Those homewrecking charlatans. Those self-indulgent jerks. Those bastard sons of bitches.
We were in a relationship once, you know. For 41 years. Happily married. We entrusted them with our hearts and our souls. And then one day they ripped them to shreds.
But they didn’t just stop there.
The divorce was bitter. They took everything and left us with nothing but memories. They had all they needed, but still wouldn’t quit. They spun a dirty narrative: that we weren’t any good to them, that we didn’t do enough to keep them around, that it was our fault, that we were the bad guys.
What had we done besides faithfully devote ourselves to them? We showed up en masse, filled an arena to its gills, lived and died through the good seasons and the bad. They weren’t satisfied with leaving, though. They needed the rest of the world to scorn us, too.
Bad news is revealed, as Slickhawk has sabotaged the show by making a drunken bet that will ultimately force us to talk about something truly awful. Until that day comes, however, we can still focus on the present.
The Seahawks have an upcoming battle against the hated Dallas Cowboys, who happen to field one of the world’s worst human beings in Greg Hardy.
The NFL is a money-making machine that has found new, horrible ways to bring in more revenue.
The Mariners hired a new manager, Scott Servais, but is he the right fit for a team in perpetual disarray?
And grumpiness reigns supreme as the NBA season kicks off for the eighth time since Seattle lost its Supersonics.
Eight episodes in, eight weeks down. If we were a high school couple, this would be quite the milestone.
I know how you feel, Sonics fans. I feel the exact same way. We’re frustrated, exhausted, angry, disappointed, all of the above. Why should we care about the NBA anymore? Why should we give a damn about David Stern and his godforsaken league? All valid questions. All valid reasons to walk away from this situation that won’t seem to find its happy ending.
Frankly, it would be easier to quit at this point then continue investing our energy in a dream that may never become a reality. It would be easier to throw our hands up, turn our backs on the Association, and be done with pro basketball altogether.
I hate losing. I once sat in a 1991 Toyota Previa in the Factoria Square parking lot and bawled for an hour because I had pitched poorly in a Little League game and had cost my team a victory. My family went inside to eat dinner and I stayed in the van, refusing to eat, refusing to move. I don’t do well with defeat. I never have. Even now, there is little that can be done to assuage me when my team so much as drops a rec basketball game. I will either a) sit in grim silence for an entire car ride home, or b) verbally break down every single thing that went wrong on our failed quest for triumph. My friends deserve a lot of credit for dealing with that version of me that, to this day, struggles to cope with losing.
I guess in many ways it’s ironic that I am a Seattle sports fans — I don’t know how to lose, and seemingly all my teams do is just that. My whole life, I’ve encountered failure from these entities I hold so dear to me, and yet I’ve never learned how to accept the bitter taste of defeat. I sat through an entire childhood of Seahawks futility, labored through thousands (literally, thousands) of Mariner losses, had seats in the upper level for every home game of the only 0-12 season in University of Washington football history, then paid witness to the ultimate heartbreak when the Sonics were taken from us and moved to Oklahoma City.
Got rid of every player on the Kings roster. Except Isaiah Thomas.
Got Carmelo Anthony, Dwyane Wade, Lebron James, and Ray Allen in exchange.
IT’S A NEW BEGINNING, SONICS FANS!
*Disclaimer: Please understand that this trade would never happen. Ever. The moral of the story is that the NBA is coming back to Seattle, the Sonics are alive again, and playing with ESPN’s Trade Machine is once again relevant to us. Enjoy it, Sonics fans. We’re back.
The accountant who leases the office space in my company’s building has never said much more than a casual “Hello” to me in two-and-a-half years. I always politely greet him in return, and we’ll occasionally share a “How ya doing?” followed by a “Good, good. You?” We may have exchanged comments on the weather a few times, and perhaps even celebrated the occasional TGIF moment as we’ve checked out for the weekend. But in all, we’ve never really talked about anything of substance.
There’s a clerk at the grocery store I stop at on my way to work. He’s silver-haired, probably in his early-fifties. I’ve watched him interact with other patrons, as well as his coworkers. He has a sense of humor and a gregarious personality. He’s likable and appears to be well-liked. He can deliver a joke and is quick with a laugh. We had never spoken before, until one day when I stood in the aisle perusing cold drinks and heard to my left an abrupt, “Hey!”
There has been a lot of misinformation surrounding the general public sentiment towards Chris Hansen’s Seattle arena project. Much of that misinformation has stemmed from poorly-worded and what many consider to be biased — yes, biased — polls.
To clear up any confusion, we here at Seattle Sportsnet have decided to issue a poll of our own. We want to see how local citizens really feel about this new arena that could one day house our beloved Supersonics, as well as an NHL team, concerts, conventions, other sporting events, parties, and other fun things that make life worth living.
This is a simple poll. It’s multiple choice. You can either vote “Yes” or “No.” It’s that easy. Here you go:
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.
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!
As you already know, we need a professional basketball team in this city. Ours was stolen from us like a pair of kicks from Foot Locker. This is where you come in.
Now as you may have heard, the NBA is seizing the New Orleans Hornets franchise, as their owner is basically a delinquent malcontent (okay, malcontent is a little strong of a word, but you get the point). The league is more or less foreclosing on the organization, looking to flip it at a discounted rate to the highest bidder. Being one of the richest men in the world, you’re as ideal a candidate as any to own this basketball team.
Of course, there’s the matter of an arena. I actually feel kind of bad asking this of you, but do you think you could go ahead and foot the bill for a state-of-the-art venue in the Greater Seattle area? Because that’s what it will really take to land the Hornets here in the Emerald City. The cost of the team is petty cash. It’s the new multi-purpose facility that will really set you back.
I miss the NBA. I love the NBA. I’m not going to lie, and tell you that the NBA means nothing to me since it left Seattle. The NBA still means a lot to me, in spite of the pain it has caused.
I grew up with the NBA. Watched it every Saturday morning on NBC. Watched Sonics games on KSTW, channel 11. Watched All-Star Weekend religiously. Even watched NBA Inside Stuff with Ahmad Rashad, who, if you’re my age or younger, is better associated with basketball than football.
I love the NBA enough to watch Portland Trailblazers games as often as possible, whenever they happen to be broadcast in the Seattle area. And I like the Blazers on top of that. Been to a few games in person, in fact. I know that’s absolute blasphemy to some Sonics fans, but it’s generational.
Back in the ’70s and ’80s it was impossible to root for both the Sonics and Blazers. But from about 1990 on, the I-5 rivalry lost its luster. Neither team was particularly great at the same time as the other. When the Blazers were up, the Sonics were down, and vice versa. And now the Sonics are gone. So what’s left to hate, really?
I was checking Seattle Sportsnet’s Facebook profile this morning when I came across an invitation to join the LeBron-Timberwolves group. I was about to decline the invitation, based on relevance, when I paused and thought twice about the issue.
First, what are the odds that LeBron actually signs with Minnesota in the summer of 2010? I’d say somewhere around one-in-a-billion. Maybe one-in-a-trillion. King James will become a Timberwolf (Timberwolve?) around the same time that Rush Limbaugh fathers a child of Afro-Mexican ethnicity.
Second, why not root for the underdog? If LeBron actually did sign with the Minnesota Timberwolves it would be the feel-good story of the century. The lowly T-Wolves. Whudathunkit?