Last season, Bronny was statistically one of the worst players in the league: a box plus-minus of minus 7.2, ranking 679th out of 735 players who logged a single minute. This year, he’s shooting just 16% in preseason, even when left wide open. In 22 minutes on the floor, the Lakers lost over a point per minute with Bronny playing. Five turnovers in limited action, and yet the internet explodes over a single alley-oop dunk.

NBA.com called the dunk “unreal.” SportsCenter and House of Highlights plastered LeBron’s reaction everywhere. Basketball Forever recreated the iconic Wade-to-LeBron alley-oop photo, captioned “Welcome to the new era.” But in four games, Bronny’s made just one field goal, averaging half a point per game.

Bronny doesn’t know how to run a pick and roll. Defenders say, “He’s just the 55th pick!” But why does the 55th pick get a guaranteed $8 million contract and a roster spot over Quincy Olivari—a better player who was waived so Bronny could stay? JJ Redick, essentially hired by LeBron, lets Bronny rack up turnovers with zero accountability.

Bronny was the eighth-leading scorer on a USC team that didn’t make the NCAA tournament, yet now he’s logging NBA minutes. His career is tied to LeBron, who’s on an expiring contract and battling sciatica. When LeBron retires, what happens to Bronny? The Lakers can cut him free after next season.

Right now, with the Lakers’ point guard depth decimated by injuries, this should be Bronny’s moment to prove he belongs. But he still can’t crack meaningful minutes. If his name wasn’t LeBron James Jr., he’d be gone.

Bronny’s not an NBA-caliber player—not now, maybe not ever. There’s nothing creative or crafty about his game. This isn’t hating the kid—it’s calling out an organizational failure, a media propaganda campaign, and a father’s ego project wasting a roster spot while better players sit at home.

The only reason Bronny’s on the Lakers is popularity—jersey sales and clicks. That’s not the mark of a serious franchise. The Lakers are supposed to compete for championships, not run a Make-a-Wish program for LeBron’s son.

Bronny is protected from criticism, guaranteed his spot no matter what. Maybe he’s not literally the worst player in NBA history, but he’s the worst to receive this much guaranteed playing time, media coverage, and protection while performing so poorly.

This isn’t about Bronny the person—it’s about what his story represents. The NBA used to be a league where talent ruled, not last names. Where you earned your minutes, not inherited them. Now, the media twists itself into pretzels to convince fans that four points on two-for-eleven shooting is “progress.” It’s not progress—it’s privilege.

The league’s integrity takes a hit every time someone is rewarded for connections instead of performance. Maybe Bronny improves, maybe he doesn’t. But right now, if his name was anything other than James, he’d be playing overseas—not wearing a Lakers jersey.

Nepotism got him here. Results will decide if he stays. The NBA isn’t a father-son charity project; it’s the highest level of basketball on Earth, where greatness is earned through sweat, not surnames.

Every night, players fight for contracts, minutes, and careers. Bronny’s spot feels untouchable. That’s not development—it’s protection. The Lakers can pretend this is about potential, but fans know the truth: you can’t build championships on family favors.

At some point, the numbers, the tape, and the effort have to speak louder than the name on the back of the jersey.