LeBron James may be one of most loathed men in professional sports; he may have executed a cartoonishly graceless exit that left his home state traumatized and heartbroken; he may have left a chunk of his soul here that he will never recover; he may play for a erratic Florida-based concern that has yet to find a groove; and he remains deprived of championship jewelry. But he's still a phenomenally talented basketball player, and Earth is just going to have to get over it.

Mr. James proved this with an intergalactic thump Thursday in the downtown arena he used to call home. Playing amid a nonstop blast of boos and invective from fans who once lionized his every move, he scored 38 points and played his best game of the season as the Miami Heat routed the Cavaliers, 118-90.
"So many things went through my mind," Mr. James said afterward. "I have nothing bad to say about these fans at all. [We had] seven great years."

Veni, Vidi, Vici. You can practically smell the Nike ad coming. For months, this otherwise nondescript regular-season game had been pumped up into a Roman blood match, with the detested Mr. James standing at the center. It was billed as a chance for Cleveland to find closure for what it saw as a cold-blooded betrayal, when a stiff Mr. James infamously told ESPN and the world in July that he would be relocating to Miami.

"Things could have been a little bit different this summer from both sides," Mr. James conceded.

Cleveland still seems to be sorting out its anger. It didn't want a pity party. It wants to be seen as a citadel of fan loyalty, a decent place that respects tradition and family. It wants Bernie Kosar and the Browns sitting courtside, and also Drew Carey. It goofily celebrates its owner, Dan Gilbert, who went thermonuclear in a strongly worded letter after Mr. James announced his departure ("If you believe in Dan Gilbert, make some noise!" a courtside announcer bellowed, and the crowd dutifully made some noise.)

But Cleveland also wanted a measure of revenge. It wanted to call Mr. James unprintable words and put LeBron stickers in the bottom of the men's room urinals and scream "Akron Hates You" at its least favorite son. It wanted to boo, and from the instant Mr. James stepped on the court, the boos were good ones—deep, rich and authentic.

Then the ball went up, and Miami-Cleveland became a basketball game, and not an especially entertaining one. That's the thing about regular-season NBA games—they become regular season NBA games. After an early, emotional surge, Cleveland started to misfire and wobble, and the Heat showed signs of finally coalescing into the contender most people assumed they'd be when Mr. James joined up with Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh. Mr. James had his highest point total of the year, finding his jump shot and playing calmly under undeniable duress.

"I saw a group that was playing for their brothers," the embattled Heat coach Erik Spoelstra said afterwards, referring to Mr. James and his fellow ex-Cavalier, Zydrunas Ilgauskas.

It surely must have been a surreal day for Mr. James. When he was a Cleveland phenom, his slogan was the Biblically tinged "Witness." Nike draped a banner printed with the seven letters on a building outside the arena. Now that banner is gone, replaced with a Sherwin-Williams poster celebrating the city he abandoned. He must have seen it when he arrived at the Quicken Loans Arena around 5:30 p.m. after a quiet day at a luxury Cleveland hotel counting his money, cackling with his yacht broker and stroking the chin of his hairless Siberian tiger.

He was The Only Story. There was almost no activity outside the Cavaliers locker room—reporters from as far away as France and Italy and that great Xanadu, New York City, huddled around the Heat, hoping for a Tweetable LeBron nugget or scrap. As Mr. Bosh tinkered on his iPad, Mr. Wade tried to sneak past the scrum, muttering under his breath, "What the he—…?"

Mr. James passed on pregame press availability and opted to throw his pal Mr. Ilgauskas before the media. As Mr. James dressed in a corner, giving a quick glimpse of his "Chosen 1" back tattoo, the aging Mr.Ilgauskas quietly told reporters he just hoped "nothing stupid happens tonight."

Stupid didn't happen. There were a few skirmishes in the stands, and by the fourth quarter, a handful of Heat fans daring enough to flash their red and black jerseys. The streets outside the Hate Volcano were not the apocalyptic, open flame Road Warrior scene the haters seemed to be hoping for. Near the arena's main entrance, someone had parked a portable shredder on the street, and for a small donation to charity offered to julienne LeBron memorabilia. A sign outside a sports bar admonished customers to not wear James gear inside. PLEASE REMOVE IT, OR PATRONIZE A DIFFERENT ESTABLISHMENT, it read.

But it was never as crazy as that. Cleveland released its agita, and Mr. James reasserted his greatness, victoriously walking out into the cold Cleveland night wearing a jacket that read "Time to Roll" on the back. This whole emotionally exhausting saga is settled, right? Of course not. The Heat are back in Ohio on March 29.