Now that another month has gone by, I guess it’s time to write a new column and catch up with the sports world again. As you all know, I’ve moved to a new home which is shaping up nicely but it’s consumed so much of the energy I’d normally like to reserve for writing. So, from the comfort of my new digs in Union, let’s chat about recent and not-so-recent events.
First, as a promise to one of my loyal readers in Germany, Sabine G., I begin with the recently completed NBA Finals, or more specifically, the champion Dallas Mavericks and Sabine’s fellow countryperson, Dirk Nowitzki. Yes, like many folks, I rooted for the Mavericks to beat the Miami Heat, but unlike many, I rooted for the Mavericks as an honest-to-goodness pro-Mavericks supporter as opposed to a Heat (or more specifically LeBron James) hater. Don’t get me wrong... I have very little use for the Heat or Mr. James, not to mention Dwayne Wade or GM Pat Riley. On the other hand, I have a sliver of empathy and sympathy for head coach Eric Spoelstra and Chris Bosh because they seem to be genuinely sensitive guys with little phoniness. But my point is that as difficult as it is to like the Heat and their imported collection of stars, it was very easy to like the Mavericks and their merry band of players.
In case some of you don’t know... Actually I think most of you don’t... But we have a real live Dallas sports fan among us, one of my oldest and closest friends, Mark K. Mark happens to be a Texan by way of Liberia, and he’s the proud owner of his PhD from the University of Texas-Arlington prior to becoming a math professor at Montclair State University. Anyway, Mark takes his Cowboys and Mavericks very seriously, so I’ve always kept a soft spot for the Mavericks in the fifteen years Mark and I know each other. As for the Cowboys, well, the spot’s not so soft, but that’s for another story and column (sorry, Mark). Anyway, the point is that I was actually rooting for the Mavericks in these NBA Finals, rather than purely rooting against the Heat and LeBron.
Did I honestly think the Mavs would win? Not really. Like most folks, I somewhat expected the Heat to win this series in six games, just like they did in 2006. However, because I was rooting for the Mavs, I held onto the belief that anything was possible, and I had been telling anyone who engaged me in an NBA discussion that the Heat could be the 2011 version of those very talented and loaded Philadelphia 76ers teams of 1976-1984 (Julius Erving, George McGinnis, Lloyd B. Free, Doug Collins et al.) who lost in the 1977, 1980 and 1982 NBA Finals before winning in 1983, sweeping the Lakers to polish off a 12-1 postseason led by Moses Malone. The Sixers had so much talent and looked so dominant on paper, but they could never meld together enough to get over the hump during the first three NBA Finals. Just because the Heat looked and talked like the 1927 Yankees and rolled over the Celtics and Bulls en route to the NBA Finals didn’t mean they were an automatic lock for the title. When you’ve been alive for as long as some of us have been, you know sometimes the best team on paper doesn’t translate to being the champion. Need we remind ourselves about the 1954 Indians, 1960 Yankees, 1968 Colts, 1969 Orioles, 1988 Athletics, 1990 Bills and 2007 Patriots, teams who weren’t supposed to have any business losing a World Series or Super Bowl but did.
We can talk ad nauseum about the Heat blew fourth quarter leads, let Dallas stay in the series and then panicked when the make-or-break point was reached in game 5. We can talk about how LeBron gave up and came up short time after time after game 3. We can talk about how Eric Spoelstra got outcoached by Rick Carlisle, and how Spoelstra failed to stick with the game plan that got his team to the Finals. We can talk about how the Heat might’ve simply been fortunate to make it to the NBA Finals in the first season of a radically-changed roster that robbed them of legitimate bench depth. We can talk about how the Heat simply melted in the bright lights of the Finals.
But we should talk about how the Mavs with their eclectically put-together roster of Nowitzki, Jason Kidd and a bunch of other guys most casual fans would be hard-pressed to name stuck together, didn’t have massive ego issues to constantly massage, got better as games went into the final stretch, and bailed each other out when someone struggled (see Nowitzki’s sluggish first half game 6 performance). We should talk about how the Mavs simply enjoyed one helluva magic carpet ride that began with sweeping the Lakers during the Western Conference semi-finals. Most importantly, we should talk about how the Mavs were a team of characters with character, as opposed to the Heat being a team of characters who talked the talk but couldn’t walk the walk when it counted most.
