Don't Go Breaking My Heart (Again)

From the time I was ten years old, basketball has been "my thing." I loved playing it, watching it, reading about it. For nearly 25 years now, the Dallas Mavericks have been my team. No, I wasn't the owner, but the self-proclaimed #1 fan -- even in the lean years in the 1990s, when the team was made up of a bunch of players who have since faded into oblivion. (Who else remembers Terry Tyler, George McCloud, Donald Hodge and Randy White??) And earlier this year, I was even formally recognized as the Mavericks' biggest fan by HP when I was named the HP Insider and spent a week with the team, behind the scenes -- something very few ordinary people like myself ever have the opportunity to experience. It was the most amazing week of my life, a more awesome adventure than I ever would have imagined.

That being said, as I watched the Mavs file off the court in San Antonio last night, down 3-1 in their opening round playoff series, I couldn't help but feel the pain and anguish that I saw on the face of each and every Maverick as they headed to the locker room, and ultimately back to Dallas. A wide range of emotions coursed through my veins: anger, frustration, disappointment, sorrow, sadness, and ultimately, defeat. How could this be happening again?

Being a Mavs fan is like an endless nightmare. Every time you think you're waking up and things are getting better, you realize you're still asleep and the boogey man is breathing down your neck. In 2006, when I watched the opening ceremonies for the NBA Finals taking place on our home court and saw my Mavericks being introduced, there were literally tears in my eyes, as I honestly never thought that day would come. As much as I loved Dirk, and Avery, and the whole damn team, I never seriously thought we would be contenders. But there we were, and I was overjoyed and so proud of what the Mavericks had accomplished. And as we headed to Miami, up 2-0 in the series, I just knew a championship was right around the corner. I could see it, smell it, taste it. I felt it with every ounce of my being. But as first Game 3, then Games 4, 5, and 6 slipped away, my heart broke. Everything that had seemed right with the world was suddenly wrong. I cried again, but this time there were no tears of joy, only misery. For nearly two weeks after the Heat claimed the championship on our floor, I was nothing more than a functioning zombie, still unable to accept the loss. But as summer progressed into fall and the preseason rolled around, I again found myself believing that this could be our year.

And my gosh, the 2006-2007 was utterly unbelievable for Mavericks' fans, and even sweeter if, like myself, you had suffered through the bad times while holding out hope that their winning ways would soon return. It seemed like we won every game that season (at 67 wins, we nearly did), we were Southwest Division champions and the #1 seed in the West, guaranteed home court advantage throughout the playoffs. Dirk was on fire all season long and was rumored to be in the running for the NBA's most prestigious individual award, the league MVP. And then along came Don Nelson, Baron Davis, and the Golden State Warriors, a team that barely slid into the final playoff spot out west, but somehow managed to pull off the biggest upset in NBA history, as for the first time ever, a #8 seed beat the #1 seed in a seven game series. Two weeks later, Dirk Nowitzki was named MVP, and an occasion which should have been full of joy and excitement seemed hollow, almost tainted, since the Mavs had already been eliminated from championship contention. Again, I cried, and sunk into a funk, and felt the pain as intensely as if I, too, had worn the blue and white and been out there on the hardwoods -- because in my heart and soul, I had been.

The next season was a struggle, it seemed, to even reach the playoffs. Although the Mavs were actually tied for first place in the West just prior to the midpoint of the season, Mark Cuban and the management felt like something had to change, so they pulled off one of the most controversial trades in team history: they sent the young, up and coming point guard Devin Harris to New Jersey in exchange for the legendary, although much older, future Hall of Famer Jason Kidd. Although it seemed that having a veteran point guard like Kidd would take the Mavs to the next level, things never quite panned out, as the Little General (aka Avery Johnson) never seemed comfortable with turning the reigns over to Kidd on the offensive end of the floor. The team slid steadily downhill from the time of the trade. Had it not been for an unbelievable (I'm talking Willis Reed-esque) comeback by Dirk from a double whammy (ankle and knee) injury, we probably wouldn't have even made the postseason. But we did, and aside from Dirk, we pretty much stank it up as we lost to Chris Paul and the New Orleans Hornets in the first round. Another early exit, another disappointing end to the season -- one that would cost then Coach Avery Johnson his job.

Another offseason summer came way too quickly, but hope again spread through MavsNation as Dallas introduced Rick Carlisle as their new head coach. Suddenly, there seemed to be a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, and once again, fans began to believe. A new coach, who would be more willing to work with and trust in Jason Kidd and his phenomenal court vision and the thought of having Kidd with the team from training camp on provided enthusiasm and excitement to the loyal Mavs fans once again. Last season was a good, not great, season, and when the Mavs drew the Spurs as their first round matchup, there were very few naysayers in and around the Metroplex; we all had a feeling we would win the series, and possibly even a second rounder, to face off with the Lakers for the conference title. As it turned out, we were half right; we did finally manage to make it out of the first round of the playoffs, which was a big step for this team, in and of itself. In the second round, however, we ran into a much more physical Denver Nuggets team, full of guys (such as Dallas' own Kenyon Martin) who weren't the least bit reluctant to "thug it up" and take cheap shots at our guys. A hotly contested non-call at the end of a game gave Denver the lead, and ultimately, the series. Mavs fans received a hollow "victory" when the NBA, in a statement after that game, came out and said, "Oops, our bad -- there was a foul and we missed it. So sorry, but you guys are just S.O.L." -- or something to that effect anyway.

