Sports & Recreation

It's hard to remember now, but before last season, everyone was trying to downplay expectations for the Dallas Mavericks. Just because they beat Utah in the playoffs doesn't mean they'll do even better this year, prognosticators said. The Mavs shut that talk up quickly when they won their first 14 games to start the season. Now, if only they could go further in the playoffs.

We could suggest lots of places where they like skaters, where they even charge them admission. But what the hell is that? It's not skating unless somebody in a blue uniform chases you. Grab your board and get downtown! Start at the Masonic Temple at Harwood and Young streets for a backside nosegrind on the long sloping ledges in front; head two blocks downhill to City Hall plaza for a nollie heelflip in front of the mayor; kick-flip across the police memorial and past the fake cows; wind up at the best of the best, the front steps of The Dallas Morning News at 508 Young St. The railings there are perfect for a nice long feeblegrind or two: That's the most you'll get in before about 50 rent-a-cops come charging out the door with big-ass shields, helmets and baseball bats. Your board is your weapon, dude!

Tightfisted locals who carp about the upgrading of Dallas' scruffy municipal courses would probably have heart failure if they saw what Euless calls public golf. City-owned-and-run Texas Star is without a doubt one of the best munies in the nation, with fees almost to match. In Euless, every man (and woman) is king, which in this old game means mirror-smooth Bent grass greens, doting attendants at the clubhouse and a layout with some serious pizzazz. Cut from the Trinity River lowlands, the 7,000-yard Texas Star course wanders through untouched native grasses and dense oak forests. These "native areas" are in play on nearly every hole, and off limits for ball hawking should you decide to visit them. Add an abundance of picturesque water hazards and you have what professional course critics call "resistance to scoring." In other words, bubba, bring a buttload of balls.

Chest-deep in a swimming pool, no one can see you sweat. No one can see the flab flopping around either, which is another benefit of water aerobics, the fastest-growing form of exercise for the gym-weary boomer crowd. Tricia Moon's classes--ongoing at the DISD pool on Hermosa at Peavy and at the White Rock Athletic Club--combine high-energy aerobics, underwater weight and resistance training, some tai chi, a little kickboxing (so much easier underwater) and even a bit of go-go dancing. Moon keeps classes lively with a steady patter of jokes and encouraging words. Watching her go through the moves (at 43, she's all leg and lean muscle) is motivation to keep pushing when the urge is to dog-paddle. For three summers, Moon has led a popular (and addictive) Saturday-morning class at Rowlett's Wet Zone water park, where water exercisers jog, skip and leap against the strong current of the "river" pool. It's like fighting a riptide, and it's a killer workout. That class starts again next May.

So, it's pricey, but where else can you jog or walk on a shock-absorbing one-mile outdoor track set against 30 acres of lush pecan, red oak and cedar trees? Where else are the ducks, geese and squirrels so relaxed in their natural habitat they actually risk asking you for spare change? Face it, there is no place like the Cooper Fitness Center, which is why there is still a waiting list to get in. But with its two heated 25-yard, six-lane pools, its 4,200-square-foot weight training area, its sizable cardiovascular equipment area, its indoor basketball and outdoor tennis courts, its multiple saunas, steam rooms and whirlpools, its close association with the Cooper guest lodge, spa and clinic--hell, it just might be worth the wait.

Spring training is a relaxed atmosphere where the players talk candidly and the reporters wear sunscreen and bad Hawaiian shirts. Some of the conversations are considered off the record. Some, not all. During prescribed media hours, Rangers second baseman Mike Young and third baseman Hank Blalock engaged in a conversation with some members of the media, among them a bad, bad person from the Observer. The topic: Howard Stern's interview with Limp Bizkit front man Fred Durst. Durst said that he had gone out with pop icon Britney Spears for a spell. He also claimed, over the course of their courtship, that he "ate her ass." "He ate her ass?" Blalock asked incredulously. "That's what he said," Young responded. "Fred Durst is a cool dude." Truer words were never spoken.

