A few days after an awkward but undeniably emotional suite encounter on Opening Night, the Dallas Mavericks announced that they would retire Mark Aguirre’s jersey this January.
Number 24 is finally going
to the rafters.
Back in June, I wrote a piece titled Symmetry in the Rafters which made the quiet case for why this mattered — not just for Aguirre, but for a fanbase that’s been walking around wounded since February 1st, when the franchise traded away Luka Dončić in a move so inexplicable, most Mavs fans are still wearing thousand-yard stares.
So maybe this was low-hanging fruit.
Maybe this was a PR olive branch from a franchise with a dearth of goodwill.
Maybe Dumont had no idea who Aguirre was a few months ago.
And maybe none of that matters.
Because Mark Aguirre’s voice cracked, he was moved. And for a man who once said, “I didn’t know how I’d get back,” this was the moment.
The flawed messenger doesn’t invalidate the message. And a self-serving rationale behind doing the right thing doesn’t erase the fact that it was the right thing.
The Charlie Hough Principle
This may seem like a detour, but when I heard the news about Aguirre, I didn’t just think about Mavericks history.
I thought about Charlie Hough.
In 2003, the Texas Rangers launched their own team Hall of Fame. That first class included Nolan Ryan, Johnny Oates, Jim Sundberg… and Charlie Hough. If you’re under 40, there’s a good chance that name doesn’t ring out like the others. But there was something sacred in that selection.
Charlie became the face of the rotation in the lean years — a knuckleball artist whose pitch made catchers tremble. He was there in the weird years, the no-one’s-watching years. And even after he joined the expansion team down in Florida, even after the spotlight faded, there’s still footage of him — age 46 — throwing a complete game shutout with a pitch that moved like smoke.
Why does it matter?
Because when a franchise lifts a name like that into its Hall of Fame, it isn’t just giving a player their flowers. It’s creating a breadcrumb trail for the next generation. Some kid born long after Charlie Hough ever took the mound might fall in love with the Rangers after the 2023 World Series, start learning everything they can, scroll through the team Hall of Fame…
And stop on the name: Charlie Hough.
They look him up. Watch a few clips. Maybe even start learning how to throw a knuckleball in the backyard because of what they saw.
That’s what team honor really does. It isn’t about ceremony — it’s about posterity.
It says: This person mattered. And we want them to be remembered.
The Austerity of Memory
The Dallas Mavericks have not always been great at this.
Former owner Mark Cuban had a notoriously strict policy when it came to jersey retirements — one that often felt more personal than principled. As Jasmyn Wimbish noted in a recent CBS Sports column, Cuban once said in a 2022 radio interview:
“The way I’ve kind of looked at it, and it’s no disrespect to Mark (Aguirre), is guys who wanted to leave are going to have a harder time than guys who made the effort to stay.”
During Cuban’s tenure, the only player whose number was retired solely on his watch was Dirk Nowitzki’s #41. Derek Harper’s #12 went up in 2018 — a long overdue honor for a franchise legend — but Harper’s glory years predated Cuban’s ownership. In practical terms, Dirk was the only player from Cuban’s direct era who cleared the bar he set.
It wasn’t that Cuban didn’t care about history. He just set the bar impossibly high.
And in doing so, the rafters remained… unfinished.
For younger fans — especially those who came into the fold during the Luka years — the names Brad Davis, Rolando Blackman, and Derek Harper are just that: names. There’s no highlight reel looping above the concourse. No emotional tether to the Reunion Arena days. Just retired numbers with no context, and one very glaring omission: Mark Aguirre.
He wasn’t perfect. But he was ours.
He was the first #1 pick. The first franchise face. The man who averaged nearly 25 points a night over eight Dallas seasons and once dropped 29.5 PPG in a single campaign — a mark that stood as the franchise record for decades.
And until now, his name was not in the rafters.
Maybe Cuban was waiting for perfection. But legacy doesn’t wait.
It just… fades. Until someone remembers.
Who’s Next?
Now that number 24 is finally on its way home, it’s fair to ask: Who’s next?
To me, the answer is easy: Jason Terry.
The second-most important player on the only championship team in franchise history. The heartbeat. The bucket-getter. The Jet. Number 31.
And yes — one day, Luka Dončić’s 77 will be up there too. It will not happen while a certain executive still holds power. It may not happen under this ownership group.
But it will happen.
Because even if the Mavericks are trying to erase Luka from every forward-facing image they can control in 2025,
the great ones always find their way to the rafters. Even if it takes a while. Even if it happens after the damage is done.
The Real Meaning
Because at the end of the day, what does a jersey retirement really mean?
It doesn’t scream “Hall of Famer.” It doesn’t erase messy departures. It doesn’t rewrite history.
But it does consecrate a simple, beautiful truth:
You are worth remembering.
And you will be honored after you’re gone.
There will be a kid someday — maybe in the 2030s, maybe the 2040s — who walks into whatever casino palace monstrosity follows the AAC, looks up, and sees 24.
And maybe they ask: “Who was Mark Aguirre?”
And because the jersey is there — because someone finally did the right thing, even if awkwardly, even if late —that kid will find out.
They’ll see the footwork. The shoulder bump. The fadeaway that landed as softly as most free throws — the kind of shot that, like Charlie Hough’s knuckleball, defied physics with elegance.
They’ll understand that before Luka, before Dirk… there was Mark.
And they’ll know: He mattered.
