Photo by Manesero from Flickr
Admitting you were wrong is not something that comes easily to most of us. As fans and as people, we like to believe our opinions and viewpoints have merit, that our way of viewing things is both informed and correct. Despite the inherent issues with this line of thinking, subjectivity is what makes analyzing, discussing, and arguing about basketball fun and interesting. It allows us to form and re-form opinions, defend players we love, and re-examine our pre-conceived notions about the game of basketball. Sometimes it also forces us to confront the biases and misconceptions that contribute to a flawed understanding of certain players, coaches, or teams. Over the last year or so, after his incredible playoff run, and eventual Finals MVP, I have reached that point with Dirk Nowitzki.
For as long as I can remember I’ve hated Dirk Nowitzki. I hated that he played for the Mavericks. I hated that he couldn’t get to the rim (ask Chris Bosh and Udonis Haslem about the accuracy of that last opinion.). I hated what I perceived as a completely unnecessary amount of fade on his jump shot. I hated his hair. I hated that he wore a mouth guard. I hated that his team kept bouncing Tracy McGrady out of the first round. I thought he was soft and a team constructed around Dirk would never win a championship. My selective basketball memory chose to characterize the failure against the Warriors and Heat as the epitome of his entire career. I willingly ignored his numerous, dominant performances in other series, while also refusing to recognize the context that dictated many of his team’s frustrating losses.
Dirk’s game so heavily conflicted with my conceptualization of “winning basketball”, that I failed to see how a 7-footer who attempted so few shots at the rim could be effective. I fell victim to the old adage that a series of important games could not be won with mid-range jump shots. I was blind to his uncanny ability to get to the free throw line, dismissive of his unrivaled ability to convert contested jumpers (52% from 16-23 feet – seriously, that shouldn’t be possible), and oblivious to his impressive passing acumen. Instead of appreciating Dirk’s unique skill set and recognizing the many and varied advantages it provided himself and his teammates, I ridiculed and mocked it.
Then came this year’s playoffs. Every night, Dirk was gutting out wins for the Mavericks – converting fall-aways on one foot, sideways floaters, and backbreaking three pointers, pump faking and driving by frustrated defenders, defenders whose will was wilting with every well-defended shot that found the net. His offensive dominance always ranging at the edge of impossibility.
Even if Dirk’s jumper was off-target early, he kept attacking, kept probing, eventually finding a rhythm. His ability to convert difficult shots proved invaluable in the 4th quarter. He never faltered, eventually willing his team to a title. Every clutch bucket, every dominant offensive performance, every gritty 4th quarter comeback; he was re-writing his legacy on the fly. Dirk forced all of us to realize that ‘06 and ‘07 were not going to define him. He eventually achieved the ultimate triumph over his well-documented demons. My perceived understanding of Dirk’s career forever changed.
The idea that “perception is reality†is woven into the fabric of societal discourse. However, our perceptions often twist and contort reality into something that is acceptable to our sensibilities. Previous experience, pedagogy, and intellectual as well as emotional prejudices prevent us from attaining objectivity; no matter how hard we try we will never completely rid ourselves of bias. Still, we’d be doing ourselves a disservice if we didn’t at least try. Confronting, challenging, and questioning our conception of reality can only further enhance our knowledge and understanding of the world around us.
With Dirk, I allowed myself to believe that my perception was the truth. I used my own distorted notion of Dirk as a player to discredit his accomplishments. For that I’d like to say: Dirk, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate you for the incredible player you were. I’m sorry I thought you were a choker. I’m sorry I blamed the 2007 loss to the Warriors entirely on you. I’m sorry I let your failures dictate how I viewed your career. I’m sorry I couldn’t allow myself to see the beauty in your complete mastery of the midrange. I’m sorry I failed to extend to you the same understanding and empathy I gave to other players in the NBA. I’m sorry that I dismissed you, that I called you soft, that I proclaimed, “You’ll never win a title with Dirk Nowitzkiâ€. Clearly, I was wrong.
