Pity
poor Sisyphus, condemned for an eternity, to push the rock up a mountain, only to have — with
the summit in sight — the weight of the boulder overwhelm the struggling
monarch, rolling the poor bastard back to the bottom of the hill, over and over
again. I, for one, can relate.
My relationship history serves as a germane example, a blind man lurching
about in the shooting gallery of life. Occasionally, I’d hit a target.
Sometimes, the target bumped into me. Most often, I’d drift along, the sounds
of near-misses ricocheting at my foot. Somewhere in there, years on the
analyst’s couch, and enough relationship experience to overfill a Woody Allen
memoir — the Marx Brothers stuck forever in a Bergman movie — it’s like an
eight-cylinder automobile, capriciously hitting on six cylinders, or three, or
one, as I lurch down the highway of life. Ten steps forward, 9.5 back. I
understand Sisyphus.
I feel for the suffering fans of the Dallas Mavericks. Conceived in 1980, the
Mavs, starting with the barest of cupboards, quickly became the most perfectly
conceived expansion team in the history of sport. By ’84, the team had on its
roster a gaggle of players who would some day wear championship rings (not with
Dallas) and others who would be stars for many years to come (not with Dallas).
The ’84 roster was comprised of names like Aguirre, Blackman, Perkins, Vincent,
Harper, Donaldson, Ellis, Schrempf, and Wenning-ton. The ’85 team — only five
years from the womb — won the Midwest Division. Did a future ever look so
bright?
In ’86, another jewel, all-star rookie Roy Tarpley (the true beginning of the
end) is added to the crown. Only a few feet from the summit, unknown and unseen
by anyone, the boulder began slipping, oh-so-slowly, back down the hill.
The Mav front office, which previously could do no wrong, began making
disastrous decisions. In a sickening sequence of events leading up to today,
every decision the Mavs made turned to ash. First, they traded Dale Ellis, who
would become the NBA’s leading all-time three-point shooter, for a fellow named
Wood. In ’88, they traded Detlef Schrempf — a player regarded as the second
best (to Scottie Pippen) all-around player in the league, for Herb Williams. In
’89, the original “Franchise Player,” the Dallas Golden Boy, the first player
chosen in the ’81 draft, Mark Aguirre, was sent to the Pistons for an
over-the-hill Adrian Dantley. To complete the dismantling of this
once-promising team, Sam Perkins left for L.A. All this took place inside the
dark maelstrom of Roy Tarpley’s battle with drugs, a battle which imploded the
team, draining Dallas of any positive motion for a decade.
The Mavericks did not die a quick death. Through the late Eighties — as the
team was being eviscerated — they remained competitive. By 1990, nothing stood
but a smoking shell. Since the start of the decade, Dallas has won a total of
136 games. That’s 22 per season.
Up the hill they went. Jimmy Jackson of Ohio State, the fourth player chosen
in ’92, was promised to be the beginning. The next draft netted Kentucky
All-American Jamal Mashburn. Next year, the second player chosen, the piece
de la resistance to placing Dallas back on the NBA map, Jason Kidd. Jason,
Jackson, Jamal — the heavily hyped “three Js.” The core for future excellence
seemed complete.
Hidden behind the hype, early, ignored signs of trouble. Squabbling and
backbiting became all too commonplace. Quinn Buckner was the first sacrificed
at the alter of the Js. Mashburn and Jackson suffered injuries. Kidd quarreled
petulantly with both and never played anywhere near as well as his press said
— and still says — he is. Up the hill the Mavs went, but the rock kept
rolling back.
When I read Jason Kidd had been traded… well, if the Cowboys decided to
disband, choosing instead to spread the Mormon gospel across the globe, I
couldn’t have been more surprised.
What went wrong? It’s interesting to note, all of the “Js” were drafted as
underclassmen, Mashburn and Jackson both juniors and Kidd barely 19. Is the
childish, unprofessional behavior of these young Mavericks confirmation of the
deleterious effects of the tidal wave of underclassmen sweeping the NBA?
Had Kidd turned this sour this quick? No question he was a disappointment, but
that bad? I don’t know. What’s clear is this: With the scrapping of Jason Kidd
and the soon-to-come jettisoning of Jackson or Mashburn (or both!), the
Mavericks are saying something terrible to all those fans who suffered through
the dreadful 12-win seasons. They’re telling fans, past and present, those
years of hopelessness, rewarded only by high draft picks, were nothing but a
total waste.
Again, the future is bleak — a short-term, marginal improvement to
respectable mediocrity. Then, after a few years, the slide into the lower
intestinal tract of the NBA.
At the start of the ’97 season, it’s likely not a single Dallas
first-round draft pick will remain on the team. “Management” should be shot for
this kind of monstrous ineptitude. No fans deserve this kind of abuse. This
team does not deserve your support.
Don’t be fooled by an improvement in the win-loss column. The Maverick boulder
is careening to the bottom of the mountain.
This article appears in January 10 • 1997 and January 10 • 1997 (Cover).