Sure, Mavs owner Mark Cuban’s a habitual smart-aleck with a tad too much to say to and about NBA Commissioner David Stern, but there’s a boyish and roguish charm to him we could never really attach to George Steinbrenner during his reign of the Yankees and those seven World Series titles. Sure, Jason Kidd was considered too old, perhaps way past his window for winning it all after coming so close with the Nets a decade ago, perhaps dogged by his reputation of being a coach-killer.
And Nowitzki was seen as “too soft” to win a title in the trenches for big men, under the boards, in the paint, inside the three-point line. We’ve heard the knocks before in all sports when a player is associated with “finesse”, code word for lacking toughness, code word for lacking the heart of a champion. I think Nowitzki put those doubts to rest as he played complete games every night, not just standing at the arc ready to launch rainbows. Nowitzki played injured. Nowitzki played sick. Nowitzki played at less-than-full strength. Nowitzki played his heart out, played like a champion and more than deserved his MVP award.
It wasn’t pretty, but Dirk the Mavs did it. That’s the great thing about baseball, football, hockey and basketball: the scoreboard counts the real points, not style points. Lots of teams look pretty on their way towards failing to win it all, falling on their pedigrees as well as their faces when style and glamour aren’t enough to get the job done. Sports history has more than its share of ugly winners and mutt champions, and in some respects the Mavs were that scruffy mixed-breed that shocked all and won Best in Show.
And just like that scruffy lovable mutt, the Mavs celebrated by proverbially peeing on the expensive rug you forgot to Scotch guard. On one hand, Cuban offers to pay for a team parade in downtown Dallas, but then the multi-billionaire who spared no expense bringing a champion to Dallas tried to con his players into thinking championship rings were out of vogue. On one hand, Nowitzki just spent two months destroying all preconceived myths about his heart, toughness and “Euroness”, then someone allowed him to imitate Freddie Mercury and sing We are the Champions. For all the years folks joked about Nowitzki sounding like Ivan Drago from Rocky IV when he talked, Nowitzki’s singing has now made that image permanent folklore. But who cares? Nowitzki was having fun he more than earned. When you’re a mutt with a waggly tail, that piercing howl seems cute even if it was painful to listen to.
And this is what Dirk and the Mavs reminded us all in these NBA Finals: when you’re a true team, a team with character, you just go out there, do the best you can and have fun trying to win. Sure, Dirk and the Mavs were playing with house money in these NBA Finals. Sure, the pressure was all on the Heat. But the Heat put that pressure on themselves from their very first South Beach pep rally. The Heat already won a title in 2006. Miami fans were hardly long-suffering. LeBron didn’t promise to bring Miami fans out of darkness or give them anything overdue or eternally denied. LeBron came to South Beach to win himself multiple NBA titles and Miami fans would have the privilege of adoring him and his buddies as they collected their hardware of entitlement.
Does anyone recall any disingenuous pep rallies or declaration of promises by Dirk and the Mavs? No... Dirk’s been laying it on the line in Dallas for thirteen seasons, trying to win an NBA title for Mavs fans and the Dallas community. Dirk and the Mavs are part of the Dallas community. No matter how many self-promotions, photo-ops or pep rallies they have, LeBron, the Big Three and the entire Heat organization fail to be part of the Miami community.
The other night ESPN Radio’s Bob Valvano asked if folks’ hatred for LeBron James and the Heat through social media venues was a consequence of fans wanting to live vicariously through their sports heroes. While Valvano raises an interesting point I think we need to look to a different factor when it comes to real sports fans, not fans of celebrity. Yes, fans of celebrity likely do wish to live vicariously through their heroes, be they sports stars, actors or musical artists. But this adulation is also likely a reflection of celebrities who consider themselves singular entities. For example, look at all the Hanes underwear commercials with Michael Jordan. Seriously, is Jordan part of any community? Is he a part of Chicago anymore? Is he part of any town or city in North Carolina? Where exactly does Michael Jordan reside anymore, and why should we frankly care? Well, just like kids twenty years ago wanted to be like Mike as he endorsed McDonalds, Nike and Gatorade, now mid-life guys want to “be twins” with him according to how well their boxer briefs and tee shirts fit. Could you honestly imagine sitting next to His Airness on an airplane and wanting to discuss underwear?! No... I want to know how he feels about Scottie Pippen telling ESPN that LeBron could end up being a greater basketball player than the man he rode shotgun to en route to six NBA titles.
