Sigh . . . Those Guys

Let's get this out of the way.

Yes, I hate the Heat. Yes, I hate LeBron -- he promoted himself as a reason to love living in Cleveland and as a hero of joy and hard work and it was all a big fat fucking lie. Yes, I hate Dwayne Wade -- to imply that anybody fakes injury or illness is rich coming from that guy, but to imply that Dirk Nowitzki, of all possible people . . . it's sheer cheek is breathtaking. I dislike Chris Bosh, but at least he's been honest all these years in saying his life in Toronto sucked and the love of the fans there would never mean as much as the national stage.

I think what happened was, going off their experiences playing on Team USA back in Beijing and their bond as friends, JWB and their representatives managed to fudge a way to get the three of them together. (Such fudging goes against the league's rules about not speculating along such lines until a player's contractual obligation has been fulfilled, but never mind.) What they didn't realize or chose to overlook is that there's a totally different dynamic at work between friends and between teammates. Friends support each other; teammates bring out the best in each other. JWB haven't figured out how to do that yet. They might, eventually, or they might not.

In any event, I am glad that their season ended in a firey and embarassing crash (apologies to any actual Heat fans, the ones that've stuck with this team even when they were awful), and I'm glad that it was my Mavs that made it happen. It adds a pleasing symmatry to this thing.
-BJ

From There To Here

I remember the day.

I remember the day Himself and his Jedi Master were rumored to be back in Dallas, to put ink to paper and make it official. I remember coming south on Central Expressway and seeing, in the middle of an overcast sky, dark stormclouds hovering over the city of Dallas. As I passed through Plano it started pouring rain. It was, honestly, too eerie for words.

"Please, please let this not be an omen."

Almost a year has gone by. From a cool afternoon featuring stormclouds over Dallas to a crystal clear and awesomely hot summer evening. From a living room meeting amidst the wreckage of a broken season to scrambling for a place for private tears. From an angry sob in a parking lot in Frisco to an unbelieving shriek in a cloud of streamers and confetti.

From there, to here.



It was an omen.
-BJ