Didn’t expect this one coming. Crying for the Sonics. Puh-lease. But, here I am, reading the Bill Simmons sports column, his longest piece to date, filled with fans emailed reactions to the situation with the Sonic leaving, and I’m crying.
Frankly, I haven’t thought to much about it until now. That is the Sonics heading to Oklahoma City. I accepted that business is business and that a team that hadn’t been run properly for some time would finally get a new infusion of money and enthusiasm. I can’t say I understood why moving to OK would be a better market, but I’m not a basketball team investor with that kind of specific knowledge, so who am I to fervently question such a move. Surely they would want the team to be in the place where it would be most appreciated and the games would be well attended.
I must admit, the Sonics are not my team of favor to cheer for, I’m a UW Basketball fan through and through (a painful season it has been), and Manchester United fan next. But in reading an email included in the column, written by a fellow young fan from Seattle named Porter, I’m struck by how much this team has meant to me and maybe still does:
I am 22 years old and grew up (much like you) in the heyday of the local basketball team, the Seattle Supersonics. I grew up with Gary Payton and his ridiculous Fresh Prince flattop in the early ’90s. Shawn Kemp dunking on anyone and everyone (check out top-10 Shawn Kemp dunks on YouTube). Big Smooth always looking stoned and refusing to jump on his jump shots, but inexplicably making most of them. Detlef imitating Dirk before anyone knew who Dirk was. Mac 10 providing the spark off the bench with gritty D and timely threes. And do not forget about the heart and soul of the team … Steve ‘The Chef’ Scheffler, who was an 11 out of 10 on the Bill Simmons Unintentional Comedy Scale. If you were at the Key for any of those playoff games in the mid-’90s, you would understand that Seattle is a basketball town. You think the 12th man at Seahawks games are loud? Try listening to the KeyArena crowd when Karl Malone was at the stripe in Game 7 of the Western Conference finals.
By the end of this, and after reading the preceding emails, I’m in tears. I’ve become jaded and detached from what in my youth I revered, I honestly didn’t know I cared so much.
When I saw my team up against Michael Jordan, I was proud. Even when they lost. At least they lost to Jordan. When my dad’s buddy got Shawn Kemp’s sweaty towel, thrown randomly into the stands after the game, it was a very memorable moment from my youth. (Incidentally Shawn Kemp wasn’t as stinky as I thought he would be.) In reading further, these and other memories rush back into my head, and I’m feeling overwhelmed by my unrealized attachment to the team. Even now, I feel strangely calmed by long-time Sonics announcer Kevin Calabro’s effortless play-by-play.
So. Here we are. With an arena recently rebuilt to better accommodate a professional basketball team, but new owners who want more. With the city’s oldest professional team already having one foot out the door. With a business where nobody is on the side of the fan, not even the city government itself. With a town that is eagerly waiting to bleed green again.
Now that I’ve thought about it, evaluated the angles, and seen other responses, I can say that I truly have lost faith. Not just in the Sonics, but in professional sport in America in general. When did they forget that without their fans they have nothing? Or maybe they haven’t forgotten about all of the fans. Just the ones who don’t reside in luxury boxes.