Sherman and the Sonics

I managed to find some of the Sherman Alexie columns in THE STRANGER and they are priceless pure Alexie wit, sarcasm, philosophy and rant. Here are some of his views.

Glenn


Sonics Death Watch
Vol. XXI
BY SHERMAN ALEXIE

JUNE 4, 2008

Clay Bennett and his Brooks Brothered Gang of Lawyers have filed a motion trying to prevent me from testifying for the City of Seattle in their lawsuit against PBC (the owner of the Sonics). In their motion, they identify me only as a "contributing writer for The Stranger," and not as a Sundance Film Festival–, PEN Malamud–, PEN Hemingway–, and National Book Award–winning writer. Yeesh, what's a girl got to do to get some love and respect from those Okies? Do they think I exist on the $60 checks I get for writing these little missives?
The Oklahoma lawyers also accuse me of being "irrelevant" and selectively quote from my Stranger columns and call them and me "profanity-laced."
I I think they mean that to be an insult, an adjectival measure of my poor character, but when I think of lace I think of the lacey edges of my grandmother's dance shawl, as she slowly and gracefully turned circles in the sawdust of my childhood. So "profanity-laced" is actually a lovely compliment. I see my grandmother spinning with "fuck" and "shit" and "bastard" flitting around her like butterflies.
That's the hilarious part. The disturbing part: The new Sonics owners think that a 12-year season-ticket holder like me is "irrelevant."

June 11, 2008

Last week, in the Egyptian Theatre lobby, a short and chubby white man, clad in typical Seattle lefty wear (sandals with wool socks, REI pants, barn jacket), approached me, shook my hand, and said, "I've been reading your Death Watch columns and I want to thank you. I love the Sonics so much and I've just been so embarrassed to tell anybody."

The man looked as forlorn as a first-timer at an AA meeting. I was furious and sad. Why should this man feel ashamed of his love? Of course, men are often taught to be ashamed of their emotions, especially the ones that make them dependent, hungry, and childlike.
We live in a liberal city supposedly filled with sensitive 21st-century males, but most of my hate mail these days is from local guys who accuse me of being sentimental, florid, immature, and (yikes!) emotional.
But my fans and supporters often seem just as stereotypically male. On the blogs, in the newspapers, and on the streets, these fans can only show their Sonics love—their vulnerability—by expressing their hatred for David Stern, Howard Schultz, and Clay Bennett.

Jesus, we're all a bunch of schoolyard romantics, chasing down what we love only to slug it in the arm.

June 18, 2008

Yesterday, on the last day of school, I pushed a merry-go-round crowded with fourth graders. The kids challenged me to push them faster. So I did.
One boy lost his grip and sailed. It wouldn't have been the first time some kid crashed into playground sawdust. But the agile boy tucked and rolled and I, middle-aged and fat, was quick enough to catch him and break his fall.
Str"Okay," my wife said. "That's enough She wasn't talking to the hyper kids; she was talking to me, her testosterone-swamped husband. The kids and I were all disappointed when I said good-bye and slinked back to our car.
"Wow," my wife said. "You're such a boy."
She knows what she's talking about. She's married to a boy and is the mother of two more—and all of us love to smash stuff. That's one of the reasons why I love basketball so much. One gets to officially smash stuff. And I'm terrified my boys will no longer get to watch the Seattle Sonics professionally smash stuff.
A friend of mine told me he hasn't allowed his son to get emotionally attached to Kevin Durant because he doesn't want his son to have a broken heart.
Yes, there are precious things that good men refuse to smash.

June 25, 2008

Last weekend, in a Manhattan nightclub, in one of the blackest moments in basketball history—and I'm using "blackest" as a positive adjective—Shaquille O'Neal ripped into his former teammate Kobe Bryant, whose Lakers squad was crushed by the Boston Celtics in the NBA Finals.
"You know how I be," Shaq rapped. "Last week, Kobe couldn't do without me." As Lakers teammates, Shaq and Kobe won three NBA titles, but were also constant and public rivals. And now, after years of relatively polite trash-talking at each other, Shaq has exponentially intensified the dialogue.

"Kobe," he rapped. "Tell me how my ass tastes."

Isn't that beautifully insane and obscene? I cannot wait for the next time Shaq and Kobe play against each other. The airwaves will be filled with the censored cell video of Shaq's rap.

To all the racial prisses out there, including the white sportswriters who are condemning Shaq, I must quote from a Mark Twain literary gangsta rap: "Jane Austen's books, too, are absent from this library. Just that one omission alone would make a fairly good library out of a library that hadn't a book in it."

July 2, 2008

Every year when the hydroplanes come to town, I shake my head at the goofy spectacle of folks getting drunk, sunburned, and sometimes drowned as they watch boats race in fast circles. I cannot understand the attraction.

Every few years, somebody invites me to the symphony or the ballet and I go. But then I spend an endless night trying to stay awake. I cannot understand the attraction.
I am boggled by the success of the TV series Lost, the music of Josh Groban, and any glass sculpture.

I don't know why any sane person would want to live anywhere but Seattle.
Yes, I am a highly biased and irrational jerk, but I do realize the world is filled with competing and valid viewpoints. And I am not afraid to admit my mistakes.
So I admit that NBA basketball players are not Greek gods; they are demigods.

July 8, 2008

The Seattle Sonics are dead. And I am shuffling like an iPod through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance, and Luke Ridnour. I have bashed Ridnour in print and have bashed him in private. At the press conference following my Sonics trial testimony, I made the cruel joke that Ridnour would be the only Sonic happy to go to Oklahoma City because of his conservative Christianity.

Of course, that's all bullshit. I'm completely wrong. Why would Ridnour want to leave Seattle? He's living out his most precious dream—playing professional basketball—just a few hours' drive away from his hometown of Blaine, Washington. Ridnour's high-school basketball coach was his father, for God's sake, so just think of the immense family pride. How many times over the last few years did Ridnour's father drive to see him play in KeyArena? How many times did Ridnour's high-school buddies show up in large packs to cheer for their boy?

Last summer, I saw Ridnour and his wife riding bikes in Magnuson Park. They are residents of this city. And now they've been uprooted and will live thousands of miles from their families. I don't have anything negative to say about Oklahoma City; I've only enjoyed positive experiences there. But it will never be a prime destination for NBA players. I would bet large sums of money that in 2010 Kevin Durant and Jeff Green will be signing epic deals to play in New York, Los Angeles, Phoenix, or Miami. I would bet that come next summer and the many summers after that, we will spot Luke Ridnour and his wife riding bikes in Seattle parks.
I'm sure Ridnour loves Seattle. It's a gorgeous city, but it will shine less brightly without professional basketball.

Sherman Alexie