In 1980, my parents had four season tickets to the new and exciting Dallas Mavericks. Unfortunately, there were five of us in the family.
Jessica Burgess
Clearly Unedited
My brother, who was almost 3, had to pretend to be a baby and sit in someone's lap. This would make me point and laugh. Years later, he would recall this, and sit on my head until I screamed for Mom.
The most memorable thing about those games, more than the squeak of the shoes on the court, more than the deep voice of announcer Kevin McCarthy bouncing off the (shiny and sparkly!) Reunion Arena rafters, is the time my brother hurled an empty soda cup and bonked a bald guy on the head about 10 rows down. Talk about Great Moments in Sports.
Those were exciting evenings for us little kids. Instead of being instructed to use our indoor voices, we were allowed to shriek and yell, especially at someone named Kiki Vandeweghe. Apparently he was a real jerk.
And the giant scoreboard, though it seems primitive in retrospect, was a marvel of modern technology in those days. For example, Rolando Blackman was represented by a small, pixilated boat "Ro"ing across the screen. Get it? And when traveling was called, it would show a player stopped with a ball, but the lower half of his body would keep going. Genius.
But time went by, and basketball became extremely insignificant compared with important things such as the height of my bangs (sadly inadequate) and the acid-washedness of my jeans (just OK).
Then, all of a sudden, it was 2000, and large sectors of my brain were freed up once the white-to-blue ratio of my pants became irrelevant.
And I realized that not only was an eccentric billionaire dumping crazy amounts of money into the team, but there were also some extremely attractive players.
"Hey bandwagon!" I shrieked, waving my arms, trying not to spill my beer. "Make a stop over here, please!"
And I've been along for the ride ever since. Even when I moved to San Antonio for a couple of years, I did not try to hide my allegiances. "If I hear the Spurs described as 'classy' one more time," I would inform friends and co-workers, "I will vomit everywhere."
And now, my spotty loyalty has been rewarded, and we're in the NBA Finals.
If I could get a ticket, I'd be on the edge of my seat. Hurling empty soda cups at Shaq.
Jessica has been vomiting everywhere since the 1998-99 season. E-mail her at jburgess@quickdfw.com.
