I Don't Even Know
This blog has stood abandoned for almost 6 months. During that time, I've almost never even had the urge to write anything. I started blogging in 2004, which seems like a lifetime ago when it comes to the sports blogosphere. Eventually, my own malaise and burnout with sports caught up with me, and I gave the site the heave-ho. Since then, there have been any number of topics that might have been worth writing about.
Tonight, I don't even know what to say. Ever since Howard Schultz sold the Supersonics, a part of me knew this day was coming. Even after the city (and then Schultz) filed lawsuits, I could never get really optimistic. There was too much money at stake, and at least the perception of too-little fan interest to make a protracted battle attractive for the city.
Still, through it all, I maintained at least a shred of hope that someone would come to their senses. That David Stern, the owners, or someone in the NBA would realize that even if Oklahoma City deserves an NBA franchise, this is the wrong way to do it. That allowing such a blatant act of larceny to receive the NBA's seal of approval would strike someone as wrong (and bad long-term business). That fans en masse would realize that by continuing to ignore it when an owner hijacks a team with the league's consent, it merely ensures that it will happen again and again (maybe even to bring a new team to Seattle).
I don't even know what to be most upset about. Is it the loss of Kevin Durant after just one year? That he may turn out to be a Hall of Famer, with his time in Seattle being little more than a curious historical tidbit? The fact that if I choose to raise a family here, I'll never be able to share my love for basketball with my children? Or just the fact that I'll never be able to watch an NBA game again (a league which used to be my favorite) without at least some serious heartache?
In the end, tonight at least I'm mourning more for the past then the future. My mom broke her foot jumping up and down when the Sonics won the 1979 NBA Championship. I learned the game of basketball from watching Ricky Pierce, Nate McMillan, and the rest of the early 90s teams. I learned that man was not bound by gravity from watching Shawn Kemp, learned that perhaps the greatest joy in sports was watching your guy utterly humiliate another player by dunking on him, and then gloating about it over their prostrate body. I learned that a man can play Hall of Fame basketball while never shutting up from watching Gary Payton, and I learned that life can give you great heartache (the Nuggets in 1994) and great joy (the Jazz in 1996). All along, I knew that if given my choice, I'd take a Sonics title over any other. I wasn't born the first time it happened, and now it will never happen again.
Look, I understand that sports are a business, and that while owners, leagues, and players pay lip service to fans they know that we'll support teams no matter what. For every fan the NBA lost in Seattle today (or over the last few years), they've certainly made themselves plenty in Oklahoma City. And fans of the other 29 teams might feel some sympathy for my cause, but that's not going to keep them from showing up, even when the OKC team comes to town.
The vengeful part of me wants the team to fail miserably in Oklahoma City. While I have nothing against the players in particular, I wouldn't exactly shed tears if Kevin Durant lost a leg in a combine accident tomorrow. Furthermore, you'll get no sympathy out of me if the team struggles in Oklahoma, as they're likely to do unless Sam Presti really does know more than just about everyone. The team, and the league, falling flat on their face would perhaps be the final piece of evidence we need to see that the NBA's business model flat out sucks. The Sonics may have just moved, but Memphis, New Orleans, Sacramento, Indiana, Minnesota, Charlotte, Atlanta, and others could easily join them in the not-to-distant future.
However, a large part of me is just flat-out done. The anger is there, but tempering it is a pervasive feeling of powerlessness. In the end, my fandom didn't mean dick to the NBA, to Clay Bennett, or even to the City of Seattle. All the times I cursed a bad call, cheered a great play, ran through trades on RealGM, or did any of the other things that make us fans no longer have any meaning. We follow sports because they allow us to, for a time, suppress all the pressing issues of our lives: for 2 1/2 hours, we live and die with our surrogate warriors. Sure, it could be argued that such escapism is wasteful, sophomoric, or even damaging, but in the end sports can bring us a kind of joy that few other things (or so I've been told). While the Mariners or Seahawks may someday win a title, the joy I'll feel at that moment will be tempered by the fact that I know I'm settling for less than my dream.
Of course, the NBA might return to Seattle one day, whether by expansion, re-location, or even Howard Schultz's lawsuit. But like a spouse who's been cheated on, nothing will ever be the same. Sure, I might one day care for an NBA team again. I might even get to experience that joy of seeing them win a championship. But nothing is ever as good as your first love, and today that love died.
See also: NBA, Seattle Supersonics, Why Fans are Ultimately Powerless, Why Sports are Evil
