On Wednesday, June 22, I replied to a month-old message sent from a friend through LinkedIn. Once on the site, LinkedIn showed me a job posting they thought I might be interested in. I was. I was so interested that I stayed up well past my bedtime re-working my resume, which had not seen an overhaul in at least a year. I composed a cover letter espousing my excitement over the position, confidently proclaiming that the job description was written as if it were a biographical sketch of my past. With nothing to lose, I applied for the job the next morning.
I called my grandmother recently. While she has a cell phone and knows how to use it, I called her home number. She answered by saying my name, then told me she’d read it off of the caller ID on her television. She then asked if I could believe she was that hip in regards to technology, to which I replied, “You’ve always been that hip,” which she has. Then she told me this story:
My doctor told me of a 93-year-old patient he recently had who came to his office with both an iPad and and iPhone. The doctor, amused by this seeming anachronistic sight, told the elderly man, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m impressed that someone at your age is so adept with such technology.” To which the man curtly replied, “Well, you don’t live to be 93 by being stupid.”
In a few days, I’ll be celebrating one year of having lived in Dallas. These are words I never thought I’d type, but life has a way of surprising you. It’s possible I could write for months on end about what this seemingly simple move a few hundred miles north on I-35 has wrought in my life, but the most noticeable difference, at this particular moment in time, is that I have become far too emotionally invested in a certain professional sports team on the brink of vindicating themselves against their nemesis and the country itself.
Before the Finals started, I shared this on Twitter:
I have confidence that this can happen. Despite the naysayers throughout the playoffs (except for Sir Charles), I’ve held fast to the belief that the Mavericks could pull off the unthinkable. They’re one win away from doing so. However, I blame them for shearing months off of the end of my life. I’ve never lived in a place where a professional sports team played in my backyard. I was fortunate enough to attend five Mavericks home games this year, one of which was even from the vantage point of a suite. My record (because I had much to do with the outcome of the game1) was 5-0. I can admit to not being a fan of the 2006 Mavs, but that’s only because I didn’t know any better. I was still near Austin, still without a team I felt like I could call “my” team. But I’m invested now. I like this team, and the fact that even with an unstoppable shooter in Mr. RiDirkulous, they still play like a team.2
Yes, that is my giant head in the corner. Thanks for asking.
This series is more than just a Finals. Much of this has already been said elsewhere, and better, but I think my augmented emotional involvement in this silly game where a rubber ball is tossed through a round circle arrives as a result of the fundamental fight between Good and Evil. What I’m trying to say is, the outcome of this series, to me, is very much like the battle between Jacob and the Man in Black4.
My belief in the fact that justice exists in the universe and order will one day trump chaos rests on the outcome of this ridiculous sporting event. The Heatles came together like the stud athletes of grade school recess games, picking all the good players so they could have fun at the expense of others.5 The Mavericks have plowed through adversity at every step of the way. Who picked the Mavs to go all the way at the very beginning of the Playoffs? I’m not even sure I did. I was hopeful and quietly confident, but there was a small part of me that was a realist. I’m glad that part has been wrong.
The longer these guys have stayed in the playoffs, the more that they’ve dug deep to overcome seemingly insurmountable odds, the more respect I’ve developed for them as a team. Without adversity, without an unbearable force pushing back against you, there’s nothing to prove. The Heat are unbearable. What do Wade and James have to prove? Nothing. We all know they’re phenomenal basketball players. Dirk and Company have to prove everything: that they’re not soft, that they can play upper echelon basketball, that Dirk doesn’t have to do all the work, that they can win a championship, that they can beat the Heat. They’re likely not aware of it, but they also have to prove to one new fan that justice exists in the universe.
I don’t think this is too much to ask.
With the world behind them6, the Mavericks seem destined for glory.
Do I want this for them more than they want it for themselves?
No.
But it’s close.
1 Don’t tell me any differently. 2 They have to, or else they won’t score enough points to win. 3 From which I stole the footnote conceit, although footnotes have been around forever. However, Simmons’ are by far the snarkiest. 4 Yes, I did just thrown in a two-year old reference to LOST. I don’t care. I liked the ending. 5 Like this. 6 What, you want the Heat to win?
My route to trying out for her band started on Facebook after seeing a request for drummers, and also noticing that she knows at least a dozen of some of the best people I know, all from Southwestern University. She and her husband are both SU alumni.
She’s a pop/rock singer songwriter, but those vague and general terms don’t do justice to the album she’ll likely be releasing sometime in the fall. It’s engaging, intriguing, enveloping music.
We’ll be practicing throughout the summer with an eye toward playing shows starting this fall. She had a great drummer record the album, so I have a lot of work to do before that happens, but I’m looking forward to the opportunity.
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