Sports columnist Gerry Fraley is everything the city columnists for The Dallas Morning News are not: fiercely opinionated, wry, relevant and readable. He is unafraid of taking on local icons--for years, he wrote that local legend Pudge Rodriguez was overrated--and he always provides facts to back up his takes. His "Just Venting" column, which runs on Page 2 of the DMN's sports section, is something we look forward to reading every Tuesday. Our favorite gibe yet: "Guard Larry Allen threw the first no-hitter of the season in the Cowboys' exhibition opener Saturday." Maybe you had to see the game to appreciate it, but we blew coffee out of our nose on that one. Which is a compliment.

When the war in Iraq began, both Mavs point guards made comments that suggested they were very much against the war. Canadian Nash received no grief from fans. It was suggested on radio call-in shows, however, African-American Van Exel be booed at games. Now, if you don't think that doesn't have at least something to do with their skin color, then you don't know which country was fighting Iraq. We love it when sports fans talk politics. It's almost as painful as listening to Mayor Laura Miller talk sports.

So many qualified candidates for this award, but we're partial to our own here at the Observer, so the fix was/is in. During spring training in Surprise, Arizona, our sports columnist, John Gonzalez, attempted to interview Ranger Carl Everett in the clubhouse for a feature he was writing. Everett, who had never heard of the Observer, gave Gonzalez a hard time about his credentials. Carl was being Carl. Gonzalez, who we're pretty sure is mentally retarded and ought to wear one of those safety helmets, took that as a personal affront to his professionalism and fired back. Gonz was being Gonz. Long story short, Mount Everett erupted and asked our intrepid reporter if he wanted to box. It got uglier from there--the two loudly screamed expletives at each other while a pack of reporters and ballplayers watched, mouths agape. It was a lot like that incident a few years ago in which Chargers quarterback Ryan Leaf cursed a reporter--only this time, the reporter cursed back. And, unfortunately, this time there wasn't any video footage to commemorate the occasion. Bummer.

Football commentators like to remind people that there are only two current Dallas Cowboys who were a part of the team's early- and mid-'90s Super Bowl wins: Darren Woodson and Larry Allen. Actually, we think there's only one and a half of them, because Allen is half the player he used to be. Now that's not all his fault. Apparently, Allen is the victim of a physiological defect that causes his ankle to "puff" like a well-made tempura batter. His puffy ankle is why he struggled through the early part of the season, we're told. We think it's great that afflictions normally associated with pregnancy or water retention are now being claimed by 300-pound professional athletes. Next, Allen misses the fourth quarter of the Thanksgiving game because his nipples are sore.

Remember the photo that appeared in your inbox this summer? No, not the one with the horse and car battery. The ones of two Dallas Mavs, Dirk Nowitzki and Steve Nash, out on the town, tippling themselves silly. Who among us hasn't regretted being in front of a camera lens after seven too many cocktails, right? But for the N&N boys to be so fully looped that they didn't immediately destroy the camera--that's just awesome.

Have you seen those photos of Bill Parcells stalking the Dallas Cowboys sidelines during practice? The ones where he's wearing a big old-woman hat, oversized shorts tucked under his man breasts and a big floppy T-shirt tucked into said shorts? All he needs is a wig and he's Jonathan Winters.

There are exactly seven certainties in the local sports world: On the whole, Rangers pitching will suck; Dale Hansen will be friendlier on the air than off; Mike Modano will have hot women near him when in public; Steve Nash will hit that clutch free throw; Darren Woodson will do the right thing; Mark Cuban will say the wrong thing; and the incredible porntasticity of Dave Tippett's Corey Pavin/Elliot Gould (circa M*A*S*H) mustache will make our heart go pitter-patter. No trendy goatee or mutton chops for this man. Just a straight-up shot of lip hair. Bless his heart.

Really, this award ought to be a lifetime achievement sort of thing, and it should probably be retired hereafter, because Dallas Cowboys owner Jerry Jones is just so good at lying that no one is going to be able to beat him. That said, he had a career year in this category. First he told us how he was fully behind quarterback Quincy Carter. By midseason, Chad Hutchinson was in the mix. He made a point of telling us that Dave Campo was his head coach. Then Campo got the ax. He paraded Emmitt Smith in front of the world and praised the running back when he became the all-time leading rusher. He said that he hoped Smith would be a Cowboy forever. Then he watched Smith head off to the Arizona Cardinals, of all unsavory places. And now? Now he's saying that he's going to stay out of new head coach Bill Parcells' way. Yeah. We believe you, Jerry, we really do.

