Game 6: The Stakes

Laugh it up, boys

If there is a God, he watches basketball. He is a Mavericks fan. He gave Mark Cuban the idea of streaming video. He is good. He is sovereign. He has touched the gold mane of Dirk Nowitzki.

If there is a God, the Miami Heat will not win this series.

The Miami Heat cannot win this series. Unless the universe as we know it is in fact completely devoid of rhyme, reason, good, evil. I cannot live in a system like this – be part of a humanity in which the punks on South Beach upend the feel-good story of the year with their brazen hotdogging, sophomoric in-jokes, low class, pimped-out three-piece suits, fake coughing, pre-season parades, party planning, 4th quarter no-showing. Winners do not act like this. Champions do not act like this. People with dignity do not act like this.

Dallas must win.

And if they do win – and they might – my faith, your faith, your children’s faith in humanity will be restored. We can go on living in a cosmos with cause and effect, with consequences, repercussions, with supposed tos, with karma. Whatever you want to call it. Miami – that smug, self-aggrandizing crew of premature showboaters with fat coffers and fatter egos – will go back to the cosmic drawing board, reassess this ‘me first’ attitude, take a lump, eat a plate of crow, take their medicine, maybe trade Chris Bosh, and know for sure what the 60-year history of professional basketball has long proved to the rest of us: titles don’t just happen. They’re earned.

The Miami Heat don’t deserve to win this title. Their “fans” don’t deserve to win this title. And this glitzy city doesn’t deserve Mr. O’Brien’s trophy, if only because we’d boil it down to make rimz for J-Lo’s Bentley.

Dallas, on the other hand – they have the long-suffering Cuban, the longer-suffering Dirk, the still longer-suffering Kidd. They’re built of castoffs, shoulder chips, smurfs, guys whose prime’s filed papers some time at the end of last decade. This is a team that seems to give meaning to cliche – wanting it more, playing your own game, having the heart of a champions, etcetera.

LeBron can’t backdoor his way into history. He can’t talent his way to greatness. He can’t give us this hokey show of contrived emotion and expect us to think it’s real. He can’t fake Michael Jordan. He can’t goof his way into the pantheon. And he can’t score 11 points in five 4th quarters and go expecting this whole godforsaken shebang to work out in his favor simply because he’s King James.

Now is the time for the forces that be to show who’s boss. Now is the time for should to conquer, for perseverance to prevail, for Flash to hit the links, for Cleveland to rejoice. Fate is on the side of Texas. Here’s to the Heat freezing over, lest hell, come Tuesday, do the same.