May 29, 1997. I was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. It was baby blue, with a pattern of soft pink leis twisting up and down and over the shoulder. I was sitting on the living room floor praying for a miracle.
The Utah Jazz were down by 5 with minutes left in the game. John Stockton made a lay-up. Then another one. Then another one. Sir Charles made a free throw to tie it up for the Rockets. Seconds left. Jazz have the ball...it's inbounded...Stockton for 3...JOHN STOCKTON SENDS THE UTAH JAZZ TO THE NBA FINALS!!!!!!
If you are from Utah, you've heard that sound bite hundreds of times, played over the radio, on tv commercials, before sports updates, over the loud speaker at school, before athletic events...and it never gets old. If I could download that sound bite from iTunes, I would put it on every cd mix I ever made.
John Stockton sends the Utah Jazz to the NBA finals. It was a miracle. Thirteen years Stockton had been in the NBA, thirteen years he had been with the Utah Jazz, this was his thirteenth time going to the playoffs and his first time winning. This could be the Jazz's year to win it all.
But then there were the Bulls. And Michael Jordan. And the Flu Game. But, you say, there's always next year.
But then next year there were the Bulls. And Michael Jordan. And the controversial calls (Jazz fans, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Eisley was obviously standing behind the 3 point line).
I don't say this lightly when I say the Jazz broke my heart. If you thought I was some girl who didn't know every Jazz player's name, stats, wives, children's names and ages, and what their favorite food was, you would be wrong. If you thought I wouldn't be the kind of girl who ran home from school to listen to hours worth of Jazz coverage every day and well into the night, you would also be wrong. If you thought I was a girl who found it hard to ever open up her heart to another team again, well, you might be right.
You know when you break up with someone and you're lying on the couch late at night in the dark crying and suddenly your heart just doesn't hurt because of the break up, but it hurts because of all the people you've loved and lost and all the wounds seem to come back with a fresh kind of pain. That's what it was like tonight. I watched BYU lose in the Sweet 16 and it was like watching the Jazz and my spirit be crushed by the Bulls and the all powerful MJ all over again. I might as well have been 15, standing in my grandparents yard, throwing sticks in the Snake River, waiting for my sister to come out and tell me the final score because I couldn't stomach watching the final minutes. Tonight, as a 28 year old, I went back into my room and curled up in bed and waited for that same sister to come in and tell me the final score because I couldn't watch the end.
Earlier today, I read the part in Don Quixote about chasing windmills and conquering giants. I can't stop thinking about those windmills and Stockton and BYU. I keep thinking about Don Quixote and his windmills and his impossible dreams. I keep thinking about Stockton and his short shorts and his little miracle that took him within reach of his dream, but still left him reaching. I keep thinking about little Jimmer and his team of short white Sancho Panza teammates that came so far and fought so hard only to be beaten by giants.
My heart hurts. For Stockton, for Jimmer, for me. Realistically, I know it's only a game. But realistically, I also knew Don Quixote's giants were only windmills. I wanted him to chase them anyway. I wanted him to conquer them.
The Utah Jazz were down by 5 with minutes left in the game. John Stockton made a lay-up. Then another one. Then another one. Sir Charles made a free throw to tie it up for the Rockets. Seconds left. Jazz have the ball...it's inbounded...Stockton for 3...JOHN STOCKTON SENDS THE UTAH JAZZ TO THE NBA FINALS!!!!!!
If you are from Utah, you've heard that sound bite hundreds of times, played over the radio, on tv commercials, before sports updates, over the loud speaker at school, before athletic events...and it never gets old. If I could download that sound bite from iTunes, I would put it on every cd mix I ever made.
John Stockton sends the Utah Jazz to the NBA finals. It was a miracle. Thirteen years Stockton had been in the NBA, thirteen years he had been with the Utah Jazz, this was his thirteenth time going to the playoffs and his first time winning. This could be the Jazz's year to win it all.
But then there were the Bulls. And Michael Jordan. And the Flu Game. But, you say, there's always next year.
But then next year there were the Bulls. And Michael Jordan. And the controversial calls (Jazz fans, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Eisley was obviously standing behind the 3 point line).
I don't say this lightly when I say the Jazz broke my heart. If you thought I was some girl who didn't know every Jazz player's name, stats, wives, children's names and ages, and what their favorite food was, you would be wrong. If you thought I wouldn't be the kind of girl who ran home from school to listen to hours worth of Jazz coverage every day and well into the night, you would also be wrong. If you thought I was a girl who found it hard to ever open up her heart to another team again, well, you might be right.
You know when you break up with someone and you're lying on the couch late at night in the dark crying and suddenly your heart just doesn't hurt because of the break up, but it hurts because of all the people you've loved and lost and all the wounds seem to come back with a fresh kind of pain. That's what it was like tonight. I watched BYU lose in the Sweet 16 and it was like watching the Jazz and my spirit be crushed by the Bulls and the all powerful MJ all over again. I might as well have been 15, standing in my grandparents yard, throwing sticks in the Snake River, waiting for my sister to come out and tell me the final score because I couldn't stomach watching the final minutes. Tonight, as a 28 year old, I went back into my room and curled up in bed and waited for that same sister to come in and tell me the final score because I couldn't watch the end.
Earlier today, I read the part in Don Quixote about chasing windmills and conquering giants. I can't stop thinking about those windmills and Stockton and BYU. I keep thinking about Don Quixote and his windmills and his impossible dreams. I keep thinking about Stockton and his short shorts and his little miracle that took him within reach of his dream, but still left him reaching. I keep thinking about little Jimmer and his team of short white Sancho Panza teammates that came so far and fought so hard only to be beaten by giants.
My heart hurts. For Stockton, for Jimmer, for me. Realistically, I know it's only a game. But realistically, I also knew Don Quixote's giants were only windmills. I wanted him to chase them anyway. I wanted him to conquer them.