OK, OK, so he sucked in the playoffs. So what? Who the hell wants to watch hockey in the summer, anyway? No, see, Marty Turco did us all a favor. Besides, everybody stumbles here and there, right? Just look at what the Stars goalie did during the regular season, though. Turco was a finalist for the Vezina Trophy, given to the league's best goalie, an award he probably should have won after he posted a 1.72 goals-against average, the lowest by any goalie in the modern era. He was also named a second-team postseason All-Star. All fine accomplishments for a guy who before this past season had never started a playoff game, and all that without trying to bribe a cop for a billion dollars.

Uh, let's see now, the other candidates were: Buck Showalter, who tried mightily but all for naught; Dave Tippett, who had a fine season but was a bit boring, to tell the truth; and Dave Campo, who...well, he coached the Pokes for a while--let's just leave it at that. So congrats, Nellie, you da man by default. Actually, Nelson would have won anyway. The gregarious Mavericks coach led his charges to the NBA Western Conference Finals, the first time Dallas had advanced that far since 1988. He did that despite the fact he had no interior players worth mentioning and an owner who refused to re-sign him until after the season. He did that, and he was congenial, too, always joking with the media and playing to the crowd. He's our kind of guy. Glad you're coming back, Nellie.

Last season, Mavericks star Dirk Nowitzki was laid up with an injury. During that period, a reporter from a very well-respected national magazine decided that he wanted to talk to Nowitzki about international basketball--a story that most every sports writer addressed some two years ago. This reporter, being particularly dim and oblivious, also decided to interview Nowitzki after a game instead of during practice hours, which is when the players are 1) more accessible and 2) more affable. This reporter waited more than an hour after the game had ended for Nowitzki to materialize. Most would have taken the hint. This reporter did not. Undeterred, this reporter finally got a moment alone with Nowitzki before asking a question that went something like, "Well, Dirk, how have foreign players changed the NBA?" Nowitzki looked down at this reporter and with a straight, serious face replied, "Oh, that's a good question." Without missing a beat, he immediately gave the reporter a thumbs down sign, stuck his tongue out and, like a child (albeit a very, very funny child), made a "thpppffff" noise.

Our friend has asked us to go on a camping trip with him. We are too embarrassed to tell him that we are scared of the bears/ticks/spiders/mosquitoes/dark, and that we, like Glenn Frey, belong to the city. So we suck it up and go to REI, a place where we can buy so much cool camping gear that we can actually feel like a man again. But that's not all REI offers. If you need cycling wear, fly-fishing stuff or any number of other outdoorsy gadgets, this is the place to go.

The players who show up for Glencoe's all-day Saturday runs are serious, arriving at 9 a.m. with coolers and lawn chairs, digging in for the long haul. The games are just as serious, which makes sense, since if you lose, you lose the court. So don't bring that weak stuff up in here. We say this, because we tried to and left a couple of hours later with wounded pride and a Spalding tattoo on our forehead.

With Frisco now home to so many new and used Dallasites, it is becoming more likely that those of us who fear to tread north of LBJ Freeway will be forced to make the trek someday. To comfort us when we get there, at least during spring and summer, are the freshly transplanted Frisco RoughRiders, the AA farm team for the ever-struggling Texas Rangers. Don't let streets like Tom Hicks Drive and Gaylord Parkway put you off. A handsome stadium that looks as much like a stage set as it does a ballpark puts its capacity 10,800 fans close to the field. Players sign autographs before the game, tickets are reasonable, and a huge mascot that bears a passing resemblance to a prairie dog is even fun to watch. What's more, the team consistently plays good ball, which is more than can be said for its brother in the bigs.

