After a phenomenal comeback against Miami last Thursday, the Mavs headed back to Dallas for the first of three games on home court. I made the dreaded drive up I-35, and Katrina and I rode the DART rail down to the American Airlines Center early Sunday evening.
Look at Dirk roar in this picture - he looks ready for war.
This guy was on our train. Multiple security guards tried to tell him he wasn't allowed to wear Heat gear into the arena.
It's been five years since the Mavs appeared in the finals. I have my fingers crossed that this year turns out differently than last time.
Here are some of the more eclectic fans:
and the youngest Mavs fan in Dallas:
Not prone to be settle, Dallas upgraded their color scheme to royal blue for the evening.
There were royal blue shirts waiting on each seat so the entire audience would be a gorgeous sea of royal blue. Instead of a kiss cam, the jumbotron broadcast a t-shirt cam before the game started to prompt some reluctant fans to don their new tees.
Peer pressure at its finest - it worked!
My boys warming up:
It's hard to articulate the feeling of 21,000 fans all cheering for the same team. It's not like a concert where the audience and performers are separate entities. Sports are different. There's a collectivity to it, a feeling that you're all in it together. That might seem lame if you haven't experienced it, but I'm willing to admit that I got goosebumps on multiple occasions throughout the night, beginning with the introduction of the starting lineup. I can say that Dallas has certainly amped up the fanfare over five years.
This video does a pathetic job of capturing the moment, especially with the poor sound quality, but I felt the need to include a small peek into what we experienced.
Then the game began, and it was surreal. I can probably count on ten fingers the number of Mavericks games I've attended in person. This one hit me differently though.
Katrina and I had fun...
... in spite of the ending. After coming back from several two-digit point deficits, the Mavs had a chance to tie, or win with a three, in the last 4 seconds of the game. Shortly before, the jumbotron aired this clip from Rocky (without the Spanish subtitles - lo siento):
Having just proclaimed this the Summer of Stallone, I felt sure that everything was coming together perfectly. I was wrong. Dallas lost by 2. The entire crowd poured out of the arena with record-setting speed. We stood together, downcast, as we waited for the train.
We had to switch trains at the West End, and this poor soul tried to sell Miami jerseys. Everyone chanted at him to "go home," and a police officer even had to urge him to leave. (My favorite random fact of the evening: Even though there were a few people at the game sporting Miami-wear, not one person had on Chris Bosh's jersey or number. Even though Dallas is his hometown.)
On the last leg of our journey, Katrina and I met two German law students, in Dallas as part of a summer internship. They told us they were huge Dirk fans, but they broke the news that David Hasselhoff is not the pop star in Germany that our media leads us to believe. My world was slightly shattered.
I asked my new friend his name, and he introduced himself as David Hasselhoff. I told him I was Kelly Kapowski.
The night didn't have the victorious outcome we had hoped for, but I'm still holding out for Dallas to win the series. Rowdy, proud, and loud.
Sawry bout your team! Doggone it!
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