Part 1
Undying hope in the face of constant
disappointment, such is
the story of a Mavs fan.
We sit on the eve of what could be the end of
another Mavs
season closing in an all too accustomed manner of frustration, much as
all but
one other team’s fans will endure. Nothing is over, but like a man
pressing into the last sheets he’ll ever rest upon, this is a time of
forced
intro-and-retrospection, a time to not shun the fading embers of hope,
but to
embrace them.
Fielding what is undeniably one of their best
roster’s in
their tortured history of what is neither horseshoes nor hand grenades, a
history where close does not matter, the Mavs seemed primed for a
playoff run
and were paraded as a realistic threat to the “mighty” Lakers. Our hope
was fed, dark corners of our fandom once again found the light, and
optimism
was passed off as an acceptable
perspective.
Now, as the lights flicker and hemorrhage and
threaten to
blink into the darkness of another season bound to the past, drowned in
the
pool of failure, that hope has been strangled, beaten, and shat
upon…..but has
yet to stop breathing. Doubt and pessimism have siphoned the blood
from it, but at this very moment, they’ve yet to quiet it’s faint pulse,
to
devour every last drop.
Doctor’s have read the statistics in the veins of
the past,
and given the Mavs a 4% chance of survival. Still, they’ve failed to
pronounce us, the fans, and our hope, as deceased.
The night has fallen, and the sun been chained, but
still
that pulse paces on through the dark, at least for this one last night.
Where the shores and depths of tomorrow’s end lead cannot be promised
with
complete certainty, and in that moment of doubt breathes one last
opportunity
to grasp fate by the throat and embrace its undefined destination for
this
journey, and for the Mavs to impose their will with a ferocity that has
remained hidden in the receding hopes of their fans.
Nothing is over, as long as that pulse of life
pushes on,
tomorrow could grant its greatest gift, another tomorrow.
Tomorrow, if this season finds its end, we’ll mourn
its loss
and begin the process of moving on…..of moving on with more tools for
improvement than possessed in any of the recent summers, but until that
moment
when the heart stops and the veins go dry, nothing is over.
Hope, no matter how faint, is not dead. Nothing is
over.
Go Mavs.