In the offseason, Dallas again made moves, most notably bringing in Shawn Marion, who in his days with Phoenix, had repeatedly given Dirk fits on the defensive end of the floor. Marion was also known for his high-flying acrobatic abilities above the rim and seemed like a perfect fit to play alongside Dirk and Jason Kidd. As the season started, Dallas looked good in spurts, bad in others, plagued by inconsistency above all else. Still, I was excited as always and unbelievably thrilled to learn I was the HP Insider and would get to spend a week behind the scenes with the team. During the few practices and shootarounds I was privy to, even I could notice something just wasn't right with this team. It was almost like a dark cloud hung over the entryway to the locker room. And although I can't and won't blame that atmosphere on any one individual, one thing that quickly became clear to me is that Josh Howard no longer belonged here in Dallas. He seemed to lack focus, seemed disinterested in much of anything really, kind of lost in his own world. (For the record, I always have been and still AM a fan of Josh Howard; the guy has issues, true, but at heart I truly believe he is a good, albeit a bit misguided, person). When All-Star weekend came to Dallas, Mark Cuban again made a splash, trading Josh Howard and a few other role players for the likes of Caron Butler, Brendan Haywood, and DeShawn Stevenson.

After losing their first game together as a new team, the Mavs went on to win thirteen games in a row, and found themselves closing in on the Lakers for the #1 seed in the West. Dallas was the talk of the town -- of nearly every NBA town -- and hope again sprang eternal in the DFW area. And just when it looked like then Mavs' ship had finally come in, they laid an ungodly egg against the lowly New York Knicks, basically getting their butts handed to them as they had their 13 game win streak snapped in horrible fashion, suffering their third largest loss of the season, 128-94, on their home court. In the next ten games, Dallas was mediocre -- literally -- going 5-5. They ended the season, however, on a high note, by winning their final five games, marking the 10th straight season with 50 or more victories; retaining the #2 seed heading into the playoffs; and claiming the Southwest Division title. They even drew what seemed, on paper, to be the ideal first round matchup: their much respected and much hated arch rival, the San Antonio Spurs. And even though I knew it wouldn't be easy, I still believed the Mavs would win the series, and I really believed this could be our year. I say that at the start of every season, but something about the way these guys were playing and how they ended the season truly made me believe it was a possibility.

Game One, things didn't exactly go as planned, but the end result was all that really mattered: Mavs won, taking a 1-0 lead in the series. Game Two, the Mavs came out flat, looking like they had to start out so many other home games this season, and paid the ultimate price for it, letting the Spurs steal the victory and head back to San Antonio all tied up. I know it sounds crazy, but the second I heard that Dan Crawford was assigned to be lead referee for Game Three, my heart sank, and I felt the impending defeat, long before the Mavs lost the game. But it's a seven game series, so there was still plenty of hope that my boys in blue would put the pedal to the metal and claim victory in Game 4. And when I looked up and realized we had a double digit lead, it again seemed all was right with the world..until the lead, slowly but surely, slipped away, as did any hope the Mavs had of tying up the series and reclaiming their home court advantage.

As I flipped off the TV, before I could stop it, that old familiar feeling -- gloom, doom, perennial disappointment -- began creeping up on me again. No, no, no, no! the screams echoed inside my mind. I am not -- cannot -- WILL NOT go on this emotional roller coaster ride one more year. It's so agonizing and frustrating, constantly feeling like the tides will finally turn in your favor (or in this case, the Mavs' favor) just to find yourself drowning as you end up the victim of a tidal wave of perceived injustice once more. My love of the Mavericks, though it has brought me much joy many times in my life, has also brought me much pain over the past few years. I love and adore these guys so much, both on and off the court, that it kills me when I see them end another season without the one thing that they want most, that I, as a fan, wish for them to have: a championship.

I was talking to my friend Jeremy (who unfortunately, happens to be a Spurs fan), about how hard it is to watch the Mavs come so close, yet still seem so far away from ever achieving their ultimate goal of winning it all. Jokingly, I threatened to jump ship and move my allegiance to Oklahoma City. "Don't do it," Jeremy, a lifelong Longhorns fan advised me. "I stuck with the 'Horns through the bad years, and when they finally won everything, it was that much sweeter, because I'd been there all along." Thanks, J, for talking some sense into me.

Not that I, Mandi Smith, formerly the HP Insider and currently still the Mavs' biggest fan, could ever give up on my team. As much as it kills me to see our championship dreams crushed one year after another, my heart could never belong to another team. That being said, I just have one tiny request for my beloved boys in blue: kick some serious Spurs a$$ tonight. Don't let them take the series, especially not here on our home court. We've seen too much of that in recent years. Play like your basketball lives depended on it.

Because tonight, they actually do.