Best Of Dallas® 2001 Winners
Sports & Recreation
From what we hear, the Lakewood Country Club has good food, a good pro shop and a good golf course. Of course, none of this is the point. The great part about Lakewood Country Club, for all you non-golfers with an adventurous spirit, is that the course is split on either side by Brookside Drive and La Vista, near Gaston. Now, the good people at LCC surrounded the course with a large fence, but that shouldn't stop you. When you're driving by, just when the golfer/target of your choice has reached his backswing, yell out the window or honk your horn. Or, if you're really into it, get out of your car and dance and cluck like a chicken while insulting his mother. The golfers will love it. Really. Then just stand back and absorb the colorful reactions.
Best Sports Moment
Dallas Mavericks beat Utah Jazz in playoffs
There are so many moments that led to this winning entry that the playoff victory only grows more astounding with time: Steve Nash hitting the jumper over John Stockton with 12 seconds left to take Game 3 of the best-of-five series; Dirk Nowitzki and Michael Finley dominating the rout of the Jazz in Game 4; and the incredible double-digit, fourth-quarter comeback in Game 5, on the Jazz's home court, that led to the end-to-end astonishing scenes. One, that Michael Finley passed up the last shot to dish to a wide-open Calvin Booth to give him the layup and the team the lead. Two, that both John Stockton and Karl Malone missed open shots that would have given the Jazz the victory. It was all so unexpected that it gave this town a renewed sense of sports-watching awe. One request: Don't expect to see such a storybook finish this year. It's too much to ask of your Mavs. Just revel in 2001's season of b-ball fun. You may not see another like it for some time.
How we miss Big John. What a kind soul, always giving, never taking. Always eager to help the media with an informative dose of sarcasm and contempt. And that voice, that shrill, disagreeable voice, well, it doesn't get much better than that. Yeah, he was great. Then that no-good Tom Hicks and his toady, Doug Melvin, fired Johnny and instated Jerry Narron, who's a good guy but reminds us of poi. (Have you ever eaten poi? It's a lot like talking to Narron for more than a minute.) And for what, we ask? OK, maybe the Rangers weren't doing so hot. Maybe they were 20-some games out of first place and the pitching was ridiculous and the hitting was worse. And? The point? This award is for the best coach/manager, and, if you talked to the ornery one long enough, you'd get the sense that the losing had nothing to do with him, because he was a top baseball strategist, and everything to do with his no-good players, who were no good. So here's to you, Johnny, you being from another planet. You may be unemployed, but your knowledge of hit-and-runs and propensity to remind reporters of their baseball shortcomings is unparalleled.
Best Sports Columnist
Kevin Sherrington, The Dallas Morning News
It hurts giving this to someone at The Dallas Morning News, but as the Newsers go, Sherrington is a good one. We're still big fans of Randy Galloway, but we just don't see the Star-Telegram much anymore. (The Internet? Yeah, right. You ever tried to surf the Star-T Web site? Go ahead. We'll talk to you in a month.) For the most part, though, local sports scribes are disgruntled former athletes who never made it or pencil-necks who lucked into the business and wouldn't know a football from a foot in the 'nads. Not so with Sherrington. (We checked by kicking him in the groin.) He has a talent for finding otherwise overlooked stories, then translates them into solid copy with an engaging writing style. He has a wit and elegance to his writing that pulls you through and keeps you from using that particular section of newsprint for making paper hats during your kid's birthday party. Doesn't get much better than that.
Best (and Only Good) Idea Jerry Jones Has Had Lately
Bob Hayes going in the Ring of Honor
Granted, they are few and far between, but the owner of the fast-fading Cowboys gets high marks for his decision to include former Olympic sprint champion and All-Pro wide receiver Bob Hayes in the club's oh-so-exclusive Ring of Honor. The planned Texas Stadium ceremony is about a decade late, but better than never, particularly in light of the fact Hayes' health is not good. Now, if Jones wants to make this celebrated list a second year running, he can get busy and announce that former general manager and NFL Hall of Famer Tex Schramm is next on the list.
