Take a look at this ESPN poll. Anything seem weird there?
The first time the Zonics come to town to face the Sonics, I plan on blowing this photo up, sticking it on posterboard, and writing YOU PEOPLE ARE IDIOTS underneath. Keep it simple, right?
Bring back our Sonics.
Imagine, for a minute, that I am a pimp boss. I run this town. I oversee all the pimps on these streets and offer them my protection. I also coordinate their hos. Here ho, go to this pimp, he’ll treat you real nice. That’s how I do it.
Now imagine that you are my top pimp. You’re damn good at what you do. You take your hos out to the track on Pacific Highway South and pull in thousands of dollars every single night. I don’t know how you do it, I just know that I get my biggest cut from you, so in turn, I like you. We get along, you and I. I’m a fan of yours. You’re good to me, I’m good to you, it works.
Now let’s pretend that we just got this new chick. She’s fine. Real fine. She probably shouldn’t be doing this, but we don’t tell her that. This girl could be a model if she wanted to be. But for some reason she wants to turn tricks. So whatever, it’s cool. We can help her out. We’ll call her Brandy.
I’m wearing a Sonics sweatshirt today. It’s green, it has a hood, it zips up, it’s nice.
I wore a Sonics t-shirt yesterday. Grey. It’s my favorite shirt. I wear it every week. There’s a faded stain underneath the screen print that most people don’t notice. I get a little self-conscious about blemishes on my clothing, but this one doesn’t bother me so much.
I have a trash can in my room. It’s a Sonics trash can. Right now it’s lined with a plastic shopping bag from Target. This morning, I noticed the bag was obscuring the green-and-gold logo on the exterior. I rearranged the bag. I want people to see that logo when they walk in.
I have a hoop on my bedroom door. When I dunk on it, I’m Shawn Kemp. When I shoot jumpers, I’m Detlef. When I kiss it off the glass, I’m G.P. When I miss, I’m Sene.
I like to search “seattle sonics” on YouTube and see what comes up. I like to mutter “Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuupersonics” quietly under my breath when no one else is around. I get a little excited when I overhear names like “Eddie Johnson” in casual conversation.
The NBA likes to pretend we don’t exist. That we don’t care about them and as a result they, in turn, don’t have to care about us. Seattle? Where’s Seattle? Is that a village or something? What is that?
We had our basketball team stolen from us and relocated a thousand miles away in the middle of God-knows-where. That was bad enough, certainly. But it was made worse by the fact that we were repeatedly slandered after the pillaging. That the thieves made off with our prized possession, then tried to convince the masses that we didn’t care about being hijacked. Seattle fans are apathetic, they said. Seattle fans don’t deserve our product. Seattle fans haven’t been showing up to games, or cheering for their team, or even giving a damn about what happens on the court with their Sonics. Seattle fans weren’t good enough, they claimed.
The best dunker in the NBA right now…has a perm. If this were a matter of determining who the best dunker in NBA history with a perm was, then by all means Blake Griffin would win. He would edge out Paul Mokeski by a landslide. In fact, it might be a unanimous decision in Griffin’s favor. But sadly for the Clippers’ young forward, greatness is not determined by the hair upon one’s head.
If greatness were, in fact, determined by the hair upon one’s head, then Shawn Kemp would not only be the best dunker of all-time with a tilted flattop fade, but also the best dunker of all-time, period. End of story. You know he was the greatest. It goes without saying. And that fade? It was filthy. F-I-L-T-H-Y. How many people have you ever seen with a tilted flattop fade? One. Shawn F**kin’ Kemp. Nobody else has ever dared to do that with their ‘do. And if they tried? People would just laugh and call them Shawn Kemp imposters. Because Kemp was that prolific. Pro-effing-lific.
I like Blake Griffin. I do. For a guy who looks like the offspring of Cory Matthews and a Monstar, he’s pretty good. He plays a decent game. He fields lob passes nicely. He can navigate a Kia with the best Korean drivers in the world. He’s even made me a part-time Clippers fan (full-time Sonics fan, however…that will never change). But when it comes to dunking, he is the senpai to Kemp’s sensei. Bow to your sensei, Blake Griffin. Bow to him!
One for every f**king year of history we have.
1. We’re the Seattle Supersonics, the only team in NBA history to have the word “Super” in our nickname. That’s not by accident. We’re super awesome.
2. We used to play our games in the Coliseum, which is so highly thought of that the Romans named their ancient structure after our much more modern one.
Why? Why the hell not? If this doesn’t brighten your day, your day is unbrightenable. Bring back the Sonics.
It was a good try.
A great idea. A worthy cause. A lackluster effort.
Yes. It’s been said. Because it had to be said.
The Hoops 206 Charity Basketball Classic had the potential to be an AMAZING event. But as most people who were in attendance would probably agree, it was little more than okay.
