Smug Yankees Player: We just wanna say, you guys played a good game. And we treated you pretty unfair all season, we want to apologize. We still don’t think you’re all that good a baseball team…you got guts, all of you.
Tanner Boyle: Hey, Yankees! You can take your apology AND your trophy and shove ’em straight up your ass!
In a perfect world, a sinkhole would open up directly beneath Oklahoma City and the entire municipality would just fall right in. There. I said it. And no, I’m not sorry. We’ve all thought it before. We just never say it. Because we’re taking the high road, after all. That’s who we are. We turn the other cheek. Oh, you want our basketball team? Well, alright. We don’t like this one bit. But we won’t speak ill of you so much as we’ll just petition the league for a new team. Because that’s what it’s all about, right? Everyone should get a team. This is Utopia. Teams for all!
F**k that shit.
It’s time we just let out our frustration. You know what put me over the edge? This f**king article and these f**king t-shirts. You’re really gonna tell me how I should feel about something that hurts? You’re really gonna twist the knife, piss on the ashes of an entire city’s collective soul, then have the nerve to laugh about it? I’m sorry, but the high road only extends so far. At some point, you’ve stooped so low that no matter what anyone else says or does, they’ll never quite stoop to your level. So with that in mind, I will momentarily exit this high road for one only slightly above that path you’ve begun to travel, Thunder fans. Let me lay some reality on you real quick.
First of all, you know nothing about what it feels like to really be a fan of that team you like to call your own. NOTHING. We have forty-one years of history with the franchise you’ve enjoyed for a mere four seasons. We’ve been there for the good times and the bad, the ups and the downs, the lows of the Robert Swift-Johan Petro-Mouhamed Sene era, and the highs of the Shawn Kemp-Gary Payton-George Karl magic carpet ride. We have a championship to our credit. A title. One that you’ve had fall in your laps as the result of a kidnapping. Congratuf**kinglations. You really earned the crap out of that. Enjoy your empty achievement. You might get the distinction on paper, but you can never have the memories or the experiences that go along with our triumph. Your team is a paper f**king lion.
We hate it when you win, but we hate it more when you apologize to us. Like you can empathize with our plight. Like you feel really bad for all the shit you give us behind closed doors, when you’re rejoicing over the fact that your short-bus-riding owner actually pulled a heist out of his behind. Hey guys. We’re really sorry we f**ked you over like that. We don’t give a damn about your hollow apology, and we certainly don’t want to let you use your false sympathy as justification for telling us to get over this already. We can get over this painful shit whenever we want to. Until then, keep your f**king mouths shut and stay the f**k away. We’re in mourning, jerks.
Look, I don’t want to generalize, because I’m sure Oklahoma City is a much nicer place filled with much nicer people than many Seattleites would care to imagine. But come on. You have so many douchebags running around the internet firing their metaphorical pistols in the air that it’s almost impossible not to associate your entire township with epic douchebaggery. That’s a problem you all need to work out on your own. Until then, we’ll just go ahead and throw all of you into that obnoxious Ed Hardy-plastered, pop-collared basket of douche together. Think of it as your own trendy nightclub.
Go back and read that article linked above by Brian Phillips, alleged Thunder fanatic, but admitted soccer lover. How much validation does that unfortunate-looking mouth-breather need to get through each day? Hey, Seattleite. I’m thinking of you. This helps me sleep at night. I’m gonna go ahead and tell you how life should be now because, as a result of my overwhelming concern for you, I’m allowed to do that. I love the fact that we have this team of yours. But one ounce of my being isn’t okay with my own personal glee because you might not appreciate me for feeling this good. What should I do, Seattleite? Do you like me yet, Seattleite? Do ya? I need to be liked, Seattleite. Please like me, Seattleite! Like me, like me, like me!
Stick a fork in it, Oklahoman.
Here’s the thing. We don’t want your sympathy. Fact is, you should feel good about your team’s success. You should. That’s part of being a sports fan. But let’s leave it at that. You don’t need to keep reminding us that you’re doing all right over there. We’re the scorned ex-lover who’s watching their former mate get on with their life before we’re ready. It happens. Just leave us be. If you want to poke fun at us, laugh at us, treat us like crap while you run up the score, then fine. But you’ll hear about it. We will make sure the world has a bad impression of that place you call home.
So until we get our Sonics back, until the world is right again, you can take your apology and our trophy and shove ’em straight up your ass. We don’t need your shit, Oklahoma.