This is straying a bit from the usual subject matter for this blog, but I have to vent.
I've been a Sonic fan as long as I can remember. They arrived in Seattle, the same year I was born. On the heels of hosting the World's Fair, being awarded an NBA franchise was validation for this city that we were really on our way to becoming a world-class city.
When the Supes hired Bill Russell as head coach, I celebrated. When they fired Bill Russell, I celebrated. When they arrived at Boeing Field as World Champions after beating the Washington Bullets, I was there, along with about 10,000 of my closest friends. My dad and I had season tickets in the nosebleed section of the Kingdome. I still have my green and gold t-shirt from the "Top of the Dome" club, which reads "I love the Seattle Supersonics". The t-shirt doesn't fit anymore, but I've always worn my Sonic loyalty proudly.
I was in the press conference room at City Hall when I got the word that the city had settled, and the Sonics were moving. Just writing about it makes me sick to my stomach. I've gotten used to the feeling, because the nausea initially set in two years ago when Howard Schultz sold the team to Clay Bennett and his band of thieves from Oklahoma City.
I'm in the mood to point fingers.
It's easy to point at Howard Schultz. Why couldn't he see that these guys had no intention of staying here, when all the rest of us knew immediately what a sale to Oklahoma City-based owners meant? The answer is, Schultz did know what it meant, and that's why he did it. Schultz and his group lost tens of millions every season, and had the exact same complaints about the lease, and the arena that Bennett aired in court. Schultz couldn't get the city or the state legislature to budge, and neither could Bennett.
It would be easy to point a finger at Barry Ackerley, who sold the team to Schultz. Ackerley had big plans for a new arena. He wanted to bring NHL hockey to Seattle, but the Coliseum wasn't sufficient. In the early 90's his ideas to build a multi-purpose arena on the site where Safeco Field now stands were rebuffed by the city. So Ackerley made a bandaid fix to KeyArena, and configured it such a way that NHL hockey would never be able to be housed there. 15 years after the remodel, the bandaid has worn away. The arena isn't good enough for NBA basketball. It's not even good enough for WHL hockey. The T-birds are gone in January, moving south to the new Kent Events Center.
What's the common thread in all this? The problems with the arena, and the city's unwillingness--until it was far too late--to address it. If you're going to point a finger of blame, the city and state legislature is where to aim. Ackerley couldn't deal with them, so he got out from under the lease. Schultz couldn't deal with them, so he sold the team to outside owners. And guess what? The new owners couldn't deal with the legislature either, and frankly, didn't care, which thrusts us basketball fans into the nightmarish scenario we are in. The Sonics are gone, and nobody knows if NBA basketball will ever come back. The city's "scorched earth" policy, as NBA commissioner David Stern put it, in the midst of a flurry of lawsuits and threats, has damaged hopes of landing a new franchise.
The smiles on the faces of city officials in announcing the compromise was telling. They weren't smiling about the good deal they brokered for basketball in Seattle, because they clearly never really cared about that. It was a relieved smile. They got some money in their pocket, and now they won't have to deal with those pesky Sonics anymore.
--Bill Wixey
Here's Rick Turner's take:
Any child of divorce can relate to the feelings that percolate after hearing news of the Sonics leaving today. Memories of that tumultuous time in my own life came flooding back as I tried to analyze how I feel about this team leaving.
At first you cover your ears, hide under a pillow and hope that the fighting will stop. You do your best to ignore the dysfunction surrounding you everyday and pretend that everything is fine.
Then reality sets in. They’re not coming back and you get mad. Questions flood your mind… “How could they leave me?”, “What did I do wrong?”, “What could I have done to make them stay?”. Anger, betrayal and hate set up tent in the yard of your mind’s windmills.
In our case, Seattle’s NBA team left for another woman. And she’s ugly. What was he thinking? He left for HER? I don’t want anything to do with them.
Anger turns to misery. Misery turns to sadness and after a while, sadness turns to acceptance. The Sonics are gone. They aren’t coming back.
Nothing in Seattle’s professional basketball life will ever be the same. A new “step-team” will not be the same. It can be fun and ‘nice’. Just like a step parent. So, we’ll get dressed up, smile at the wedding and might, in time, learn to really like this “step-team”. But we know not to get too close. What’s to prevent another break up? So we agree to like you and support you and to be a part of your life… but you’ll never again have the complete and unconditional love that you once did. We can’t take that chance.
I’ll cling to my own memories. Like the time the Sonics and I went to Disneyland together or when we used to go camping or when they came to my piano recital. Those are great times to remember and no one can take those away but I know now that they will never return.
If I get a new “step-team”, I’m sure that I will learn to like them over time. I’ll be happy that the community is happy. And I know that it is something that we need. We don’t want to die alone and without an NBA team. We’ll call them the Sonics but everyone will know that they really aren’t the “Sonics”. We’ll cheer with them and curse them and cry with them but we will never again have what we are losing.
All I can say to David Stern is that…
He may re-marry my city… but I’ll never call him dad.
--Rick Turner, Snoqualmie
Jeff Robinson chimes in:
In '79, a friends mom took a few of us to the Sonics Parade. Missed school, the whole deal.
DJ was my favorite. Freddy, Gus, Simka (spelling intentional), et al... Yes they were great, but DJ was the man. Both ends of the floor, the rise, the D, the redemption of 2 for 12 in Game 7 the year before.
Anyway, it was hotter than Alba that June day, and I had a fistful of confetti. There simply was one man who earned that confetti, and he was 'ol 2-4. I was going to get him, and only him.
Shelton....Awtry....Downtown....when will he be here???? It felt like hours, but DJ finally came into view. "That's my guy" I said to myself, with awe and excitement. As his convertable approached, I readied for the toss.
Unfortunately for DJ, I learned what palm sweat was that day. I let loose with a Moyer-like fastball, expecting confetti to shower The Champion. Instead, DJ got 4,000 wadded up punch holes right in the mug. Like a boxer brushing off a stiff jab, he went right back to waving and smiling, soaking it all in.
Fast forward 12 years. Omar (Parker) and I get invited to play in a benefit game, billed as "Sonic Legends vs. Mercer Island Alums". Downtown, Ricky Sobers, Dean Tolson...ok, not exactly the best of the best, but these were REAL SONICS! Ed (Pepple, the legendary Mercer Island High School coach) is coaching us of course, and he finally puts Om and me in the game. The MI gym feels full. There's a buzz. It's like the good old days, except for two things: 1) Ed's not gonna yank me if I miss, and 2) that's not Action JJ or Mianos in Stockton's.
So we check in, and the memories flood my mind. I look at Nitz. He looks me back. We smile. I say, "who do you want?". He shrugs. So I say, "I got Slick, you got Gus". I have chicken skin just thinking about it right now!
So we go up and down a few times, and nothing crazy happens. Except for the SIZE. The SPEED. The SKILL. Its unbelievable.
So we get the ball back, and O brings it down. You can tell when he's gonna fire it, and you don't have to have played with him for 15 yrs to know.
He crosses mid court, and Gus has him. But he's sagging off, and he is the one guy in the gym who is caught off guard when the hard dribble is laid down 23 feet from the hoop, and the left hand let's it fly. WHAP! Right in Gus' eye! 3 ball from straight away.
We five, and Gus looks at Om and says, "Oh, its like that"?!, with a huge grin. Of course Gus gets it right back, takes one dribble over mid court, gives his patented shake, and rises up, ball up over his head, right elbow flying, and busts Omar. "There you go, Son"
Phenomenal.
Clay Bennett you can't buy that.
R.I.P. DJ. My Sonics are now resting with you.
--Jeff Robinson