How to get what you want

(These words are not actually written by Clayton I. Bennett. Hell, for all we know, maybe the guy can't read or write or do anything beyond break the heart of a geographic region. But this is a sarcastic rendition of the devilish thought process that bounced through that noticeably rectangular cranium perched atop that robotic frame.)

How to get what you want: One man's guide to imposing his chicken-fried will on Seattle, Washington

By Clayton I. Bennett

The meek shall inherit the earth.

That’s what the preacher said a few weeks ago in church and I damn near pissed myself trying not to laugh. Sure, the meek may get the earth I thought to myself, but they sure as hell aren’t going to make off with a professional basketball team from one of the country’s largest cities like I did.

No sirree. A feat like that requires a cast-iron constitution and total and complete disregard for the integrity of an entire region.

And I’ve got some bills to pay now with that $45 million added up on top of all the other dough I’ve already forked over so I thought that while I’m waiting for the moving trucks to show up, I’d put together my guide of getting what you want. Sort of a memoirs-type thing about how I popped up in Seattle one day in 2006 and two years later made off with the oldest professional sports team from one of the largest darn cities in this fine country.

It wasn’t always admirable and it dang sure wasn’t easy, but I was pretty downright effective so maybe you can learn a thing or two from this Okie when it comes to getting what you want.

I. Pucker up and grab a cheek

Yes, I know, kissing some ass is a little unseemly. A grown man shouldn’t really resort to flattery unless he’s talking to a woman he‘s sleeping with. But that’s just pride talking and you can have pride and you can have a pro basketball team, but you can’t always have both and I‘ve found a well-placed smooch is worth millions in political capital.

Just look at what happened after Aubrey McSwiftBoat went and told that Oklahoma City business journal we never bought the team to keep it here. Well sir, that put a fresh cowpie dead center on the supper table. I mean, hell, we’ve been telling folks how honest and earnest and well-meaning we are about staying in Seattle. We’ve even signed an agreement to that effect, and when David Stern found out ol’ Aubrey went and spilled the beans, he was mad there might have been steam coming out his ears like in one of them cartoons my kids like so much. I mean, Sternie was all-caps mad when he sent me an e-mail, but then I got to work on him with the ol’ Bennett boot-polishing charm. I sent him a note telling him how much I admired him as an executive, bemoaning our lack of physical time together and called him just one of my most favorite people in the world. It was the kind of note you’d blush if your grade-school teacher read it aloud. It was also effective because go look and see if you can find one time the little guy wasn’t on our side when it came time to trade gut punches with Seattle‘s local government.

People who say imitation is the best form of flattery have never run into my form of flattery, which has proven capable of shining the very stinkiest of turds.

II. Lie

Mom won’t be happy about this one. Heck, I wouldn’t tell my kids to do it. And I try not to lie except when it helps me, but sometimes you gotta’ take that truth and bend it as if it were a 12-year-old gymnast . When I bought the team I told everyone that my first goal was to keep a team in Seattle. That’s what I really wanted. I didn’t even bring up the possibility of moving to OKC until some pesky damn reporters started asking about it.

Did I want a team in Seattle? No. I wanted to sell the team if it stayed in Seattle, but that was going to make me look like some manipulative speculator who either wanted a team to take to Oklahoma or one with a brand-spanking new arena that would fetch top dollar. That would have sounded too crass so I was better off lying and saying I’d be happy to have a team here.

III. Use big words

Hey, I didn’t go to the Casady School in Oklahoma just so I could avoid those bullies who said my head was made of Lego bricks. I learned me some fancy 25-cent words. Everyone said I wanted a new building. Nope. I wanted a “successor venue.” Some people say concession stands, I talk about “revenue extraction.” Those big words don’t really add anything to the conversation except to make me sound like someone who just maybe knows what he’s talking about.

IV. Play the victim

Now this one was tough considering that from the day I popped up here in Seattle, everyone figured I just wanted to skidaddle out of town with the damn basketball team. And that was before I asked the state to build me the most expensive damned basketball arena in the world. I wanted it to be capable of hosting an NHL team, arena football and all sorts of other stuff that was as useless as tits on an armadillo. Not only that, but I wanted them to build the damned thing in Renton and I wouldn’t whisper a single word about how much I was going to chip in.

Now, the cynical bastards might say I wanted that plan to fail, but when the legislature turned my deal down without so much as a how’s-your-father I pretended I was all down and out. Hell, I acted so crestfallen you’d have thought someone hokked a loogie in my peach cobbler. But that’s just part of the role you’ve got to play. Nobody likes a strong-armed out-of-towner. You’re better off just insisting that you’re the dork in the class nobody will give a chance to.

V. Never underestimate the accent

This one goes hand in hand with playing the victim and lying. I’ve found fibs are more readily swallowed if they’re served up with a twang. It’s like scooping sugar into tea. Now remember that I went to that white-collar wimp factory of a school that taught me all those big words. Not only that, but I went and married to one of the most powerful families in the state. We own the big newspaper in town. Hell, we used to own the Grand Ole Opry, but if I go and speak some Okie, people don’t seem to recognize me as the square-headed rich jerk that I really am.

VI. Lie some more

Now, you might remember when the city of Seattle flayed our little ruse out in the open when it found all those emails talking about OKC and “a man possessed” and “the sweet flip.” We had to come clean then, right? Hell no. That’s when you come back over the top, dig in your heels and double down.

Confessions are for idiot criminals in police interrogations and Vegan commie wusses. I just widened my eyes as if I was a big ol’ Jack-O-Lantern and insisted that golly-gee-no, everyone got it all wrong.

You find any little gray area -- no matter if it’s a charcoal gray -- and insist they got it all wrong. I was a man possessed about staying in Seattle, I said, even though common sense and a basic understanding of the English language indicated otherwise.

And guess what? I got just what I wanted. Hell, I can even make copies of their championship trophy and banners if I want and I went and called those “assets” when I talked about them as if it was some stock I just added to my portfolio.

Well, sorry, but the moving trucks are here so I better go tell them where to pack up those 41 years worth of history. I don’t plan on coming back to Seattle. I’m not too well regarded in these parts, and I understand that. But hey, I didn’t want admiration or appreciation. I wanted me a basketball team.