We know, we know: Alex Rodriguez has a $252 million contract, and for that kind of money, he should be able to play all four positions. Whatever. The oldest, most-played, least-interesting gripe about the Texas Rangers is the national media's bitching about A-Rod's contract. Bottom line is that he's also a perennial All-Star, consistently one of the game's top five all-around players. What's even better is that now he has a stellar young group of infielders around him--led by Michael Young, smooth as a pressed shirt, at second base. The corner infielders, Hank Blalock (third base) and Mark Teixeira (first base), should provide the club with hope and home runs for years to come. Now all that's left is a center fielder, a catcher, 11 pitchers...

We here at Best of Dallas Central tried to organize a road trip to Dodge City, Kansas, to catch the final game of this Fort Worth-based minor-league (United States Basketball League) expansion team. Too bad we missed it. The Rim Rockers lost 146-107. It would have been the perfect game to watch, because we wanted to see a team that was so bad it would be entertaining. The Rim Rockers were certainly that. They finished their first season with two wins, 28 losses. Next year, when you see the season-ticket holders in the front row cackling and whooping and cheering every bricked three-point shot, that'd be us. Hey, we were Mavericks fans in the '90s--we love awful ball.

Once again, this doughnut of a team (big hole in the middle) proved that what it lacks in muscle it makes up for in heart. Led by the clutch play of Nick Van Exel (see below), the Mavs proved once again they're the best ticket in town.

The Dallas Mavs owner often has doled out his cash in stupid ways (see Shawn Bradley, Raef LaFrentz, et al.), but the Fallen Patriot Fund, established in April by The Mark Cuban Foundation, is money well spent. (He kicked off the fund with a $1 million donation, and he matches all donations dollar for dollar up to 1 million bucks.) Designed to help families of military personnel killed or seriously injured in Iraq, the fund is a great example of putting your money where your mouth is.

The Bronco Bowl Entertainment Center, a family-fun staple for decades, passed away in August after battling a lengthy illness. Best known for its concerts, the complex was once one of the primary Texas outposts for televised bowling matches back in the day, and continued on as the premier place to rack up a few frozen turkeys until its death. It also had an extensive assortment of video arcade games, air hockey tables and Pop-A-Shot stations, as well as a wide variety of beverages that would get a man as big as 325 pounds "drunker than Cooter Brown," according to a longtime fan of the establishment. The Bronco Bowl Entertainment Center is survived by memories of $10 parking fees and a Home Depot.

One of the best things about Brookhaven's jogging track is the lack of crowds that afflict that other top jogging spot, White Rock Lake, so keep this one just between us. Brookhaven's two-mile course skirts the perimeter of the campus, and nearly half of it has a rubberized surface, so it's tender on the joints. The track winds through small patches of woods and past the school's athletic fields, offering a few gentle inclines to get that heart rate up. Better still, there are emergency call boxes along the route in the event you are: A) over 40, B) out of shape and C) too stupid to consult your doctor before beginning a running regimen.

After Nick Van Exel's gutsy performances in the playoffs, ESPN's Marc Stein asked Mark Cuban about NVE's big-game aptitude. "You can't say enough about Nick," Cuban replied. "I don't know how he walks around. I'm sure he has to get specially tailored pants, because he's scraping the ground every game." In other words, if you take the shots with the game on the line, it proves you have big balls. We couldn't agree (or be disturbed) more.

The area's best non-high school football team does not play at Texas Stadium. (Gee, ya think?) It is not the SMU Mustangs. (Gosh, ya sure?) No, the area's best footballers lay claim to Birdville Stadium in North Richland Hills. The Dallas Diamonds, the all-woman semipro football team--led by rookie linebacker/fullback Jessica Springer (the 5-foot-9, 210-pound can of whupass)--has pasted some of its early-season opponents, especially the Missouri Prowlers, whom the homegirls have beaten twice by a combined score of 138-0. Hey, Bill Parcells, you got a scout at their games yet? Couldn't hurt.

