MIAMI — Will South Florida ever truly love LeBron James?

Not admire or respect or, even in the case of some kids, idolize but love?

Will this area ever love him the way it loves plastic surgeons, early bird specials, gated communities, food courts, the rare on-time nonstop to LaGuardia and cold snaps that offer excuses to show off designer sweaters? Will it ever love him the way it still loves its memories of a slinging Dan Marino? Or even like it loves Dwyane Wade?

Will it ever love him like Cleveland loved him, before Cleveland hated him?

Those were questions that came to mind, even before another night of late-comers and no-show-ers at American Airlines Arena, this one for the visit of James' tattered old team, the Cavaliers.

Those are questions that continue to answer themselves.

It's already clear what James most sacrificed by leaving his home state and taking his talents to South Beach last summer. It wasn't just his image, turning off so many observers around the country. It wasn't just money, though he gave up some of that. It was his unique place, as the most important, beloved, unconditionally-defended figure in a reasonably large metropolis and in everything adjacent. It was being a necessity to a community, not just a shiny accessory. It was never running the risk of an area ever getting bored with him, and moving on to the big thing, after the initial hysterical celebration.

It was never being ignored, by anyone, his presence on a team sufficient to preclude any need for a "Fan Up" campaign, to tell fans how to cheer and when to arrive.

While it was unreasonable to expect anything close to an equal and opposite reaction to the frenzied angry scene in Cleveland on Dec. 2, there just wasn't much to see here Wednesday night.

There was the occasional, fleeting "Cleveland sucks" chant, more out of obligation than antipathy. There was brief booing for any Cavalier with the ball, indiscriminate and inappropriate, since the only crime Mo Williams and Antawn Jamison committed was failing in the playoffs, which helped convince James to relocate. There were five rows, at the top of section 110, that revived the unwieldy "Mi-a-mi Loves You" chorus that they spawned in the Heat's first home game following the "Akron Hates You" serenade at the Quicken Loans Arena.

And there was something else at AmericanAirlines Arena:

Emptiness.

Empty rows, at tipoff.

Empty seats in every section, long after the game began.

You wonder if, somewhere deep down, it left James with a bit of an empty feeling.

Before the game, I asked if South Florida's response to him had met his expectations.

"For me, I come here to play basketball," James said. "I respect the fans every night they come out and support us, and as players, we just try to go out and do the things that need to be done to keep them coming.

But for me, I've never been a guy that just chased the claps and chased all the other stuff. I just play basketball and let things happen.

"It's been great. It's been everything I expected and, as a team, we just need to continue to get better."

His team will, even if Wednesday's 101-95 victory wasn't its best night, just a six-point win against a team that had lost eight straight.

He will likely win rings - yes, more than one - here before he's done.

South Floridians will gasp over his dunks, gobble up his jerseys, gloat to fans in other cities.

They'll be amazed by much of what he does.

But will they ever be smitten by him?

Like Cleveland was?

These first two months certainly could make you wonder about that and wonder about whether he wonders too.