They say to truly know a man, you must walk a mile in his shoes.

I say "they" obviously haven't seen the going rate for a pair of mint Air Jordan originals.

But I wanted to know what it was like to be LeBron James. Once it became clear that uncanny court vision, major endorsement deals and Michael Jordan's phone number weren't exactly within my reach, I turned to his shoes: Air Zoom Generations.

	The Hummer H2 inspired part of LeBron's new shoe.

The shoes to end all shoes.

I'll admit that after battling hordes of shiftless teenagers, freeloading college football players and day-trading refugees reduced to hawking bobbleheads on eBay for a rare pair of the limited edition Air Zooms released to a select few stores before the mass-market launch on Dec. 20, I wasn't going to make scuffing them up at the local playground a top priority. But my firstborn's college fund would have to wait. These shoes were coming out of the box.

Nike's attempt to replace its Air Jordan dynasty, the Air Zoom Generations are the latest expression of LeBron James mania. Two years after Jordan retired -- and five years after Air Jordan retired -- his line of shoes still remains Nike's defining product. Good for Jordan, bad for the laundry list of players who were expected to fill that void. From Allen Iverson to Kobe Bryant to Tiger Woods -- whose promotional power is limited by the fact that golf spikes can't slip past high school metal detectors -- the Swoosh has struck out in attempts to find another universally-beloved salesman.

Enter LeBron James, the most ubiquitous adolescent pitchman since the kid from Dell Computers. Imagine the possible marketing campaigns had James been lugging books around a college campus.

At first glance, the Air Zooms now in my possession looked suspiciously like a pair of standard kicks. Actually, they looked the same way at second and third glance, too, but then I never really grasped Mark Rothko or Jackson Pollock, either. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder; and at $110 per pair, I was plenty beholden to these shoes. But they looked pretty normal.

Shoes that had no air

In an attempt to solidify its sagging market share, Nike considered (and rejected) other members of the Cavaliers for top footwear billing ... Ricky Davis: The shoe looked great in the box, but kept wearing out the soles of the other shoes in the closet. Zydrunas Ilgauskas: The ill-fitting shoe made of imported Lithuanian leather placed so much pressure on the foot that it could only be worn three out of every seven days. Plus, poor traction when moving in reverse left wearers unable to play defense. Chris Mihm: Testing revealed the shoe to be too stiff for regular use. Additionally, the shoes actually reduced foot speed by an average of 32 percent. Desagana Diop: Capable of supporting great weight, the Diop model was a marvel of shoe technology. Unfortunately, Nike couldn't produce any on-court footage of Diop to use in its initial marketing blitz. Darius Miles: It looked a lot like the Air Zoom Generation but turned out to be regrettably two-dimensional. Despite support from fellow Oregonian Paul Allen, Nike's proposed "style over substance" campaign failed to attract fans in focus groups. Trajan Langdon: Would have been a hit in the relatively untapped Alaskan market, except for a disturbing tendency to freeze under pressure.

Nike says the shoe is modeled after the Hummer that helped make LeBron famous -- or vice versa -- as a high school senior in Ohio. And while that influence may be lost on the untrained, unsophisticated eye -- I was expecting windows of some sort -- the connection became readily apparent as soon as I laced them up.

What power! I was able to maneuver deftly around any obstacle in my path -- from tree root to small shrubbery to sand pit. On the down side, I needed to stop and retie the laces far more often than I had in my old import sneakers. Luckily, OPEC hasn't caught on yet and cornered the world market on shoelaces.

With the shoes firmly on my feet, I felt invincible. True, I'd done nothing to prove myself as a force with which to be reckoned, but it seemed as if everyone I met suddenly looked at me as a conquering hero. It was probably just a side effect of the Sphere technology about which Nike boasts, but the shoes made me feel like royalty -- and not the weird, creepy kind of royalty living across the pond at Windsor Castle.

Taking the comfy kicks for a test drive, I quickly lost track of time and surroundings. The shoes glided over terrain of all types, simultaneously lifting me to a higher state of consciousness. With some surprise, I looked down at one point and found myself ambling across the Connecticut River, the nearest bridge several hundred yards downstream.

No longer needing to cross that bridge when I came to it, the journey continued as a sense of serene pleasure drifted over me. There was something special happening, and I thought to myself, "It's got to be the shoes."

Winding my way home, I found a man standing in my driveway. He was wearing a long purple coat, a burnt orange top hat and looked suspiciously like Phil Knight. But what would Nike's CEO be doing in Connecticut?

"Do you like the shoes, Charlie?"

"It's Graham," I responded.

Looking slightly perturbed, he continued, "Right, whatever. Do you like the shoes? Do you know why you were one of the lucky ones to get a pair of the most sought-after prizes in history in the store this morning?"

"Because my elbow caught that grandmother right in the solar plexus and knocked the wind out of her before she could snag the last box?"

"No," he responded, looking even more frustrated. "You got a pair of the shoes because I see something in you. You share my vision for the world, and I want you to come to Beaverton with me."

	LeBron has brought hope to the NBA and Nike.

"Is that the same vision that came up with those Oregon uniforms?" I queried. "Because until Mark Cuban decided to top you, those things were the ugliest duds in sports."

"No," he snapped. "I'm talking about my vision for footwear in America. There are no heroes these days, my boy. Put any public figure under the spotlight for long enough and they crumble. But shoes stand firm. They hold the promise for a brighter future. They carry you wherever you want to go. The Air Zooms are bigger than LeBron. They're bigger than Michael. They're the answer to this country's problems."

"But I haven't even played basketball in them yet," I stammered.

"Don't be such a simpleton," he said. "It's not about basketball anymore. If you want ankle support and lateral mobility, go buy yourself a $40 pair of Converse -- we own them now, by the way. The Air Zoom Generations are about progress. About a better tomorrow for you and me. Well, definitely for me at least. I thought you understood that, but I guess I was wrong. Enjoy the shoes."

And with that, he turned and walked away, humming a little tune. The words were barely discernible, but I'd swear he was singing, "If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it."

OK, I made the whole thing up. Truth be told, the editors at Page 2 wouldn't spring for anything beyond a dusty pair of Hakeem Olajuwon's L.A. Gear wedged between shelves at a Payless.

But I'll be happy to tell you the real story ... that is, if you care to add a pair of Air Zoom Generations to your Christmas shopping list.

Size 11, please.

Graham Hays writes "Out of the Box" five days a week in-between moonlighting for Page 2. He can be reached at graham.hays@espn3.com.