Sure, it's no longer brand-spanking-new, and the team that calls it home stinks, but the 49,166-seat stadium is, far and away, the most enjoyable spot for the sports fan to visit. It's comfy and clean, fan friendly and you can't beat the fresh summer air. And, when the Texas Rangers start muffing easy ground balls and the bullpen is doing its el foldo, there's still plenty to see and do. Visit the Legends of the Game Baseball Museum, Children's Learning Center or Friday's Front Row Grill. And the cold beer at the concession stands can quickly take your mind off the team's being in last place--again.

Since we work at the Observer--the unholiest of unholies--talking about God can get a little tricky. No need to pop up on his screen, you understand, lest he take note of all the bad things we've done and issue a collective smiting. Still, we're pretty sure the Big Guy has some other sinners ahead of us on his "to do" list. Chief among them: Deion Sanders. Prime Time recently was taken to court by a Dallas mechanic named Phil Compton, who claimed that Sanders paid only $1,500 of a more-than-$4,200 bill for repairs done on a 1961 convertible. Sanders, who never misses an opportunity to show that he's "down with the Lord," handed Compton a check and said, "Praise Jesus...I follow what in my heart I'm told to pay." The implication, obviously, was that the son of God gives great discounts, but only if you're in his good graces. More remarkably, a judge ruled in favor of Sanders in the case. The end result? A proposed 11th commandment: Thou shalt not pay a lot for that muffler.

It looked fairly bleak for the Dallas Mavericks after the Sacramento Kings pantsed them in Game 1. Here we go again, most thought, remembering the similar drubbings that occurred at the hands of those same Kings in last year's playoffs. Even we gave in and predicted the Mavs would be sent home after five games. And then Dirk Nowitzki and Co. put up 44 in the first quarter of Game 2, on their way to 83 for the half. To put this in perspective, most Eastern Conference games topped out at a few points shy of that mark after four quarters. Only our wedding day tops this on our list of all-time greatest moments. We're not even remotely kidding.

For less than seven bucks, it's possible to revisit that hardwood heaven that was vital to middle school social life. Roller-skating lives on, complete with spinning colored lights and a smooth-voiced DJ, at the White Rock Skate Center. Skates are included in the admission price, although patrons are welcome to bring their own (we've been showing off our pair of pink Puma "Roller Kitties"), provided they've had no concrete exposure, which will mar the rink floor. We're still shocked, though, at what little effort we used to put forth as youngsters, considering how sore and bruised we are after one night of rollin'. Parents can even skate free Sunday afternoons when they bring the little ones. A little advice, though: Don't skate too close to your kids; this could be the day of their first "couple skate," and you could end up on their list if you jeopardize their shot at a rolling slow-jam with the crush-of-the-week. The center also offers a damn fine snack bar with requisite pump-cheese nachos, and the refs put on quite a show mid-rink with their rubber-legged roller dance moves. Exercise, entertainment and memories await those who pass through the White Rock's doors, so strap on those familiar brown and orange wheels and hit the rink. Don't worry if it's been awhile; we're still known to cling to the walls when we get a bit shaky...and our apologies to the small child we careened into during a crazed attempt to get off the floor before the speed-skate.

There are players, and then there are playas. Word. Reggie Swinton is one of the latter. No, he's not that great a football player--seven catches for 63 yards last year is hardly impressive. But the man can straight rhyme. He's like one of the Fat Boys, only with slightly less talent. Shortly after the season ended, Swinton's first rap album dropped: Whatcha Gone Do? On wax, Swinton addressed socially pressing issues such as cars, hos, pimps and freaking. Thank you, Reggie, for going where no other rappers dared go. You kept it real, dawg. Unfortunately for the Cowboys, Swinton's CD was a highlight (maybe even the highlight) of the season. Well, nowhere to go from there but up. But we were wondering: Do you think new head coach Bill Parcells bumps Whatcha Gone Do? in his ride? Yeah, probably.

If you're the type who always wants to be first in the know about everything, then you'd better study up on Carly Patterson and Hollie Vise--because you'll probably be hearing a lot about them at next year's Olympic Games in Athens. Patterson and Vise, both 15, each train at the Plano-based World Olympics Gymnastics Academy, one of the country's premier gymnastics training grounds. In the recent World Gymnastics Championships, the pair helped the U.S. women win the team gold medal for the first time, as well as each pulling in an individual medal (Patterson a silver on the all-around, Vise a gold in the uneven bars). They're already heroes to the academy's current students--and an inspiration for more girls to follow in their footsteps.

