people is to make the star happy and make the movie work, it's not really a negotiation as much as an accommodation," says Epstein.

Bartlit says he keeps the partners at his firm happy not just by paying them well, but also by giving them the chance to do what they most love to do—fight in court. "People get in court all the time," he says. "I think something like 94 percent of our lawyers took a witness to the trial last year." He believes the same holds for players like James; the money has to be there, but the real gratification is in offering them a chance to compete and win.

Dan Gilbert has tried seduction. Three years ago, the Cavaliers opened a $25 million, 50,000-square-foot, state-of-the-art practice facility, which just happened to be convenient to James's 33,000 sq.-ft. home in Summit County. Since the season ended, both the team's general manager and coach have left, fueling speculation, denied by Gilbert, that the moves were made at James's behest.

The Cavaliers and their fans have been shameless—and shrewd—in selling James on the sentimental appeal of staying home. A billboard near the Cavaliers' Quicken Loans Arena hopefully declares, "Born Here. Raised Here. Plays Here. Stays Here." Both President Barack Obama and NBA Commissioner David J. Stern have noted the appeal of James re-signing with Cleveland.

Yet when money is equal and emotional appeals have been exhausted, it comes down to winning, a currency of its own, and one that James has said he is most passionate about. Outside of professional sports, few things are as unambiguously precious as a championship. Here, Cleveland is at a distinct disadvantage; of all the teams in the NBA, only the Cavaliers have proven they can't win it all with James—seven years, no titles. Chicago has the most talented supporting cast and can offer James his best chance at an immediate trophy. New York owns the greatest story line—a marquee franchise starved for a hero—and the city itself promises to make winners of anyone who moves there. On paper, Gilbert and the Cavaliers can't win, yet they clearly can't afford to lose. The reason they're so vulnerable is the same reason they have a shot—because it all comes down to one guy. The only thing worse than a LeBron problem is no LeBron.

Boudway is a reporter for Bloomberg News.