I have been a lifelong sports fan. Apparently God wanted to punish me, so he made me be born in Seattle, A.K.A. a barren wasteland where sports dreams come to die.
We haven't had a championship in this city since the Sonics won the NBA title in 1979. At this point many people will point out that no, that isn't true, the Seattle Storm won a WNBA title not too many years back.
To which I say, "Yeah sure."
I hope you'll understand that I don't count that. My reason is simple: In the sports world, women are less than. I don't care about women's basketball. It doesn't excite me, it doesn't command a care from my limited pile that I have stocked up. I'm sure you understand and that you can relate. I'm not sexist; I just choose to see the world how it is.
This post is inspired, as you might have guessed, by the dismal performance the Huskies gave this Saturday in their unceremonious exit from the NC dubble A Championship tournament. First of all I have to get it out of the way that I feel like a real poser caring about Husky sports. I am a Viking, and, for better or for worse, always will be. The Vikings are NC2A division II—which is another way of saying no one gives a sweet pint of care what in the hell happens with them. Because Western does not have a sports program that deserves respect I feel obligated to pick a real university to support. Yes it makes me a poser, but it's better than not having any team at all, right? I haven't been able to bring myself to actually buy Husky paraphernalia, and I have been tempted in the past, but my unemployment and the recent Husky play equals no purple shirt with a big-ass "W" on it anytime soon.
The Mariners have had a few good years inside of 3-plus decades of talentless ass clowns cycling through their program. The Seahawks have always had good players but for some reason have lacked that cohesive something that should have pulled all of them together and made them champions. Holmgren did a hell of a job, and I'd take a silver bullet for the man, but still no championship banner do we have hanging from our Seattle rafters.
It's heartbreaking. I've been waiting in vain, in quiet desperation all of my life while the Bostonians experience championship after championship like they are party favors for an 8-year-old. I need that thrill. I want to writhe on my floor in ecstasy as they announce the Mariners as the winners of the World Series. I want to chuck a celebratory Molotov cocktail at a parked car and not get in trouble for it. I want my life to be vicariously validated by a bunch of men who I will never meet or break bread with.
But I'll keep moving on down the road. There is always next year. At least Griffey is back.
And hope springs eternal.