A Night of Mavericks

I'm not a big fan of basketball. I remember being eight years old and going down to the local gym to check out a ball and see what I could do at the free throw line. Not much. There was no one around to tell me that I would grow taller one day and that the net would not seem so high and out of reach. There was no one watching, giving pointers, encouraging me that my shot percentage would reverse itself from dismal to decent, maybe dependable or possibly even deadly. Not this day. I had enough of embarrassing myself, checked the ball back in and went down the street to the bowling alley where I acquitted myself rather well for the first time out and have been bowling ever since.

Later, when I made it to college at the slender height of 6'3" and just south of 200 pounds the other freshmen in my class drooled at the prospect of me playing center on their new team. Sit back and smile with me at the memory of their dumbfounded faces when I explained to them that not only did I not play the game but that I cared very little about it. Me, the only Black male in the class and by race alone one who should have been the cornerstone of their otherwise all White team of dreams. Chuckle.

I find myself enjoying an incredible renaissance in my life here in Dallas which included a recent invitation to a pre-season game of the Dallas Mavericks at the glitzy American Airlines Center just north of downtown. I'd been to the venue once before for, get this, a hockey game featuring the home team Stars who at the time were not too long removed from their original home in Minneapolis. Even today it remains a crown jewel in the city for its architecture, amenities and unobstructed sight lines.

The key here was the fact that these were the cheapest imaginable cheap seats at only two bucks a throw so it's not even worth mentioning that I could touch the roof with the palm of my hand. That is, if I didn't get vertigo from the steep angle of the seats looking down on to the court seemingly a mile below. Not being a big fan of the game - I will at least say I root for the Mavs simply because I live here - I wasn't complaining. They were almost free and the Texas Rapid Express rail service was barely two miles from my front door and dropped me off literally at the front door of the arena.

I bought a bottomless bucket of popcorn, hiked to my seat with my buddy and enjoyed a few carefree hours watching the Mavericks phone in a warm-up effort against the Washington Wizards. They lost and it was a school night but overall it was an enjoyable evening out on the town in the Big D. If nothing else it was a diversion from the rapidly unraveling season of the Cowboys. The Rangers were on their way to the World Series, the Mavericks and Stars were both tuning up so it felt at least that mid-October evening as if there was reason to be optimistic in North Texas.

Since then I've been back for a regular season match up between the Stars and the Anaheim Ducks. They lost, too so now, in early November, with the Rangers having lost the Series and the Cowboys three-fourths' dead I wonder how the season looks for FC Dallas.

Gotta go.

The Mystery of Calvary

The Via Dolorosa was a brick paved alley through densely built Jerusalem neighborhoods where I had imagined it would be a dusty trail leading out of the nearest gate to the crucifixion hill at Calvary. The nine stations of the cross are packed with markers and merchants steadfastly fleecing the faithful who routinely walk "the way of suffering" to re-enact the last walk of Christ. I vaguely recalled that Jesus had been tortured on this walk, had performed a few last miracles and had fell under the weight of the cross at least once but wasn't up on my biblical history to remember exactly which station witnessed any of these events. No need - all was conveniently marked for both profit and posterity at each one. There was even a chance to carry a make-shift cross for a photo op, including the crown of thorns. Lovely.

We made our way to one of the most famous hills in the world only to discover it was surrounded by apartment blocks and crowned by a massive basilica, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. And straight through the main door we discovered the hill had been well and duly razed for the sake of the chambers inside where five more stations were marked highlighting the stages of crucifixion.

Just inside the main door was a flat slab of rock, the "Stone of Anointing" where Jesus' body was laid after his death, washed and wrapped in linens prior to interment in the tomb at the base of the hill. Up a set of stairs to the right were a series of rooms, the first highly gilded and vested of which is where Christ was nailed to the cross while the one immediately to the left and equally ornate and thick with incense is where the cross was stood erect for the slow, agonizing death of Jesus.

Back down the stairs we joined the back of a good-sized line to see the alleged Tomb of Christ. There was barely room for one visitor at a time as much of the space was taken up by all manner of candles, statues of Mary, crucifixes and hanging orbs billowing still more fragrant smoke from every shade of holy oils. If you weren't claustrophobic the heat and smoke made it impossible to breathe in there for very long. Was that also part of the plan to keep the faithful moving?

The benefit in having the basilica was in not having the site swallowed up by urban housing and having some tour guide point to a kitchen window on the 2nd floor as the place where the great sacrifice occurred. Still, I found it hard to invest in the long held mystique and tragic wonder of the events that took place here. None of them occurred under the heavy stone of a building! Where was the desolate hill outside the city limits that good society avoided, leaving it to the military and the mourning brood?

I saw yet another set of stairs that led in to the lower reaches of the building. It had no barriers restricting entry or any hordes of pilgrims stacked up to get downstairs. It seemed cool from the heat of "the" tomb and peaceful from the multitudes above so I went on my own to see if there was something there.

There was. For me the mystery was solved, permanently, peacefully and privately.

Gotta go.

Hour Long Jeans

My body is not in transition from a higher to a lower weight, sadly, or a lower to a higher weight, thankfully. At the same time it was time to buy some new jeans. My favorite blue pair fit in the waist more or less but with a 30" inseam they were most certainly high waters that I could no longer justify wearing. Plus, they'd finally worn a hole in the crotch rendering them no longer fashionably faded.

For the sake of cost if not exactly the perfect fit I had been buying my jeans at Wal-Mart for the longest time. I mean, yea it shows in the cut but who can pass up $20 jeans? Knowing that I would potentially double my paying price - but definitely no more than that - I headed for Cavender's Boot City, one of the popular western wear chains in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area. Who knew that I would be there for a solid hour picking out exactly the right pair!

I haven't worn "Slim Fit" in I can't remember when so I knew automatically to cut my losses there. Part of what took so long was the myriad colors and shades of jeans available; no more just basic black and deep or faded blue, there was chocolate brown, tan, gray, camouflage and acid washed. Add on to that whether or not one could pull off high waist, zipper or button fly, Wrangler, Levi or Lee.

I knew I wanted a pair of deep blue jeans. They fade after a few washes but never end up the "sky blue" color after years of wear. I knew what general size I needed but wasn't in a big hurry to be anywhere that evening so decided simply to invest the time to find the best possible pair I could find. Being in Texas I also bowed to conformity in choosing Wranglers, the more popular brand for real and urban cowboys.

The counter staff were solicitous and helpful in seeing my obvious dilemma - finding a pair of jeans that fit but wouldn't also broadcast the full volume of my girth. The first go-round I went in to the changing room with three pair of jeans, the "I Wish" size, the "Most Likely" size and the "God I Hope Not" size. Thankfully, the most likely was closest to the mark, remembering that fresh jeans are snug through the waist and thigh until they relax enough to hold you the way you want. Still, the counter help suggested I try a new line called "Stretch."

This style of stretch was not like the "Slim Fit" in being intended only for the most reedy of ranglers. These were designed to stretch more than the regular fit product while still attempting to hang naturally from the frame. Uh..not. Like the half moons between button-holes in a shirt too tight for reason I knew better than to even try those things. Wanting a sale, the sales guy went back to the drawing board and said to at least compare between the regular and relaxed fits. Fine.

Regular Wranglers did the trick. Four solid trips to the dressing room and at least ten pair later I found the one that did the trick for under the budget set. My look was improved and my wallet was saved. Trying to be a courteous shopper I even folded and reshelved the pairs that didn't make the cut before picking out a couple of interesting shirts to finish the day.

I'm still my mother's son but I'm definitely not her little baby anymore. An hour...just for some jeans.

Gotta go.