The Dallas Mavericks Are Still Winning

The Dallas Mavericks never wore the championship belt. They were just happy to win it all in 2011.

And they’re damn right for doing that.

There was never any intention of defending their title. The truth is, they didn’t have to.

Winning the 2011 NBA Finals was good enough for them…and good enough for me and every other Mavericks fan.

In the last 10 months, there have been innumerable times where I could have dog-cussed the organization for leaving a shot at the 2012 NBA title on the table. Mark Cuban let Tyson Chandler walk. Him signing with New York was the white flag.

Hey guys, we could re-sign the backbone of our defense and possibly repeat. No, let’s fade into the abyss.

They did – turning into mish-mash of mediocrity.

This is where I’m supposed to say the lack of front office leadership culminated in Dallas being swept by the Oklahoma City Thunder in the first round.

Not happening.

I’d delve into my disdain for the Mavericks’ 2011-2012 season but I can’t.

Because I can’t forget the run to the 2011 title. It’s all singed into my memory. Yes, I’m still smiling.

I can’t forget Dirk Nowitzki leaving the floor before the buzzer of the Game 6 clincher in Miami.  He ran up the tunnel, completely overwhelmed. Nowitzki didn’t know how to act – and neither did I.

So here’s me imploring you to not let the 2011 championship ever stray from your memory. Don’t forget it.

Jason Terry said he sees himself playing for the Heat next season. Don’t forget about his inexplicable dagger 3-pointer over LeBron James in Game 5 of The Finals.

DeShawn Stevenson now plays for the Nets. Don’t forget about his first-half 3-pointers and unwavering defense or that he was picked up for public intoxication only days after the championship.

In his defense, he was ecstatic – euphoric, even. We all were.

When the buzzer sounded and the Mavericks were crowned World Champions, no one knew how to react. I was standing on my front porch drinking $5 champagne and listening to the shouting from down the street.

A guy came sprinting up, his shirt had about three buttons latched, and said he’d been running around the neighborhood screaming for the past 15 minutes. I should have gone along.

Sports matter and the Mavericks taking the 2011 title can’t be defined. What did it all mean? I still don’t know.

That’s why when I received a text after the Mavs were knocked off their “proverbial high horse” in the first round of the 2012 playoffs, I didn’t bat an eye.

“The Mavs just weren’t meant to be.”

Not this year. But do me a favor: wipe the smile off my face.

            

So Long, Peyton Manning

Please don’t go, Peyton.

Pardon? The Colts released Peyton Manning? The same guy who brought them from relative obscurity to relevance after the franchise relocated from Baltimore? The same guy who led them to a world championship in 2007? The same guy whose oversized mug adorns the edifice of Lucas Oil Stadium?

Yeah, right. And I bet Peyton’s little brother won the Super Bowl.

Looks like Colts owner Jim Irsay can go ahead and tear down the mural on the stadium. Peyton’s gone – released and free to write the final chapters of his Hall of Fame narrative elsewhere. Let the malevolent riots begin. 

Irsay did the right thing. There’s no loyalty in professional sports, buster. The sooner you learn that, the better. Thinking with your heart and not your head can get you in trouble. Luckily for Irsay, he didn’t face that dilemma. He thought with his wallet.

If the Colts chose to keep Manning, they’d owe him $28 million March 8. That’s a shitload of money for someone who didn’t play a single down last year because he was hurt. Why would you give someone who is lactose intolerant that much cheddar?

I’m no doctor but a neck injury that required two surgeries in four months and sidelined Manning for the entire season is serious. There is no guarantee he’ll return to the form he was in prior to the injury.

If he does, that’s great. But if the Colts paid the $28 million bonus and he played at a level somewhere between a bum and Curtis Painter then, well, then Manning becomes a real pain in the you know what.

The organization is undeniably indebted to Manning, but there is no such thing as a lifetime achievement bonus. That’s exactly what the sunk $28 million would have been had Peyton not returned to superior form. Anything less than a Most Valuable Player-type season and keeping Manning would have become a grave financial mistake.

Manning has done innumerable things for the city of Indianapolis and made the Colts a viable competitor against Indiana University and Pacer basketball for popularity in the state. Heck, it might have surpassed both of them all because of Manning but that’s irrelevant when it comes to spending copious amounts of cash.

And any angst by fans toward either party would be misplaced. In fact, there’s no place for emotion at all. Maybe both sides didn’t get exactly what they wanted but they both got something.

The Colts will surely draft Andrew Luck and he’ll flourish or flounder. He might eclipse Manning, win two Super Bowls and sit courtside at Indiana basketball games. On the other hand, he might suck while Manning sticks it to the man – wherever he goes.

There’s only one certainty: we’ll all be watching.

The Super Bowl Supersedes All

Super Bowl Sunday is the best day of the year. No one argues this. How could they? It’s like Christmas, only with spicy queso.

The game never lives up to the hype but no one cares. That’s mostly because folks are more concerned they’ve gorged themselves to the point their pants make Ines Sainz’ look like parachutes.

And I’m fine with that. Given the opportunity, I dab Pepto-Bismol all over the four pounds of seven-layer dip on my plate. I love every second of it. The spectacle of the Super Bowl is what makes it so spectacular.

The commercials and halftime show are crucial water cooler fodder at the office. Without them, there wouldn’t be conversations like this:

Jack: That Clydesdale was HUGE on the Bud commercial.

Jill: Was that the guy singing “Tiny Dancer?” I guess I didn’t notice. I was too mad at Fergie. OMG, they actually like, made her sing. It was gross.

You’ve been there. I don’t mind explaining that the yellow first down line isn’t actually on the field (they don’t show it, but a guy in a gorilla suit runs out there with a massive can of spray paint) or what an “onsides” kick is to casual fans. By then, I’ve got a bone yard sitting in my lap and my cheeks look like they’ve been smeared with bronzing wipes.

Did I mention Ines Sainz?

Ah, but there is a game and the media has bludgeoned our brains into believing this year’s will be epic. The Patriots will have their vengeance on the evil G-Men (muahahahha). The cover of Sports Illustrated said simply: REMATCH! Spare us all.

Of the 106 players in the previous Super Bowl played by these teams in 2008, only 22 remain. I’m not doing the math. It won’t be a rematch, instead a shot at revenge for the Patriots.

I hope it comes close to the 2008 matchup – I really do. That was one walking bitch of a game. Eli Manning, maligned and eternally relegated to the depths of his brother’s shadow, somehow engineered a game-winning drive. In a fit of hubris, Manning escaped the savage monsters chasing him and completed a pass to some guy named David Tyree who decided to use his helmet to catch the pass. That was fun.

Later in the drive, Plaxico Burress played hero, catching the fluttering touchdown toss from Manning and ending the Patriots’ whimsical quest for a perfect season. Later that year, Burress shot himself in the leg at a night club and went to prison for two years. That, my friends, is a story.

The Giants would be better served now if they had lost that game. Tom Brady is still calling signals for the Patriots and he is pissed. The man has more “swag” and Uggs than any quarterback in the league (how does that equate to performance, again?). He’ll have his way with the shoddy New York secondary and people will start carving his dimple chin into the Mount Rushmore of quarterbacks. Bet on it.

Maybe you shouldn’t. You’d be better served trying out prop bets. The over/under on the length of the national anthem is set at 94 seconds. All eyes are on you, Kelly Clarkson. If that’s not your cup of chicken broth, make up your own wagers – believe me, I’ve tried it.

I once guaranteed to run around in my birthday suit if the Cardinals beat the Steelers. To everyone’s relief and elation, they did not. But hey, you learn nothing from success, right?