Regardless, Michael Jordan doesn’t appear to be a member of any community since he left the Bulls, not to mention his marriage, years ago. Guys like Michael Jordan reside on “Planet Me”, that far-off, groovy metropolis with lots of land and a hermitized mansion on top of a hill overlooking the Land of the Little People, or as LeBron might refer to it as the Land of People who will wake up tomorrow to the same personal problems they had today. The odds of us running into Michael Jordan or LeBron James in our local K-Mart or Target are as likely as us chatting it up about underwear in the first class section of an airplane. LeBron is no more a part of the Cleveland (or more specifically, Akron) or Miami communities as Jordan is of the Chicago or Charlotte communities. Cities like Chicago, Charlotte, Cleveland and Miami are simply places where teams are located, cities for celebrities like Jordan or LeBron to commute to from Planet Me and bestow honor to the regular masses who genuflect to them.
On the other hand, I can see walking through a store in Dallas and seeing Dirk Nowitzki shopping in there. If a seven-foot-tall NBA superstar is willing to look foolish singing very off-key in front of thousands at a victory parade, can’t you imagine running into this man in your local supermarket while he’s buying frozen pizza and a bag of salad? You sense Dirk lives among the fans and folks of Dallas and doesn’t commute down from Planet Me only when there’s a home game. Maybe this is why the affection between Dirk and Dallas has remained mutual for thirteen years in quest of a title, the very first title in Mavs history.
This is where I think the hatred continues to come from, as Valvano wonders, with regards to LeBron and his Heat mates. Jilted fans in Cleveland will always believe LeBron simply didn’t want to commute anymore from Planet Me to the Gund (now the Quicken Loans) Arena, and NBA fans around the country recognize the same thing since LeBron’s Decision eleven months ago. In due time, hard core NBA fans in Miami will start to wonder the same as LeBron commutes from Planet Me to American Airlines Arena and his favorite hot spots among the glitzy in South Beach. But how many city blocks along Collins Boulevard will that genuinely include? Will folks see LeBron buying ice cream at the local Publix? How many PTA events will he show up for at his sons’ local school? Will he ever be anyone’s neighbor during the remaining time of his contract? Just like Michael Jordan, LeBron is becoming a man without a true home. He may be from Akron but he’s no longer welcome by Cleveland. He may have taken his talents to South Beach but he’s hardly a Dade County local. Home will forever be Planet Me, because that’s how celebrities live life shaped by narcissism and phoniness.
On the other hand, despite his prior reputation for being a finesse player and his current reputation for being an awful singer, Dirk Nowitzki will likely remain an adopted son of Dallas and among its tallest locals for years to come, and that’s something real sports fans and real fans of teams can appreciate. Nowitzki wasn’t a mercenary looking to serve his personal agenda above the community and fan base; Nowitzki is one of those sports lifers we only read about in history books, guys who spend an entire career with one team and in one community, who wear their team logo on their sleeve wherever they go in public, because they’re part of the public community and their championship title is their community’s as well. Think about guys like Paul Pierce of the Celtics, or Cal Ripken Jr. of the Orioles, Tony Gwynn of the Padres, or John Elway of the Broncos. Can you even imagine the possibility of Derek Jeter finishing his hall of fame career for a team other than the Yankees? But listen to the chatter on New York sports radio. Because sports is just one big business, the unthinkable could happen and the Captain could be wearing something other than Yankee pinstripes. Some folks may consider this sacrilege but for as much as fans identify Jeter with the Yankees and five World Series rings, is Jeter really part of the New York City community beyond his Manhattan condo, commercial endorsements and the nightclub scene? Have you ever ran into Jeter in a local movie theatre, or at Whole Foods, or at a corner hot dog stand? Derek Jeter’s a celebrity who ventures within a limited radius outside of Planet Me. He’s as limited a part of the local New York community as Donald Trump. New York is their corporate headquarters.
Dirk Nowitzki reminds us of a time when sports heroes were part of the local community and our neighbors. Yes, I’m talking about a time decades ago when professional athletes were paid very modest salaries compared to the megabucks of today. Yes, I’m talking about a time when being a professional athlete was not the year-round occupation it is today. Maybe for many of today’s youth who can’t recall or imagine life before i-Phones, flash drives, flat-screen televisions or email it’s unfathomable for athletes not to be cultural celebrities to adore from afar, but for many of us who grew up before personal computers, cell phones and color television we do remember experiences or stories of our sports heroes living down the street, shopping in the same stores as our parents and their kids attending the same schools as we did. In today’s political world there are so many people eager to turn the clock back to an era when the American Dream was exclusionary, it’s heartwarming to see a professional sports team and athlete who reinforces the inclusiveness of the American Community through good deeds and hard work. Thank you, Dallas Mavericks and Dirk Nowitzki, for reminding sports fans of often-forgotten values about team work and consistent hustle. Thank you, Germany, for providing an athlete who appreciates being a positive bridge between American sports and American society.
