The Red, White, and Blue German: A Nation's Embrace

The Red, White, and Blue German: A Nation's Embrace

Written By: Fotis

Thirteen-year-old girls will never swoon over Dirk Nowitzki. They'll never hurl their training bras center-court as he fades from the left corner of the charity stripe to heroically seal a comeback victory. In fact, most thirteen-year-old girls probably do not have a freaking clue who Dirk Nowitzki is, yet the somewhat goofy, elegant, giant of a man briefly and singularly stands as the symbol of righteousness for a country struggling to find its moral ground. For those still waiting, your Messiah's arrived.

If you'd followed even a portion of the NBA Finals this year, you would have noticed that, despite arid, desperate attempts by the broadcasters to narrate the games without prejudice, nearly all of the nation attached its soul to the Dallas Mavericks and their resilient leader. At first, sure, the fanfare may have all stemmed out of pure disdain for the Miami Heat and their triumvirate's sporadically tasteless, self-indulgent behavior; though, by Game 3 or 4 there was a clear shift in our nation's attitude from the root of hate to the seed of endearment.

We fell hopelessly in love with the red, white, and blue German, Dirky Dirk. Every state but one, according to ESPN, voted with sliding majority that it wanted the Dallas Mavericks to win the finals. Florida, (for the geographically disinclined) Miami's parent state, was split even.

The entire country, more or less, rooting for the same team? That sh*t just does not happen. Ever. Except now. Because of Dirk. The anomaly seems even more stunning when considering the marketing power of the Heat's stars. Everybody knows who LBJ and D-Wade are. But this article's not about (relative) losers.

It's about the Dallas Mavericks' triumph and their fuhrer's suddenly larger than life impact on America. Specifically, this is about Nowitzki's persistence, dangerously cool demeanor, and staggering work ethic transcending the meaning of usual accolades reserved for a superstar on a championship team by resuscitating long-lost American values. The guy never quit, never made excuses, and, most impressively, never seemed to accept credit for his tremendous play --always deferring commendations to his teammates and coaching staff. In a somewhat poetic manner, the least American player on the court handled business in the most ideal, American way. Justin brought back sexy. Dirk, classy.

Essentially, if an overwhelming majority of Americans found the guts to rally behind someone so understated, so virtuous (and not overly handsome) in a country infatuated with self-absorption, flashiness, and anything of spectacle without substance (Michael Bayisms), then we could eventually trust that the dubious moral fabric of our people will turn like a screw. Albeit a rusted one, a screw that turns nonetheless. Let the Finals MVP be our guide to salvation.

And so our road to redemption begins on the back of a German-American mammoth. Just as he recovered from his own 2006 meltdown, shouldering nearly insurmountable blame and criticism, we must do the same as a people. We must not be defeated by overgrown children mocking our sicknesses. We must not be defeated by a Cinderella Warriors team. We must dig deep towards the inner recesses of our conscionable beings and initiate the process of transforming into real Americans.

I urge all to plaster Dirk Nowitzki's face on cereal boxes, lemonade stands, tree ornaments, your child's face, any child's face, everywhere and anywhere; let the storied tale of Dirk Nowitzki resonate to the farthest reaching corners of our embattled nation. Let there be Dirk in your heart and head. DA FUHRER FROM DOWNTOWN?! IT'S GOOD!

*Make no mistake about it, folks, teenage girls remain the barometer for anything popular. If they don't know about something that's going on, then it's probably not worthy of being cool. Not this time.