A tough category. Still, even in a crowded field, one man stands out: that big rich billionaire owner who isn't Mark Cuban. It's one thing to want your team to win. It's another to shell out an exorbitant amount of money in pursuit of that goal. But when you sit around and tell everyone that signing A-Rod for the now-infamous sum of $252 million will catapult the Rangers back to the top of the division, you've crossed the line. Come on, Tom Hicks, what were you thinking? Have a little modesty, and no one's bugging you. But be a braggart, and here we are. Getting Alex Rodriguez was good. Getting geriatric-ward regulars Ken Caminiti and Andres Galarraga and then thinking they could overcome horrible pitching was, ah, less than good.
Not to beat a dead horse...on second thought, that's what we'll do, because Lord knows this subject hasn't been addressed enough. Speaking of the almighty, God bless Doug Melvin for keeping up a brave front in light of the job he's been asked to do as the Texas Rangers' general manager. And what job is that, exactly? That would be serving as team owner Tom Hicks' personal errand boy, spending the off-season carrying out a shopping list that had him throwing around money like a juggler in the Treasury Department. Which would have been fine, probably, if Hicks hadn't asked Melvin to throw it all at Alex Rodriguez, to sign the biggest-name free agent on the market just to prove he could afford it. Did the Rangers need another bat in the lineup? Not really. And you have to believe Melvin was obviously well aware of that fact since, at one time, his was one of the most respected baseball minds around. But Melvin got the job done. Next on his to-do list: waxing Hicks' car.
It would be a stretch and--that's right, we said it--a disgrace to believe that any professional athlete is worth more than $25 million a season. Sure, Rangers shortstop-messiah Alex Rodriguez is having a great first season in Texas (he's going to end up with about 45 home runs, 130 RBIs and an average well above .300, not to mention a coupla hundred hits), but $25 million? Not bloody likely. Fact is, general manager Doug Melvin and owner Tom Hicks could have and should have found some other ways to spread the wealth. In case you missed the two items above, we'll say it again, slowly, so a billionaire can understand: It doesn't matter if A-Rod helps the Rangers score 10 runs a game if they don't have a few pitchers who can keep the team in the other dugout from getting 11. And they don't. So here's a suggestion: Put Rodriguez on the mound every fifth day. Couldn't hurt.
If you didn't notice, last year was a bit lean for the 'Pokes. Not so many wins. Quite a few losses. America's Team was in disarray, from Troy Aikman's countless concussions to Joey Galloway's season-ending injury to the poor fools who actually went to Texas Stadium to see them suck in person. Lending a bit of good sense in the aftermath was linebacker Darren Hambrick, a 6-foot-2, 235-pound pauper. See, Hambrick is smarter than all of us. That is, he examined the roster, realized how bad the team was, then demanded to be paid more than the rest of the stiffs. Makes sense considering he was chief among the stiffs, accounting for 154 mostly-by-accident tackles. When he realized Jerry Jones wouldn't pony up the money he wanted, he brooded and sulked like a child, refusing to attend "voluntary" minicamp. Then he lashed out at the media for making something of his tardiness. "I missed a voluntary camp," he said incredulously to a pack of reporters. "What do 'voluntary' mean?" Wow. Good with contract negotiations and sentence structure. How many Cowboys can say that? Hell, how many Observer employees can say that? Regardless, if you were in his spot, would you want to play for the 'Boys? Didn't think so. Like we said, Hambrick is smarter than all of us.
Best Spot to Sweat Your Butt Off While Playing Frisbee Golf
B.B. Owens Park
All right, so Frisbee golf isn't "cool" in the traditional, Osmond-family sense of the word. Still, it's pretty enjoyable. Grab a group of buddies, a few Frisbees and hike out to a course for the afternoon. It's a good time, and it's free, which makes it that much better. The only problem being, on most of these courses, there's not much shade. That said, B.B. Owens is close to downtown and pretty good as far as layout goes. There's a long "water hazard" and some good, secluded areas for "leisurely smoke breaks." Just bring water. Lots of it.