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Speaking of European imports being positive bridges for American sports, kudos to 22-year-old U.S. Open champion, Irishman Rory McIlroy, for showing us that class and humility are possible for a young professional golfer while he’s running roughshod over the competition.
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Speaking of youth being served, how many of you are scratching your heads about the Florida Marlins hiring 80-year-old Jack McKeon to be their interim manager to replace Edwin Rodriguez, who suddenly resigned Sunday morning? Let’s not forget that McKeon was interim manager in 2003 and took the Marlins to the World Series title, and he was 72 then! Let’s also not forget that last year when the Marlins fired Freddy Gonzalez as manager, replacing him with Rodriguez, I warned that the Marlins could be a force if they dusted off McKeon and brought him back at 79.
But this year’s Marlins are in much worse shape than last year, and inflicting them on “Trader Jack” who got his first managerial job in 1973, years before any Marlins player was born, is in my mind a cruel form of elder abuse. The Marlins have lost 18 of their last 19 games, falling all the way into the NL East cellar, and Rodriguez simply jumped ship before it completely sunk or owner Jeffrey Loria fired him. But make no mistake: this “June Swoon” by the Marlins is all the players’ doing and they sabotaged Rodriguez just like they did to Gonzalez last year. Sure, the Marlins lost ace Josh Johnson for more than a month to arm woes, Chris Volstad and Javy Vazquez are statistically among the worst starters in the NL this season, and shortstop Hanley Ramirez is underachieving horribly at the plate, but everyday position players like Ramirez have been all mouth for too long without being able to back things up with performance or leadership. Let’s not forget it was Ramirez last year who lead a player revolt against Gonzalez, questioning his credibility as not having prior major league playing experience, and let’s not overlook that Gonzalez is doing a solid job guiding the second-place Atlanta Braves as the hand-picked successor to the retired Bobby Cox.
No, the problem is not, and never was at the managerial level. For all the talent the Marlins have, despite being in the bottom half of MLB payroll rankings, this is roster of too many talkers, incredible immaturity and essentially zero accountability. Maybe McKeon’s legacy and no-nonsense approach will provide the kick in the pants this team needs to straighten out with almost 90 games left in the season, but if Rodriguez, the players’ choice for manager last year, ran out the door after three weeks of stupefying losses, how long will it be before McKeon needs to be wheeled out of the dugout? The Yankees fired a 70-year-old Casey Stengel after the 1960 season because the Ol’ Perfesser used to sleep in the dugout during games, and the Yankees won the AL Pennant that season! Given the level of play and attitude on this Marlins roster, unless McKeon will be kicking asses or trading players, this summer could be his personal suicide pact.
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Speaking of youth not being served, how is it that 19-year-old Kyrie Irving warrants being the top pick by the Cavaliers in the upcoming NBA Draft after playing a grand total of ELEVEN games as a freshman last year for Duke University? Can we stop fooling ourselves and call the draft and the NBA-NCAA “One and Done” rule the mutual farces they are? If Cleveland fans eventually came to loathe LeBron James after seven years in a Cavs uniform, can you imagine the love fest we’ll see in 2018, assuming Mr. Irving manages to stay healthy enough to play that long for the Cavs?
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Speaking of the NCAA, could we stop all this hand wringing and apologizing on behalf of mercenary teenagers masquerading as student-athletes? As we’ve learned from things hitting the fan at Ohio State, there will always be:
1. college football players who have an outlandish sense of entitlement and opinion of self-worth,
2. idiot parents, educators, coaches and boosters who fill these kids’ heads with the idea that they can never do wrong and deserve every reward known to humanity just for the ability to play football, and
3. fools who seem to think paying these kids a salary (in addition to a full four-year scholarship many of these kids waste by not pursuing their education) will suddenly rectify the issue of kids and adults not knowing the difference between right and wrong.
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Speaking of the NBA Draft, was it really 25 years ago Sunday that Len Bias died from a cocaine overdose after being the top draft pick by the Celtics?
