PART ONE: Subtitled - Bringing It All Back Home

Long ago (2005-ish), I started this blog because I watched all the Mavs games and felt the need to vent my excitement, frustration, rare witticisms and general fangirldom on the interWebs. I didn’t really think anyone would be interested in reading it and am still surprised when people I know and people I don’t know come up to me to tell me that they read my blog. It kind of feels like people coming up to compliment you on your child’s academic progress which they noticed you had mentioned on that bumper sticker you have on your car.

I blogged about the Mavs playing well and unfortunately, more often, I blogged about the Mavs blowing it when it mattered. But I love them even when they are cellar dwellars. But then came this Cowboys season. The Mavs could have decided to forgo the draft by instead creating their own Island of Dr. Moreau wherein they genetically modified and bred super-creatures capable of leaping over defenders and not choking in the fourth quarter like Josh Howard does a lot but it still couldn’t break the hypnotic hold that writing about the Cowboys had on me. So while I watched the Mavs games, all my fan disappointment, fan hopes, fan anger, fan outrage and finally fan disbelief were funneled straight into the big sad dumb Cowboys. But now that the 2008-2009 Cowboys season has left it’s indelible smear stain on time, I’m back to my first love. Watching the Mavs and loving the Mavs even when they are not that good. In fact, the basketball gods smiled down on me and have blessed me with tickets to four games recently at which my track record as a good luck charm is 3-1. Sorry about that Hornets game. I tried.

There’s something that I have noticed while attending recent games. Now you can look at this in a glass half full or a glass half empty way. I look at in a positive way. In previous seasons (particularly around the Mavs run to the Finals), there was a certain feeling that Mavs games were a place to be seen. Like a hot franchise made it a hot place to be. Put it this way: what was the last paparazzi picture of a celebrity at a Clippers game that you remember seeing? Now don’t get me wrong. The AAC still has its pockets of douche. I had never been into the Old No. 7 club before a few nights ago mostly because, well, let’s just say I had a feeling I knew what it would be like in there. I was correct. But here’s where I get extremely Pollyanna: we went into the Old No. 7 at halftime and were trying to leave as the third quarter started. We were having a hard time because no one was leaving. Now here’s two things that you need to know about me: a) I like drinks and b) I like socializing. But do you really have no better way to blow a couple hundred dollars than to go schmooze inside the bar at a Mavs game? My friend said that it’s the best place to pick up, ummmm, girls. He didn’t say “girls”, by the way. Now I get that it’s more about the social scene and being seen than the game that’s happening. But to blow all that money and waste those tickets to drink at a glorified airport Chili’s II bar? Blows my mind.

But there’s something pretty rad going on at Mavs games right now. You still get the cheers for Dirk and Josh Howard and the other “marquee” players. But now you’ve got people coming to games with #11 painted on their face. Full disclosure: I have gone from somewhat ironically and in a Lucas sort of way rooting for JJ Barea to full-on admiration and fandom for the guy. At the Bulls game when Barea hit a three from WAY behind the arc, I nearly leaped an entire row of seats. It’s not even some sort of Spud Webb/Earl Boykins small guy thing anymore. I just think the guy is quick and is showing real improvement. And I am not alone. The applause that goes up when Barea goes in a game is not too different from the applause that your Josh Howards or your Eric Dampiers get. Then there is what we will call the “Matt Carroll Syndrome” for now. My friend that goes to games with me mocked my enthusiasm for Barea at some point (I MAY have once claimed that one game this season, Barea will score 50 points) which I took offense to. Especially considering that this same friend applauds when Matt Carroll is sent into the game. Nothing against Carroll but he hasn’t exactly set the court alight. But now it’s a running joke with me growing ever more cocky and obnoxious with each shot Barea hits. You really wouldn’t have wanted to deal with me after last Saturday’s win over the Bulls in which Barea scored 20 points which is almost halfway to my 50 point game I’ve got planned for him sometime this season.

So back to Matt Carroll Syndrome (MCS), my friend is sticking to his guns on Matt Caroll. Still making noise when he enters the game even if it is to run out junk time on the clock. But then on Tuesday night against the Kings, something truly bizarre happened. When Carroll went in, my friend clapped but was immediately drowned out by the guy sitting behind him who screamed, “Alright Matt Carroll! Go Carroll! Good rebound, Caroll! Look at Matt Carroll go!” This person was not related to Matt Carroll. As far as we know, this person is not employed by Matt Carroll. What I’m saying is that in Section 101 on Tuesday night, there were 2 or more Matt Carroll fans.

Now you can either look at that as a sign that Mavs fans are desperate for fresh blood and tired of the core of veterans on this team who they feel have let them down again and again. But I don’t look at it that way. The way I see it, they are instead tired of throwing money and crazy contracts at hotshots that, at best, take a while to get used to the system. Or who at worst end up just being a ball of suck. I think the fans are glad to see some development in the guys that have been lurking in the shadows for a while. I even think that Jason Terry’s broken hand could be a blessing in disguise. Follow me on this one: they think it could be 3-6 weeks before he returns. That gives time for Gerald Green, Matt “Two Fans” Caroll, Ryan Hollis and JJ “50 Points” Barea all time to play more minutes and get worked into the system faster. Then Terry comes back before the playoffs, if all goes well.

