Jun 13, 2011, 3:41 AM EST
Dirk Nowitzki will never hear the end of the question. In the ensuing days, weeks, months, and even years, he’ll be posed the same inquiry over and over, so many times that his answer will grow repetitive but never robotic. The very thought will always invoke the same emotion he felt on this night, this perfect June evening in Miami, when the work and the effort and the torment and the perseverance all manifested itself into something undeniably beautiful.
“Dirk, what does it feel like to finally win an NBA title?”
Innumerable media members, friends, family members, former teammates, and strangers alike will pose that question to Nowitzki. Just as many columnists will discuss what this day means for Dirk’s legacy, and to Nowitzki as both a player and concept. But nothing will ever properly capture Nowitzki’s night. Those columns will ring with empty assumptions, even from those who know Dirk best. The water cooler discussions will touch on Nowitzki’s strife without fully understanding its depth or impact. Even Nowitzki’s quotes will come up short, as the one-time league MVP and now-time Finals MVP will undoubtedly struggle to put this moment into words. It’s no slight against Nowitzki, who is as well-spoken and charismatic as professional ballplayers come; these events, placed atop a mountain by context and history, just aren’t accessible within the simplicities of language.
Nothing, save for those sensory images that have been immortalized in Nowitzki’s mind, will ever do this perfect June evening in Miami justice. But we’ll keep asking. We’ll keep asking because we’ll all try desperately to get there — to that place where one of the NBA’s most tortured stars was finally able to find his serenity. We’ll keep asking Nowitzki, over, and over, and over, in the hopes that one day his slight smile will bring us just a bit closer to what he felt the night he reached the pinnacle.
These are the stories that we, as human beings, want to reach out and touch. So few realms offer the dramatic flair of professional sport, and great though our own lives may be, there’s a reason why we tune in to see Nowitzki and his Dallas Mavericks pull off an improbable run to the NBA title: the emotion of these stolen moments is absolutely intoxicating. It provides a vicarious high unlike most anything else on this planet, even if we are only offered the smallest glimpse into the life, mind, and heart of a jubilant victor. We know in our heart of hearts that there’s no all-access pass into Nowitzki’s experiences, regardless of how many times he answers the same question. But even knowing that fact shouldn’t stop anyone from asking, nor will it. Nowitzki’s journey has been so exceptionally riveting that, frankly, we’d be crazy not to crave its finale. We all want to dig our hands deep into that catharsis and let Nowitzki’s elation wash over us, so much so that even the harsh limitations of reality won’t prevent us from trying.
Once the celebration on the floor had concluded, an endless mass of media members stood in line outside of the Mavericks’ locker room. Some held cameras and others clutched recorders, but even these sacred record-keepers stood waiting for more than transcription fodder. They wanted to cross the threshold into a space that unquestionably belonged to Nowitzki and his teammates; the temporary home of NBA champions. They wanted to see a star with tears in his eyes, to hear the unbridled celebrations of a team victorious, to smell an entire world doused in champagne.
This is why we watch. It’s why we love this game and its players. It’s why we invite basketball into our homes and our families, and invest our hard-earned dollars in a league that will break a player like Nowitzki down for over a decade, only to finally offer him that which he has for so long deserved. The NBA theater is certainly grand, but the draw isn’t to watch absurdity unfold from an auditorium seat. We ache for the ability to understand — to comprehend the magnitude of this perfect June evening in Miami, and what it meant to the distant but familiar protagonist of a career-long narrative.
We’ll gather up the champagne bottles, parse through archives filled with photos, and pose to Dirk the same question that he’s already been asked oh so many times. Yet there is an inescapable truth laced throughout those fragments, beckoning us to savor that which we’ve collected while never being satiated:
The only thing that we truly want is more.
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