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I know we’re slowly coming up to July 4 weekend and the traditional mid-way point of the MLB season, but I still have no real feel for how these divisional races are shaping up. With the exception of the NL East, every division has a fairly tight race among the top three spots. Therefore, whether you attribute things to parity or mediocrity, it looks like we could be in for some exciting and volatile divisional races all summer. Yes, we see the usual suspects at or near the top of their divisions, such as the Yankees, Red Sox and Phillies, as well as the Rangers and Giants, but look at the number of small-to-middle level market teams still in the hunt: Tampa Bay, Toronto, Detroit, Cleveland, Seattle, Milwaukee, Cincinnati, Pittsburgh and Arizona. Even weakened teams with high payrolls like the Mets are hanging tough.
Even horrible starts can be overcome. The Red Sox started 0-6 and 2-10. Now they’re 43-28. The Mets started 5-13. Now they’re 35-37. The Twins were 17-36 coming into the month of June; now they’re 31-39. Already we’re seeing that this season could be a roller coaster like no other. As bad as the Red Sox, Mets and Twins started out, the Rangers and Indians were red hot through April. But injuries and the rhythms of a long season have brought both down to Earth and precariously in first place.
Now we’re going to see how the Cardinals can handle another dose of adversity. After losing pitching ace Adam Wainwright in spring training to elbow surgery the Cardinals managed to stay near the top of the NL Central. The newest member of the extended disabled list is first baseman and pending free agent Albert Pujols. Pujols suffered a fracture to his left forearm after a freak collision at first base Sunday during a 5-4 win over the Royals. Pujols will be lost for approximately six weeks. Manager Tony LaRussa has been a master of holding the Cards together through adversity and has so far done a solid job of managing this season. But losing Pujols for six weeks could hurt plenty in a division with
the Cards, Brewers, Reds and Pirates all within four games of each other. In the past, LaRussa’s Cards have been fortunate enough to survive a very weak division. Now the competition is slowly improving and maturing. Perhaps this year won’t be as lucky for the Cardinals.
Regardless, it’s wonderful to see so many teams in the hunt going into summer, giving local fans reason to keep attending games. In cities long-suppressed by economic woes, such as Cleveland, Detroit and Pittsburgh, it’s good to see baseball looking good in all three traditionally great baseball cities.
And, in case you haven’t noticed, there are some very good managing jobs being done so far by Clint Hurdle in Pittsburgh, Terry Collins with the Mets, Manny Acta in Cleveland and Jim Riggleman with the Nationals. Maybe none of these teams will ultimately have a winning season, much less make the post-season, but for now it’s good to see good baseball men getting the most out of teams we normally don’t mention in the same breath as the Yankees, Red Sox or Phillies.
Wouldn’t it be great if we got all the way to September and still didn’t know how these divisional races will shape up?!
Keep an eye on how Tigers starter Justin Verlander does the rest of this season. I predict we could see the first pitcher since Nolan Ryan in 1973 to throw two no-hitters during the same regular season. I love no-hitters, and love perfect games even more. Verlander could give us a few more special moments this season. He’s already tossed one no-no and came within five outs of a second, and we’re not even at the All-Star break yet.
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Last thought: Will somebody PLEASE instruct all former New York Giants football players to shut up, or at least stop using inappropriate historical references or hyperbole during interviews? First Tiki Barber keeps inserting foot in mouth with regards to his premature retirement in 2007, his personal problems since retirement, and now his pending return to football. Add in stupid comments from Amani Toomer and George Martin with regards to the current NFL lockout and CBA negotiations. Next we have Plaxico Burress, fresh from a two-year prison stay for accidently firing an illegal handgun in a New York nightclub, blaming everyone for his legal problems except himself. Now David Tyree, the man who made the most memorable catch in Super Bowl history when the Giants beat the Patriots three years ago, telling the New York Daily News that if New York State passes gay marriage legislation, “there will be anarchy.” Anarchy?! Really? REALLY?!
Obviously, Tyree feels religious doctrine, intolerance, fear and bigotry need to shape the civil rights of Americans. What’s Tyree afraid of if gay marriage becomes the law? Is he afraid there will be an exponential explosion in wedding registries for fondue pots, silly cake serving pieces no one really uses and applications for wedding licenses and divorces? Obviously he can’t be afraid of two human beings, regardless of gender or sexuality being able to love, live together and take care of each other the same way his kind of people do, can he? Tyree must be the voice of reason in a world gone mad, right? So clearly Tyree fears the madhouse Bloomingdales might become. That’s clearly what he means by “anarchy”, right? After all, if there’s one thing former New York Giants are known for, it’s using words in their correct context.