I’ll be honest. I wasn’t expecting a huge to-do at Saturday’s get-together in Key Arena. I knew this event was only lightly promoted and, based on last-minute two-for-one ticket sales being offered, likely to be lightly attended.
Even with low expectations, however, “H206″ failed to impress. Which hurts to say, but was painfully evident to those of us in the seats. While the game itself was a relative success, there was something left to be desired in nearly every other realm of the production.
Eighth Commandment, bitch. Down with the Zonics. Glad it’s done. That was like killing Shredder in the Secret of the Ooze, but it’s over now. Congrats to Mark Cuban, the one owner who’s always stood by Sonics fans. You deserve this, dude. Go Mavs.
Check out this excerpt from an article entitled Whistled While They Worked in the May 30th issue of ESPN The Magazine. ESPN’s Kenny Mayne interviews a panel of sports figures notorious for running afoul of the rules, including Dallas Mavericks owner Mark Cuban. Here’s how the article comes to its conclusion:
Mayne: Are you worried about fallout because you spoke candidly about referees?
Cuban: There’s always a risk of my getting fined. But in this case there’s no solid ground.
Mayne: What if in the transactions it said, “Mark Cuban fined $100,000 for talking to that bastard Kenny Mayne from Seattle, the city we stripped of a franchise”?
Cuban: That would be money well spent.
In the words of Jeffrey Spicoli, “Awesome. Totally awesome.”
Thank you, Mark Cuban.
Go Mavs.
The Oklahoma City Thunder just won a playoff series for the first time in their brief, three-year history, and I’d like to take this opportunity to pay proper homage to their enormous accomplishment. Congratulations, f**kers. You earned it. Kind of.
You know what, it’s about time we took out some venom on OKC. We’ve spent all this time blaming Clay Bennett, blaming David Stern, blaming Howard Schultz. Why not let the benefactors of Seattle’s greatest heist have it for once, right?
First of all, Oklahoma City, you’ve got nothing on Seattle. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. Let me ask you a question. Does anyone in that town of yours even play basketball? Anybody? Because in Seattle, we play on asphalt monuments emblazoned with the logo of OUR TEAM all over the city.
I remember when I got my first Sonics jersey. The year was 1995. I was in fourth grade, ten years old at the time.
It wasn’t the jersey I really, truly wanted. Every kid in school wore KEMP or PAYTON on his back. I wanted to wear KEMP or PAYTON, too. But I had to settle for McMILLAN. These replica jerseys — watered-down mesh imitations made by Champion — sold for forty dollars at regular price. This particular jersey, bearing the name and number of the team’s most unsung player, was on clearance, and therefore affordable enough to go home with me on this day. Thus, I became the only kid at Medina Elementary with the uniform of one Nate McMillan.
(My little brother, meanwhile, became quite possibly the only kid in history with a Sarunas Marciulionis Sonics’ jersey…it was the only jersey they had on sale in his size.)
There are some people you just don’t like.
For example, today I was playing pickup basketball when a dude that I don’t really know all that well kept fouling me. Every shot I took, he’d run beneath me, undercutting my follow-through so that I landed awkwardly. It’s one of the dirtiest moves in sports. You just don’t undercut people on the basketball court. It’s like hitting below the belt in boxing. It’s a no-no.
It’s not just that he was fouling me today that bugged me. This was the second week in a row that dude had performed these annoyingly dangerous little tactics. I had asked him to stop last week and he didn’t. So this week I didn’t ask him. I just hit him. And I told him never to do it again. Sometimes you just gotta hit people. Let that be a lesson, kids: Always keep it real.
There’s really no nice way to spin this. It hurts. The Zombie Sonics obtaining a Husky legend? It’s the absolute twisting of the knife.
I hope Clay Bennett walks outside his residence today and gets hit by a bus.
I hope Nate goes and tears it up in OKC.
I hope David Stern gets kicked in the balls.
That is all.
Nate should be a Sonic right now. Bring back our team.
Forty-one years of history.
Two All-Star Game MVPs (Lenny Wilkens, 1971; Tom Chambers, 1987).
Three All-NBA First Team selections (Spencer Haywood, 1972 and 1973; Gus Williams, 1982; Gary Payton, 1998 and 2000).
Seven All-NBA Second Team selections (Spencer Haywood, 1974 and 1975; Dennis Johnson, 1980; Gus Williams, 1980; Shawn Kemp, 1994, 1995, and 1996; Gary Payton, 1995, 1996, 1997, 1999, and 2002; Vin Baker, 1998; Ray Allen, 2005).
Three All-NBA Third Team selections (Dale Ellis, 1989; Gary Payton, 1994 and 2001; Detlef Schrempf, 1995).
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