Letting Go.

(The freedom of summer days like this are coming to a close)

Unless you've been pressing the button inside The Hatch for the past few years, you probably know that the Dallas Mavericks recently won the NBA championship.  They completely dismantled the Heat, making LeBron James the real-life version of Roy Munson from Kingpin.  (One positive thing, ESPN is looking for a new 24/7 news story now that Brett Favre is gone for good--James' failures may have the same annoying legs behind it).  Now, as a diehard Houston Rockets fan, I don't think I could have had a worse scenario (other than Derek Fisher selling Khloe Kardashian's soul for one more Lakers ring.)  I have always hated the Mavericks, mainly because I cannot stand Jason "trophy tat" Terry (everyone knows the real JET is Kenny Smith, the starting point guard for the Rockets in their championship years) and with the exception of a few friends, I've found most Mavs fans to be slightly arrogant.  Also, I will admit that I'm slightly jealous Dallas has a superstar who doesn't get injured more often than Sam Jackson from Unbreakable.  However, it was almost equally as hard for me to knowingly root for Chris Bosh.  Our admiration for him is so low that my friends and I literally started using the word "Bosh" in place of profanity this past year.  (If he ends up getting traded to the Rockets at any point in my life, I will pull the fail-safe on The Hatch and renounce my Houston fandom.  See what I did there?  This post is gonna be slightly heavy on the Lost references...it's been a while). 

Although it was clear from the start that the Mavericks were going to be portrayed as the good guys (this article on Dirk vs. the three mercenaries was almost too good), I went into the series actually hoping to see the Miami, the team attempting to buy a ring, pull it out.  I know what you're probably thinking, but I have mentioned in several posts before that I am an irrationally stubborn person, right?  My unreasonable sports hatred of a guy who literally flies around like an airplane after big shots has caused me to become morally ambiguous. (In my defense, I could have sworn that until this postseason Terry only played well against the Rockets.) 

I was thinking about making up for my shady morals by writing a quick morality play a la Shakespeare starring Miami's Big Three and Dirk.  I would have tried to use a LOT of Old English...  so I think I did us all a favor by staying away from it and keeping Charging Interests as unambitious as possible. One thing is for certain about my unreasonable disdain for the Mavericks and the city of Dallas as a whole...

I need to let it go.

(I found this hilarious gem in my phone the other day.  I didn't know who to root for, but I do know that you can never go wrong taking awkward, slightly unnerving self-pictures of yourself...amiright?)

The same things can be said in a few other things in my life.  The other day my friend Kovach asked me to play in a summer basketball league that plays two games every Thursday night.  I initially told him no, saying that I couldn't commit to the money or being in The Woodlands every Thursday night.  Sounds like a pretty convincing reason, right?  Well, truthfully the real reason why I told him no was that I selfishly want to remember my time playing pickup basketball with my best friends from college.  After playing four or five times a week with the same group of friends, I got a little spoiled.  But because we were a more selective clique than the cast of all of Christopher Nolan's movies, we had a sort of ESP on the court that helped us win most of our pickup games (seriously, The Dark Knight Rises might as well be Inception 2, But Sorry DiCaprio, We're Kinda Already Committed to Christian Bale.  Not that I'm complaining...and I'm looking to patent that name, by the way).  I knew that playing with a bunch of relative strangers on the court wouldn't be the same.

But I need to let it go.

I decided to play tonight after Kovach's consistent prodding.  Seriously, that guy will be a great salesman one day if he chooses to be.  There were about eight of us at this thing and I hadn't played with any of them in years, if ever.  In a random twist, one of my best friends and fellow Roadhouse teammate's little brother played on the team.  (ESP doesn't travel over to younger brothers, unfortunuately).  We ended up cruising through both victories by over 30 points (playing against a bunch of aging dads didn't hurt) and while it was not the same as college, it definitely wasn't the depressing feeling I thought it may be.

(Except for towards the end of the first game.  We were winning by 30 when I had a clear path to the lane.  I went up for the layup when one of their players decided to sweep the leg and viciously take me out in midair.  I went sprawling out of bounds, my knee crashing into the hardwood floor and back crumpling into a metal pillar.  I'm not even kidding when I say I thought I might have been seriously injured for about five seconds.  Luckily I got up with only giant crick in my back and a throbbing knee.  I may feel like hell tomorrow, but I DID make the layup, BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT MEN DO.)

 

(Plus, I had to play because my new shoes via Nick and our friend David are KICKIN') 

After all this, I'm going to make a shocking revelation: I am not good at letting things go.

I'm not going to sit here and pretend like I've got this thing figured out after finally giving Dallas their due or one night of pickup basketball with new teammates.  Those are small, asinine things compared to the rest of my life.  Change is scary. I believe God has a plan and I trust Him, but it doesn't make the fact that I'm moving on with my life any less bittersweet.  The fabled after-college road trip that I have been so desperate to take for years may never take place if all works out for me and I get a job relatively soon (that is a big 'if').  I feel like I am in the sideways world in the last season of Lost and I am too stubborn to realize what's in front of me (Did I just refer to myself as one of my least favorite characters, Jack?  Yikes, we need to end this soon).  I need Christian Shephard to finally show up and tell me to "let go".  (Don't watch that unless you've seen the end of Lost or don't care.)

Many of my lifelong friends are about to scatter across the United States, possibly making these last few weeks together the last time we'll be in the same place for the foreseeable future?   Let it go.  My desire to play basketball with Roadhouse forever?  Let it go.  The girl who is so damn cool that, although it will never work out, I am absolutely crazy about?  Let her go.  Realizing I can't see my sister and her family whenever I want anymore?  Let it go.  Thinking it's cool to use Superman blankets as drapes in my apartment?  Gotta let it go.  Jokingly trying to be a hipster?  Well, according to Happy Endings, I've already failed by trying so I've got to let it go.  Having an unreasonable devotion to bad horror movies?

Sorry, not letting that one go just yet.

(If you've hated this article...tell that to my inspiration: The Graduate.  And yes, I did buy this at a vinyl store recently.  I'm a walking cliche.)

These are uncertain times ahead, but with a little Faith, I couldn't be more excited for them.

-PB