Watching bad baseball is not our favorite pastime. Still, every now and again, usually after many beers or lotsa drugs, we find ourselves watching the Rangers. And, every now and again, we're thankful that we did. June 19, Texas at Oakland, was such a day. That afternoon, while covering second base on a steal attempt, All-Star Alex Rodriguez took his eye off the ball for a split second. Hilarity ensued. Rather than catching the throw from Einar Diaz with his glove, A-Rod stopped it with his face. Don't try that at home... Now we would never wish serious injury on anyone, which is why we were happy to see that no permanent damage was done to Rodriguez. The only thing bruised was his ego. Which, in turn, made it OK for us to laugh. Again and again. Even months later. And probably in the future, too. Thanks, pal.

Let's be honest: There's no way we can be trusted in this category anymore. We're too conflicted. Key members of the Best of Dallas crew are friends with Ticket personalities. Pop-culture columnist Robert Wilonsky spends as much time preparing for his intermittent Hard Line appearances as he does answering Marvel Comics fanboy e-mails. We'll just say that our favorite hour of the day on sports radio is from 7 p.m. to 8 p.m. on The Ticket, when we get 10 snippets of the day's best discussions, bits and interviews from all Ticket personalities, so that's the show we're awarding this honor. Besides, Mike Rhyner will just make more jokes about this paper's strip-club and phone-sex ads no matter who wins, so why bother? Oh, speaking of Rhyner: Dude, SugarDaddy69 left a message in your QuestPersonals voice-mail box that you might want to check out--he sounds delicious.

For years we've been beaten down with how "in tune" the Mavericks brass is with foreign basketball. They have contacts in former Iron Curtain states and Mediterranean hovels. Yes, they are omnipotent and omnipresent when it comes to overseas hoops. That's what we were told. Enter Antoine Rigaudeau, a midseason pickup whom almost no one, save Don and Donnie Nelson, had heard of. Rigaudeau, who's French, came to Dallas after playing the past six seasons in Italy. He reminded us a lot of the Spurs' Manu Ginobili, only with a lot less talent. Rigaudeau appeared in 11 games and averaged 1.5 points. Better yet, in one game, he drove the baseline only to air-ball a layup, prompting color commentator Bob Ortegel to quip: "That's the best play he's made as a Maverick." Sad but true. Which is why we're giving him this award; he garnered one more accolade than expected.

There's a lot to like about Christie's: The food's pretty good, the multiroom layout gives you a sense the place is larger than it really is, and the TVs carry most any game you wanna see. But we like Christie's for the pool tables. Not only can you play for half-price during happy hour on most days, they're not the typical bar short tables (the ones that you pop 75 cents into; the ones about as big as your dorm fridge). Come for the beer, eat the food and be sure to play with your stick. It's encouraged.

Seems like the guy's been around since the invention of electricity, but he's still the best, even if he does skip out too often to host a charity golf tournament or whatever it is he does when absent. While the Dallas area has a generous helping of quality sports anchors, Hansen separates himself from the pack simply by being Dale Hansen. Everyone else gives you the scores and an occasional well-done feature, but Hansen's the guy who shoots from the hip with opinion and even a nice touch of sarcasm now and then. Always keeping things in perspective, his sportscasts never sound like they're originating from the war-torn front lines.

Forget the stats, or lack thereof. Forget the fact that he makes many more millions of dollars than you or your friends or you and your friends combined. Think only of this: Without Chan Ho Park, what would the Texas Rangers medical staff do? The man is a terrible pitcher, sure, but damn if he doesn't keep the trainers and doctors busy and wealthy. From a sore this to a broken that, he's a regular hypochondriac who never misses a chance to go on the disabled list. And good for him. If he's not going to pitch, he may as well contribute in his own special way. Thanks, Chan Ho, from Dr. John Conway (team physician), Jamie Reed (head trainer) and Ray Ramirez (assistant trainer). Without you, their families wouldn't eat.