Here's To Hoping

Reunion Arena was a dive. Located near downtown Dallas on Sports Street, it sat ignominiously, a musty, cavernous edifice, with outdated clown signs adorning the rim around its exterior. It smelled, looked and felt old – because it was. Built in 1980, the arena was as outdated as the synthesizers in the intro of Van Halen’s “Jump” blaring as the Mavericks warmed up.

And when I was twelve, I loved Reunion Arena. It was responsible for my maiden voyage to see an NBA game with my dad. It was also responsible for my newfound fascination with the awkward, walking stick that was, Dirk Nowitzki. Actually, in 2001, Shawn Bradley was still on the roster –the second-highest paid player on the team at over $8 million – and he made Nowitzki look like he was the guy making sure Furr’s didn’t make a profit off him. (In his defense, Bradley deserved some kind of award for his stilted performance in Space Jam.)

Bradley averaged 8.1 point per game in his 11 year career. He was also 7'6".

Regardless, and luckily for my dad and I, the Nets were in town. They defined the cliché, rag-tag bunch. I don’t remember the score but I remember the Mavericks won, and more importantly at that point in my life, they scored 100 points therefore we received coupons for free tacos from Taco Bell. (I would have preferred Dairy Queen.) Yes, it was a long ride home.

Following the final buzzer I was hooked for life. It’s impossible to appreciate the raw athleticism and dexterity of NBA athletes on TV. It’s beyond anything I’ve ever seen and I'm incapable of adequately comparing it to other professional sports. My appreciation grew long before the game even started. See, this was a time before security personnel even needed uniforms. Before the game, we walked down behind the baskets during shoot around like we were Mark Cuban’s family. We watched Steve Nash shoot what seemed like a million free throws, Michael Finley hoisting jumper after jumper and the gangly, uncoordinated German with gnarled fingers somehow possessing a deft touch which distinguished him from every other player on the floor. I’ll never forget that.

Nowitzki

That’s when I knew. Nowitzki continued to awe us during the game, as my dad kept looking at me and shaking his head in disbelief. We kept having the same conversation. Who is this Na-wit-skee guy?

Knowing Nowitzki before he was an MVP and before he was a global basketball icon is tough. It’s the reason why watching him as he vacillated between being a good and great player, then a great and exceptional player, early in his career feels personal. But the last five years have been worse. Watching he and the Mavericks lose four straight in the 2006 Finals to the Heat was excruciating – something you don’t get over quick. Until the next year, when the No.1 seeded Mavericks were beaten – nee, humiliated – by the lowly, and ironically heat-packing (Stephen Jackson), Warriors. Then, the Hornets, the (Th)uggets and the Spurs in the ensuing years, all of which left fresh, festering scars.

Wade averaged 18 free throws per game in the four Heat victories in The Finals.

After the end of the 2001 season, the Mavericks moved out of Reunion Arena and into the ritzy, state-of-the-art fortress, the American Airlines Center. I’m normally ambivalent about the demolition of buildings but when Acme showed up to flatten Reunion Arena, I was bereft of apathy. It meant something.

It’s been 10 years since my first Mavericks game. It feels like yesterday. Nowitzki is 32. The Mavericks rotation utilizes two players under 30, making their 3-0 lead over the two-time defending champion Lakers unbelievable. Sure, they’re a long shot to win it all, but Nowitzki is playing as well as anyone in the league right now.

Who knows? Our next meeting might be with him on a float while I wipe $10 champagne out of my eyes.

What I’d give for that reunion.