Homecoming

 Professional athletes are the most transient of creatures. Let's begin with that "well, duh" this morning.

Let's begin by saying today's pro is a '30s vagabond riding rails paved not with despair but with eight-or-nine figures, back-loaded and incentive-heavy. They move through the world dressed in Saint Laurent and Dolce & Gabbana, and their boxcar is a Gulfstream 5. They're Tom Joad with a numbered account in the Caymans and a portfolio thicker than a filet mignon.

All of which makes you think a mailing address would just be a mailing address to them. And also to the fans who understand how the game is played these days, and thus learn to keep their heartstrings to themselves.

However.

However, this does not explain what happened in Dallas last night.

Luka Doncic came home, is what happened. 

Came back to Dallas with his new team, the Los Angeles Lakers, and discovered that  transience is sometimes just a word in the dictionary. He's been gone two months now after spending 6 1/2 years in Big D, but damned if the place can't quit him.

A tribute video played on the big screen, and Luka's vision got all blurry. Mavericks fans waved "Welcome Home, Luka" signs. And, yeah, they filled the place with "Fire Nico!" chants, in honor of Nico Harrison, the head of basketball operations who shipped Luka off to the Lake Show.

Nico was there last night for all of it, hiding back in the shadows somewhere. And no doubt wondering when the hell the fan base was going to just let ... it ... go.

Sorry there, rough rider. But it wasn't gonna be last night.

Last night, there was that video, and then Luka swallowed the lump in his throat and gave the fans what they came for.  Dropped a cool 45-spot, tying his season high. The Lakers bounced the Mavs like a Superball, 112-97, and when Luka came out at the end of  his 45-point, eight-rebound, six-assist, four-steal night, the crowd rose and tore its throats out bellowing his name.

Luka! Luka! Luka! ...

Six-and-a-half years were in that cry. 

Pain and longing and memory were in it.

Love that transcended transience was in it; loyalty that defeated distance and the bloodless ritual of transaction.  And that, for one moment and one night, reminded us why the games of children matter so much to us.

Luka! Luka! Luka! ...