Sonics take familiar role: Carpetbaggers
I was just a Little Leaguer in 1965, when the Milwaukee Braves were moved to Atlanta.
But I still remember how deeply the Braves' move hurt my father, since he was a diehard fan who was born in central Wisconsin and worked in Milwaukee during their glory years of the late 1950s.
When the team moved, I remember him calling the Braves' owners "carpetbaggers," which I didn't really understand since I was years away from knowing much about the Civil War and reconstruction. But from his tone, I knew it was not a term of endearment.
I still have a program from the 1958 World Series between the Yankees and Braves -- sealed in a zip-lock bag -- on the shelf in my office at home. It cost 50 cents.
One of the Braves' players, Billy Bruton, lived in my uncle's neighborhood and, although I never had the nerve to actually say hello, I used to sit on the porch during our family reunions, hoping to get a glimpse of him working in his yard or pulling out of the driveway.
(Out of curiosity, I just googled "Billy Bruton." He died of a heart attack in Delaware in 1995, at the age of 69).
I thought about my dad's love of the Milwaukee Braves on Thursday morning, when I found out that Clay Bennett had received permission to move the Sonics from Seattle to Oklahoma City.
Carpetbagger.
Because the city of Seattle and the state of Washington would not come up with the coin to build him a new arena, Bennett took his franchise and went home to Oklahoma, leaving fans in Seattle who love the Sonics as dearly as my father loved the Braves just as angry as he was 43 years ago.
I feel their pain because some of my great memories of covering the NBA involve the Sonics.
To this day, Game 7 of the 1996 Western Conference finals between Utah and Seattle was the most intense, most gripping, most dramatic four quarters of basketball I have ever witnessed.
In 1994, I was there when eighth-seeded Denver shocked top-seeded Seattle in Game 5 of their first-round series, moving coach Dan Issel and his team into the Western Conference semifinals against Utah.
I also remember a handful of off-days in one of the country's great cities -- one when I took the ferry to Bainbridge Island for a lunch of the most world's best smoked salmon; one when I scurried to Emerald Downs to watch and wager on the Breeders' Cup; one when I saw the Mariners and Tigers play in the Kingdome, where they sold gigantic cups of beers that can make memories of the last few innings a little foggy and the next morning's shootaround a big headache . . . literally.
Someday, I hope the NBA returns to Seattle.
Sonic fans, who did nothing wrong except fall in love with their team and its players, deserve it.
Right, dad?
-- Steve Luhm
But I still remember how deeply the Braves' move hurt my father, since he was a diehard fan who was born in central Wisconsin and worked in Milwaukee during their glory years of the late 1950s.
When the team moved, I remember him calling the Braves' owners "carpetbaggers," which I didn't really understand since I was years away from knowing much about the Civil War and reconstruction. But from his tone, I knew it was not a term of endearment.
I still have a program from the 1958 World Series between the Yankees and Braves -- sealed in a zip-lock bag -- on the shelf in my office at home. It cost 50 cents.
One of the Braves' players, Billy Bruton, lived in my uncle's neighborhood and, although I never had the nerve to actually say hello, I used to sit on the porch during our family reunions, hoping to get a glimpse of him working in his yard or pulling out of the driveway.
(Out of curiosity, I just googled "Billy Bruton." He died of a heart attack in Delaware in 1995, at the age of 69).
I thought about my dad's love of the Milwaukee Braves on Thursday morning, when I found out that Clay Bennett had received permission to move the Sonics from Seattle to Oklahoma City.
Carpetbagger.
Because the city of Seattle and the state of Washington would not come up with the coin to build him a new arena, Bennett took his franchise and went home to Oklahoma, leaving fans in Seattle who love the Sonics as dearly as my father loved the Braves just as angry as he was 43 years ago.
I feel their pain because some of my great memories of covering the NBA involve the Sonics.
To this day, Game 7 of the 1996 Western Conference finals between Utah and Seattle was the most intense, most gripping, most dramatic four quarters of basketball I have ever witnessed.
In 1994, I was there when eighth-seeded Denver shocked top-seeded Seattle in Game 5 of their first-round series, moving coach Dan Issel and his team into the Western Conference semifinals against Utah.
I also remember a handful of off-days in one of the country's great cities -- one when I took the ferry to Bainbridge Island for a lunch of the most world's best smoked salmon; one when I scurried to Emerald Downs to watch and wager on the Breeders' Cup; one when I saw the Mariners and Tigers play in the Kingdome, where they sold gigantic cups of beers that can make memories of the last few innings a little foggy and the next morning's shootaround a big headache . . . literally.
Someday, I hope the NBA returns to Seattle.
Sonic fans, who did nothing wrong except fall in love with their team and its players, deserve it.
Right, dad?
-- Steve Luhm
10:30 AM
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1 Comments:
It wasn't about the coin. The new owners never had any intention of keeping them in Seattle. They used an unrealistic expectation of $500 Million for a new stadium as an excuse. The NBA has dimmed in my eyes.
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