The Belly Stomach

Ivy Iverson, my soon-to-be niece, is a funny kid. One of the more entertaining things she's prone to doing is the creation of new words. A few months ago she referred to her tummy as her "Belly Stomach." I thought this was hilarious and, always apt to adopt funny words or phrases into my vernacular, I've started saying it. (That's right, I took a bit from a 2 year old. I'm not ashamed.)

This week I've been in San Antonio for Rec Lab, the annual recreation ministers conference. The conference itself has been solid if unspectacular and I definitely can't complain about staying in a Hilton hotel for free (even if they do charge $10/night for wireless internet and $19 for a medium cheese pizza). It's the time that I spend outside of the hotel that's killing me.

You see, dear readers, I am a lifelong, diehard Dallas Mavericks fan. Over the course of my life that fact has caused me as many problems as any other character trait (or flaw, dependent on your point of view) that makes me who I am. For the first 9 years of my Mavs Fan career, the team averaged about 20 wins per season, resulting in numerous taunts from all the bandwagon elementary school kids that surrounded me as they rooted for the Bulls or the Rockets. Then there were a few good years in which the Mavs looked like champions, even coming very close in 2006 before terrible officiating and a choke for the ages got in the way. Since then it's been a rapid plunge down the competitive hill that has brought the team to the point of being irrelevant yet again.

Through all of this the San Antonio Spurs have been the big bully on the block. No matter how much the Mavs achieved, the Spurs (and their obnoxious fans) were there to point out the flaws that inevitably allowed San Antonio to send the Mavs packing. When we finally managed to best the Spurs we went on to choke away the championship in the Finals. I hate the Spurs and with a very few exceptions I hate their fans. And here I am in San Antonio, surrounded by Spurdom.

In essence, I am in the Belly Stomach of the Beast.

(By the way, what does that saying even mean? It is usually said to indicate a tough battle that is about to ensue but in reality, if you're in the belly of the beast you've already lost, right?)

Everywhere I go the Spurs follow me. There are Manu Flopinobili jerseys being sold in the gift shop. The Spurs flagship radio station came on in my car. Tim Duncan is on TV advertising Chevy's. At least 5 dozen people passed me today wearing shirts that proclaimed the Spurs champions from one of the many years they won the title. Dick's Sporting Goods had Spurs candy canes for sale. Candy canes!!! Everywhere I turn I am inundated with silver and black. Meanwhile my beloved Mavs are looking worse by the day. And even when the Spurs aren't that much better, they can still play the "We've Won 4 Championships in 9 years" card that I will never be able to hold.

I'm in the Belly Stomach of the Beast, folks, and I cannot wait to bolt out of here tomorrow. One more Tim Duncan commercial may push me over the edge.