All I am saying is that the see and be seen people seem to know their place (presumably near something with the Ed Hardy logo on it) and I have had more fun at Mavs games this season than any season before. All this enthusiasm building up must mean that I’m pumped to see tonight’s game against Boston right? Right?

PART TWO: DirectTV installers, near porn situations and why my desire to watch the Mavs will conquer all

Time Warner Cable and I got into a fight. We broke up. So I ordered DirectTV. Everything was gonna be great. The series of comedic twists and turns that have become involved in the process of getting (and now losing) DirectTV tell me that I am never meant to have DirectTV. The Saturday that the installers were scheduled to show up happened to be a sunny and 75 degrees sort of day. So I threw on my swimsuit and went out by the pool to lay out. I was out by the pool for a mere 30 minutes when they called to tell me they are on their way. That’s when I asked the question (not the installers, obviously, but to myself), “Is it too porny to say, ‘Hello cable installers, feel free to make yourself at home and get to work. I’ll just be over by the pool sunbathing.’?” I solicit some advice via text. Advice ranges from, “Just don’t make them a drink then take a shower with the door open” to “YES WE CAN!” (ummm, thanks?) Add to this the fact that I assumed the dish would go on the roof of my apartment which is about fifty feet above and to the left of the pool, thereby upping the awkwardness. I decided to forgo any further sunbathing to save the dignity of everyone involved. The installers showed up and I told them that I would just take my laptop to the pool and if they needed me or had any questions, feel free to come get me. A mere 40 minutes later, they came over to tell me that they are done. I wondered why I never noticed them on the roof but I figured I was reading one of the two trillion “25 Things” I got tagged on. I walked back to my apartment to discover that they had INSTALLED MY SATELLITE DISH ON THE HANDRAIL OF MY FRONT STEPS! Short of just propping it against a cinderblock or just leaving it hanging from the first floor window, they found the shoddiest way to install the dish.

Fast forward to a week later. I am excited to watch the Mavs vs. Jazz game that night. But it was not to be. My satellite was not receiving a signal. I tried resetting it. I tried unplugging it. Finally, I went outside and found that an extremely obese cat was sleeping in my satellite dish. He’s a local stray and I call him Acid Test due to some truly bizarre behavior he has exhibited. At the risk of losing a finger or two, I rouse Ol’ Acid Test from his opium haze and shift him from the dish. But, as I later found out, the weight of one neighborhood cat caused a thin cable to break. Which probably is not as big of a risk for people whose satellite dishes are not easily accessible to cats who just have to be able to get up on their hind legs. So no, I didn’t see the Mavs embarrassing loss to the Jazz. In fact, I didn’t see any TV until they came out to fix my dish on Saturday. Notice I said “fix” and not “move” there, right? Well, I got that taken care of too. Just not how I had planned.

I got home from work yesterday to be greeted by the sight of my satellite dish sitting on my back steps. Could a cat summon the strength needed to drag a satellite dish from the front steps of my apartment to the back door? Is this like when cats bring you dead mice and birds as gifts? There was a note on my door. The note was written by the property manager of my apartment complex which shall remain nameless. Let’s just call it the Bourtyards at Bnox at the corner of Knox and McKinney. I think what the letter was trying to tell me was that no one is allowed to have satellite dishes. And let’s be honest, this was a satellite dish that was attached to a handrail so I will take her side on this one. I say I think I know what the letter was saying because the letters from our complex manager usually read like a transcript of an episode of Cops if you took out all the officer’s dialog. So now I have a dish with wires hanging from it. And no TV and no way to get TV because Time Warner is the only cable company that serves the area.

So tonight I will go to Vickery Park where The Riverboat Gamblers are playing and pretend that I am there to see them and catch up with my old buddies in the Gamblers. But I will actually just be there to watch the game. Sorry guys.

Super Bowel I.V.

I can't believe this football season is over. Mostly because it's been such a horrible season that I thought for sure they would somehow extend it or make up a new rule that the Cowboys must now replay the Eagles game but only after each Cowboys player has eaten raw and improperly stored shellfish and drank a pot of black coffee each. Surely there's some other kind of humiliation that the NFL has in store for fans of football. Ben 'effing Roethlisberger's giant head won the Super Bowl and now the Steelers are the winningest team in pro football. Do you know what that feels like? Kind of like what I imagine Bruce Springsteen's nether regions felt like after their collision with a camera at halftime last night.

I will miss my footballball friends though. I mean, I know we'll see each other around this summer. But there's something special about drinking blue margaritas and gathering (and perhaps even stealing) firewood. I've got a solid 6 months of no high fiving to look forward to. I mean I *COULD* high five for other things but there's nothing like the "Suck it!" and high five of a blocked field goal or a Cowboys touchdown.

In keeping with the ridiculousness that was this year's football season, yesterday played host to the fourth annual Super Bowel. The carnage of which can be viewed here:

http://picasaweb.google.com/amandacobra/SuperBowelIV#

There were ankle sprains and a blackened and slightly bloodied eye. Toby's shirt got ripped too. It was a triumph of apathy over.....something.

Goodbye Football Season 2008-2009. You were a doozy!