A down-home tavern where you are unlikely to run into jerks with their own pool cues who insist on getting in on your friendly game. It is easy to fit in with the mostly under-35 crowd who are interested in playing pool but not obsessed to the point of being irritating. Cuckoo's Nest has nine pool tables and a full-service bar, and beer is sold by the pitcher. You won't find tournaments, hustlers or the class valedictorian here.
Best Texas Ranger Pitcher (if He'd Only Come Back)
Nolan Ryan
OK, so the only pitch he's thrown in public recently was at a dog park off Mockingbird Lane. So what? Yes, he's old (54), and yes, he's been retired since 1993 (and that year he pitched only 66 innings). Still, have you been to The Ballpark in Arlington lately? Peanut vendors have more control over their pitches. Thanks to their stellar pitching staff, the Rangers would be lucky to retire the side in order at a T-ball game. Ryan probably doesn't have many 90 mph fastballs left in him, but hey, neither does anyone currently wearing a Rangers jersey. At this point, Ryan could pitch underhanded and he'd still be the No. 1 starter.
First and 10 used to be housed in the shopping center by La Bare, before it was razed to make way for the new Central Market scheduled to be built there. Now it's hidden in Hillside Village in the old Red's Barbecue spot, and we couldn't be happier. It boasts several televisions, a pool table, the fantastic arcade golf game Golden Tee, a shuffleboard table, all the standard sports bar accoutrements...but it has a few things that make it stand above other sports dives. Its burgers, for example, are fantastic, as are its cottage fries. But it also sports a helpful waitstaff, a loyal clientele of serious drinkers and smokers, quite cold pitchers of cheap beer and no unwanted distractions from sexy young men or women. This is not a college hangout; it's a dive bar that happens to have sports on the tube, which is all we want on game day.
What is it exactly that we like about bowling? Is it beer, the warm, moist rented shoes, the beer, the sport, the camaraderie or the beer? Open 24 hours, Carter's 58 lanes are always ready for desperate insomniacs who need the sound of falling pins to lull them to sleep. At nights on Tuesdays and weekends, they break out the blacklights for "Lightning Strikes," a sort of cross between disco and bowling--and can you get any classier than that? League bowling takes place every night except Saturdays. Did we mention they have beer?
The guys you see nightly at 10 still have a long way to go to match the accomplishments and class of Southlake resident and recent Sportscasters Hall of Fame inductee Pat Summerall. Alongside color man John Madden, the former New York Giants placekicker will be entering his 50th season as a broadcaster. During his remarkable career, he's done it all--from the U.S. Open to the Masters to Super Bowls--with a voice as rich and warm as high-dollar brandy.
Small specialty sporting goods stores, where expert athletes/salesmen carefully inspect your foot before finding just the right shoe, are an oasis for the dedicated athlete. At Run On!, a store that specializes in running shoes and gear, a salesman fitted us for a pair of Nikes with a narrow insole--just the way we like them--without telling us the cost. We expected him to say $120 or worse. The damage was much lower: $80. With three area locations, Run On! truly looks out for the consumer. It also sponsors cross-country runs and other events.
There is a time warp a-goin' on at this nondescript skating rink hidden off Northwest Highway. From the owner's tight designer jeans to the decades-old music to the four-wheel tan skates for rent to the hokeypokey, this is childhood as we remember it: chasing little girls in circles for hours to no avail. Fairly cheap birthday parties for kids make this a good retro time had by all. The only thing missing: Defender. Call for party prices and free-skate times.
