The NBA resumed play Sunday with a typically aggressive agenda. It staged a Christmas Day takeover that offered starved-for-pro-hoops fans 13 straight hours of basketball.
I was not starved for the NBA. I lost my appetite for the league on July 18, 2006 – the day Clay Bennett, introduced as the SuperSonics’ new owner, clutched a Seattle No. 1 jersey that was supposed to have been retired in honor of Gus Williams.
During the 5 1/2 years since Bennett bought the franchise and orchestrated its 2008 relocation to Oklahoma City, the amount of NBA basketball I’ve watched on TV would be closer to 13 minutes than 13 hours.
And yet on Sunday, I found myself at peace with the NBA, unable to muster enough hatred to boycott the product for a sixth consecutive season. Grudges require passion, and I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired of people like Clay Bennett and league commissioner David Stern.
Besides, the Seattle area is going to get another team someday, and that team will advance to the playoffs someday, and I don’t want to be the mope telling a new generation of fans to scram from my front lawn.
In the meantime, I need a team to follow.
The Chicago Bulls should be an easy choice – I pulled for them as a kid, and covered their first championship season, in 1990-91, as a sports columnist – but my newfangled interest in the NBA demands a fresh start. So the Bulls are out. (I suspect they’ll survive, somehow.)
On the other hand, the Miami Heat is an easy choice … to loathe. The beauty of the league’s truncated schedule of 66 games is that it’s unlikely LeBron James, Dwyane Wade and Chris Bosh will team up to win any more than, oh, 60.
The Los Angeles Lakers might not be the convenient villains they were when head coach Phil Jackson was filing his fingernails courtside, but they’re still the Lakers.
The Boston Celtics, New York Knicks and soon-to-be Brooklyn Nets are off the table because I’m constitutionally incapable of wanting good things to happen for sports teams representing Boston and New York.
I suppose I could celebrate the end of my five-and-a-half-year disassociation with NBA news by taking an interest in the Dallas Mavericks, but refresh my memory, please: What have they ever done?
I do remember the Detroit Pistons from those days Chuck Daly’s teams intimidated Michael Jordan and the Bulls until the day they didn’t, in 1991, when the Pistons, victims of a sweep in the Eastern Conference finals, morphed into the Past-ons, walking off the court with a few seconds left on the clock and in no disposition to congratulate the winners. I’ve got no love for Pistons.
As for the San Antonio Spurs, they’re getting a little old. Well, OK, a lot old. It would be just my luck to jump on a bandwagon that’s headed to the garage for an overhaul.
The Orlando Magic can’t seem to figure out what to do with superstar Dwight Howard, perpetually disgruntled about, uh, you name it. In what world is a guy estimated to have been paid $65 million since 2004 disgruntled? That would be the world of the NBA. Anyway, as long as Dwight Howard is playing for the Magic, I’m keeping my distance from the Magic.
I’m also keeping my distance from the Portland Trail Blazers. When the NBA returns to the Puget Sound region, they’ll be public enemy No. 2, behind only Clay Bennett, whose status as No. 1 – unlike the jersey of Gus Williams – has been retired forever.
Speaking of which: Bennett’s Oklahoma City Thunder figures to advance to at least the Western Conference finals, and while Kevin Durant seems to be as admirable off the court as he is a relentless force on it, we can’t be happy that the blueprint of whiz-kid general manager Sam Presti appears to be flawless. Can we?
Denver coach George Karl is a one-of-a-kind character who cooks up quotes for sportswriters as casually as Paula Dean fries the hearts of edible mammals, but I can’t imagine developing an interest in the Nuggets. Or the Memphis Grizzlies, who used to play in Vancouver. Or the New Orleans Hornets, who used to play in Charlotte. Or the Charlotte Bobcats, who may or may not play somewhere.
It’s impossible to root against Dwane Casey, the ex-Sonics assistant who landed a head-coaching gig with the Toronto Raptors. Then again, it’s impossible to root for any team from Toronto.
I’ve got nothing against the Phoenix Suns, except every time I hear a ref blow a whistle, I still see the Sonics lining up in the free-throw lane for a defensive rebound in the 1993 playoffs.
The Atlanta Hawks, Milwaukee Bucks, Philadelphia 76ers, Utah Jazz, Indiana Pacers, Houston Rockets, Minnesota Timberwolves and Golden State Warriors are all in the mix, which poses a problem: They’re all in the mix. There is nothing about any of these teams that stands out.
I suppose I could flip a coin, which would be appropriate, because I don’t know heads or tails about any of them.
I do know that Sacramento Mayor and former NBA star Kevin Johnson was influential in preventing the Kings from bolting to a city boasting an arena capable of generating more lucrative revenue streams for ownership. But if I’m devoting an interest in the Kings, I might as well devote an interest in the Cleveland Cavaliers, and why would I do that?
The Washington Wizards are wearing wonderful throwback uniforms this season – a red-white-and-blue homage to their roots as the Bullets.
I see those uniforms and think of the great Wes Unseld, an attack-dog post presence generously listed at 6-feet-7.
But, c’mon. I’m living and dying with a team based on the uniform color configuration that reminds me of a player from 40 years ago?
Wes Unseld? I’m unsold.
Finally, there are the Los Angeles Clippers. Long disregarded as perpetual losers – stepbrother siblings to the more glamorous Lakers – the Clippers finally have the talent and the attitude to own the upper hand in a classic rivalry.
Thing is, everybody else weary of the Lakers is pulling for the Clippers, too.
The Clippers are hot to the point they’re cool, very cool, and I’d prefer my allegiance to an NBA franchise to be more sophisticated.
So I’ll continue my quest, looking for a team worthy of watching now and then, checking out a box score here and there. After spending 51/2 years as a fallen-away fan, I’ve made amends with the past, and I’m embracing the future.
I love this game!
As soon as I find a reason to care, I’ll love it even more.
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