Requiem for the Sad-vericks

Basketball, Major Sports

Posted by Little SK, May 1, 2008 - 12:15 am

On last week’s episode of Lost, Ben warns Sayid that once your grief turns into anger, there’s no turning back.

I’m dangerously close to that place when it comes to the Mavs.

For two years, I’ve watched my favorite team in my favorite sport fall from the cusp of greatness into the abyss of mediocrity.

Two years ago, I grieved. Woe is me, I thought, the refs and D-Wade stole our championship.

Last year, I stewed in frustration. Why the fuck did we have to draw the one team we couldn’t beat in the first round? And how the fuck did Avery get completely outcoached?

This year, I’m pissed.

We didn’t just lose to the Hornets, we let them walk all over us (I don’t want to take anything away from the Hornets, they are a seriously talented team, but if you’re going to go down, for God’s sake go down swinging). I was so sure the post-Kidd-trade Mavs had turned the corner at the end of the regular season. But after Games 1 and 2, it was like nothing had changed. As soon as something happens (in this case, Chris Paul’s brilliance) that the Mavs can’t handle immediately, they just slink away, content to get blown out. Game 3 was a glimpse into what could’ve happened for the Mavs if everything came together. My favorite play was Dampier’s flagrant foul on a driving Chris Paul with just seconds left in the game. The Mavs had the win well in hand, but Damp was still defending the paint like the Spartans at Thermopylae. Why can’t Damp play like that all the time? Why don’t ALL the Mavs play with that attitude all the time!!??! As far as I’m concerned, the almost-comeback in the fourth quarter of Game 5 was merely desperation and false hope. It’s the goddamn playoffs, we should have played with that much intensity for the entire series.

*****

It’s one thing to root for a bad team with no talent. It’s another thing to root for a team with no heart. A team that tantalizes you with its potential, and just when your hopes are at their highest, they devastate you with a wimpy, unfocused, joyless series. The friggin’ sub .500 Hawks stood up to the mighty Celtics and managed to win two games, yet given the chance to tie the series at home in Game 4, the Mavs meekly lay down.

The second half of Game 4 was one of the only times in my life that I felt ashamed to be rooting for the Mavs. Not to put too fine a point on it, but I felt humiliated. To make matters worse, I can’t really pinpoint the source of the problem. It’s not as if the individual players aren’t tough: Stackhouse, despite his dreadful shooting slump, was his usual take-no-shit, in your face self; before the aforementioned fourth quarter almost-comeback, Jason Terry invaded the New Orleans huddle and declared that the Mavs were not going to go quietly (a nice sentiment JET but you’re a day late and a dollar short); even the recently canned (I actually like that Mark Cuban and Co. didn’t waste any time) Avery Johnson had plenty of heart both as a player, and in taking the Mavs to the Finals in his first full year as a head coach.

And then of course there’s Dirk. He’s one of the toughest, most clutch players in the league (yes, that includes his vastly underrated defense). But for all his greatness, he’s missing that one special quality that inspires the rest of the team. That, I think, has been the ultimate undoing of the Dirk era. Tim Duncan uses respect and mutual admiration to get the Spurs to consistently win the big games. Michael Jordan used fear to get his team to excel. But they were both able to transfer their refusal to lose to their teammates. It’s that quality that allowed the other Bulls, and the other Spurs, to feed off their star players’ confidence and believe that losing just isn’t happening tonight. Unfortunately, Dirk doesn’t have it in him. By all accounts, Dirk’s a great guy to hang with, he gets fired up during games, and genuinely cheers for his teammates. But he’s never been able to consistently transfer his fire to the team when they needed it most.

(One very old, very expensive point guard has been absent from both the toughness and belief conversations. There’s a reason for this. But I will defer to his career accomplishments and give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Also curiously missing, Josh Howard, the team’s “second best” player, who managed to have a horrendous series on the court while at the same time causing massive distractions off of it. I do respect his honesty, but the timing of his reefer confessions couldn’t have been worse. And going ahead with a late night birthday party after the Game 4 debacle sends one message and one message only, “Losing doesn’t matter to me”. It’s probably not true, but that’s the message it sends, and it’s just as damaging. Way to go Jo-Ho, way to go.)

*****

It’s funny how much can change in two seasons. In 2006, the Mavs were the electric, young, cocky dark horse contender. A team that needed a break from no-D Nellie ball, and got it in Avery Johnson. A team that could slow down the Suns, out run the Spurs, and execute like a well-oiled machine. Two years later, the Mavs are old, discombobulated and they tuned out their coach to the point that it got him fired.

I usually spend my summers finding reasons to be optimistic about the upcoming basketball season. No matter how painful the ending of one season, there’s always next year. I’ll probably get over it in a few weeks, but right now, for the first time that I can remember, I’m not looking ahead. It’s like the Mavs took away even the hope that things will get better.

And that’s what really makes me angry.

Photo credit: AP/Donna McWilliam

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