We know, we know, we know, we know. How trite. How predictable. Der. We know it's the obvious choice. But this isn't the "Newest of Dallas." It's "Best of." And Hansen is still the best at what he does for two reasons: He's entertaining and smart. Sure he has a huge ego. OK, a monstrously huge ego. So? He understands that you can get your sports news anywhere, so to draw you to the increasingly irrelevant concept known as the local nightly newscast, Hansen has to make himself part of the show. We have no problem with that, so long as the performer is funny and clever and still knows more about sports than Macie Jepson, which he is and does. The only thing Hansen lacks is a catchy name, something the kids can relate to. Something like, oh, "Newy."
If you're planning to wander into the outdoors, REI will have just about anything you could possibly need. REI sells top-notch clothing and equipment for everything from camping, backpacking and canoeing to biking, skiing and rock climbing. (You can even try rock climbing in the store or sign up for one of many other outdoor group activities posted in the lobby.) These goods aren't cheap, but REI's retail prices are reasonable, particularly if you become a member. But what puts this store over the top is its sales: When they say sale, they mean it. We're talking 50 percent or more off on goods throughout the store. You don't have to become a member to shop here, but if you do, the $15 fee you spend to join will quickly turn into big savings.
This year's newcomer, the long-awaited 2-mile hike-bike trail between Reverchon Park and Knox Street, is the hit its backers said it would be. The elevated trail, set on the abandoned Missouri-Kansas-Texas railbed, runs through some of the most densely populated precincts in the city, and it's dog-eat-cyclist-eat-jogger all the way. Plans are in the works to extend the trail north to Mockingbird Lane and south to the new American Airlines Center. Eventually, it could link to Dallas' other great running path, the trail around White Rock Lake.
It's not the fanciest gym in the city, but it's a huge facility that's got up-to-date workout equipment of every variety, a full-size swimming pool, indoor and outdoor tracks and much more. But the best thing about the YMCA gym is that there are not a bunch of dudes lifting a dumbbell every five minutes and spending the rest of their time hanging onto exercise equipment talking to each other and trying to hit on the women. It may not attract an exclusive crowd, but YMCA members cut across all walks of Dallas life, and they go there to work out--including Dallas Mayor Ron Kirk and members of the Dallas City Council.
What can we say? This place is grand on nearly every level--and aesthetically pleasing as well. The luxury boxes, if you're ever fortunate enough to sit in one, are equipped with flat-screen televisions and Internet connections, while the regular-Joe seats will all have similar high-tech niceties before too long. Large concourses and windows make the experience feel more open--in contrast to Reunion Arena, which was similar to being crammed into a matchbox for three hours. Best part? According to the PR people at AAC, the new arena has an exorbitant amount of toilets, enough to ensure the lines won't be much of a hassle. So drink like fools and pee in peace.
In August, it's about 110 degrees inside; in January, it's about 40, give or take an icicle hanging off your nose. That's because Doug Eidd, the 70-year-old owner-trainer who looks about 50, doesn't believe in air conditioning or a heater or, for that matter, anything that gets in the way of a good workout. This gym, across the street from Dallas police headquarters, looks like something out of a Damon Runyon novel (from the bare bulb in the stairwell to the hole in the brick wall to the boxing ring in back) and feels like something out of an old prison movie; working out here is like lifting in the joint (or it did until a few women from nearby offices started working out at Doug's, thank God). And we wouldn't have it any other way. The equipment may be a tad rusty or stained by sweat, but who needs a froufrou health-food bar or Olympic-sized swimming pool or sauna or Jacuzzi or air conditioning, for that matter, when you're trying to drop a few pounds and firm up the flab? We go to lift, sweat, box, sweat, stretch, sweat, jump rope, sweat, throw the medicine ball, sweat and sweat. We took a guest once, and after a two-hour workout, he wanted to know, "Is this a gym or a torture chamber?" Why, yes, it is. And we know someone with the pecs to prove it: Doug Eidd, the only man in town who would have made Steve Reeves look like a little girl.
Entering the season, we thought this would go to whichever player stayed awake longest on the sideline. But the past year served as a basketball renaissance in Big D. No one was a more integral part of the turnaround than Steve Nash. Sure, Dirk Nowitzki and Michael Finley played well (and Mark Cuban is crazy, so he got points for that), but Nash made the team go. The diminutive point guard pushed them into the playoffs, where the Mavericks somehow came back from a two-game deficit to vanquish the hated Utah Jazz for the club's first playoff series win since...um...hold on...since a long time (solid research is the key to these annual awards). Aside from working his way around the court in that frantic, side-to-side style, aside from dishing out assists and raising his scoring average, Nash also became a fan favorite. His biggest contribution, though, is the hope he gives to unkempt men everywhere. Despite his messed hair and goofy smile, Nash pulls in tail. (See next item.)
Do you actually think that standing there at the 7-Eleven counter causing a backlog while you pick out six numbers is going to make one iota of difference in your chances of early retirement? Give it up, pal. Just take your scratch cards and get away from the counter so we can buy our Marlboros, OK? If you really feel the need to throw away your hard-earned money, here's a better option: Go out to Lone Star Park, where for just $3 admission you can spend all day flushing your money at a place custom built for people like you. Instead of standing next to the smoothie machine, you can enjoy the sights and sounds of live racing. And you can still cling to your silly little superstitions about lucky numbers, combinations and color schemes, but at least you can make an educated guess while you dream of bringing home a winner. Live racing resumes September 20.
He's better known for his passing skills and outside jumper, but Steve Nash has more than proven he knows how to rebound. After splitting with his "friend" Geri Halliwell, a.k.a. Ginger Spice, Nash hooked up with Elizabeth Hurley while she was in town filming Servicing Sarah. How's that for trading up? Maybe Mark Cuban should keep an eye on Nash as a future general manager. Or maybe he should just try to get Nash to help him out with the ladies.
What is that feeling that overcomes us each time we wander into this two-wheeler superstore in the hinterlands to the north? Our palms sweat; our breathing becomes shallow; a goofy grin spreads across our mug; and we lose the ability to blink. Ah, yes...gear lust. Do we really need that nifty carbon-fiber, rear-suspension frame? Do we need a $3,000 poor-man's Porsche? We do. We do. We do. If you don't believe us, you've never experienced gear lust--or you're our wife. Although there are a few decent small bike shops in the Dallas area--including a smaller version of Richardson Bike Mart near White Rock Lake--this is Mecca for cyclists, offering everything from a full line of clothing, to bike-related coffee-table gewgaws, to a wide variety of recumbent, road, touring and mountain bikes.
There are a lot of good "hockey players" on the Stars roster. Mike Modano. Brenden Morrow. Jamie Langenbrunner. Ed Belfour. The list goes on. But everyone knows that hockey is still the bastard child of the four pro sports. C'mon, skating skills and shooting? Who cares? But large men going full speed with the singular mindset of mashing the opponent's teeth through his skull? Now that's compelling. No one's more adept at laying down the smackdown than Derian Hatcher. The team captain is also its best defender and most vicious enforcer. Pity those who cross him, as was the case in the hard-hitting first-round playoff series against Edmonton when several Oilers were checked mercilessly by everyone's favorite brute. It's a civil service, and well-performed at that.
Being out at the Ballpark these past few seasons has been a lot like getting a hot-sauce enema. Minutes seem like hours, and your ass gets itchy very quickly. Easing some of that pain, or at least doing his best to make everyone's job go a little more smoothly, has been Gabe Kapler. Where some, if not most, professional athletes run when they see a reporter or fan coming, Kapler is the rare player who will almost always give his time. Earlier this year, while he was on the disabled list and rehabbing in some god-awful town in Oklahoma, Kapler even took time out of his rehab schedule to do an interview with the Observer. This is a point of interest considering half the players don't know what the Observer is. Oh, and he's a decent hitter and fields well and all that jazz, so bully for Gabe. That, and we're afraid of him and his muscles, which pop from his shirt like overinflated balloons. See, Gabe, we told you you'd get this award. Now just don't hurt us.
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