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.

This turd, once prized...

SGB readers know that we view the Sonics settlement in a less than favorable light. I like to think that we traded the team for a large box of turds ($45 million = turd; empty and unenforceable promises from Stern = turd; $30 million subject to legislative approval of public funds = turd). One particular turd was the right to keep the Sonics' name, colors, records, trophies, etc. This was, in my opinion, the prettiest and most coveted turd in the box. Under some scrutiny, however, it appears that this is just an ordinary turd, neither special nor different, with all the defining features you'd expect from a turd.

The common understanding is that Bennett left behind our legacy. But if you look at the settlement agreement - specifically paragraph 6 - you see that it isn't that clear. Bennett retains the rights to the entirety of the Sonics legacy and only has to return it upon (i) a new Seattle team in a renovated Key Arena, (ii) the full and final resolution of Schultz's lawsuit, and (iii) the permanent relocation of the former Sonics to Oklahoma City. [Side note: I'm ignoring the section dealing with an expansion team, since we all know that isn't happening.] Finally, even if we do get a new team, Bennett may use the Sonics legacy in perpetuity as "shared history."

Some thoughts:

1. Based on this settlement, if we get a new team and Bennett feels like it, two NBA teams may hang a 1979 championship banner in their rafters. That's just fucked up.

2. "Key Arena" is not defined in the document. Thus, if we get a renovated arena but secure new naming rights, we might be subject to the approval of an embittered bastard as to whether we're allowed to call ourselves the Sonics. Further, the team must be located in Seattle. So if we build an arena in Renton, Bennett may keep us from being called the Sonics. Awesome.

3. Our rights to the Sonics legacy relies on the outcome of the Schultz trial. This is fucking nuts -- Schultz had nothing to do with the Sonics honoring their lease obligations. He's a legal stranger to this case, but our right to the Sonics name is now subject to his lawsuit. Essentially, Bennett used the incompetence of the city attorney to gain some leverage in a completely unrelated suit.

I'm all out of outrage. I'll just drop this turd back in the box and start focusing on the Mariners and the upcoming football season.

Back to the weeping and gnashing of teeth....

So, it's finally sinking in that Seattle is no longer an NBA town. Let's be honest; the league won't expand any time soon, and if it does, Seattle isn't going to get a team. (But hey, Mayor Nickels, thanks for keep the colors and name! Good job, guy.) A fitting end to the team that always seemed a throwback: named after a declining industry that made the town in the mid-20th century and has broken Seattle's heart so many times since; with a logo that always seemed a throwback to Walt Hazzard, no matter how many times they tried to update it; the arena reminiscent of a high school gymnasium; a team never willing to pay more than last-decade salaries. They won more than they should have, and I always rooted for them, even when I didn't live here. Now, as oil prices rise and force Boeing to cut back production again and lay off workers, the 'Sonics pull up stakes and head to OKC, to play ball for oil millionaires riding the wave of high oil prices. The irony is almost too much. So, to salve my wounds, let's try to assign a little blame. Let's assess the candidates:

The City of Seattle: This is my first choice for laying blame. Honestly, the City could have ponied up for a new arena, which was not only a much-needed improvement for Key Arena, but was, most likely, a long term financial boon for the city. Simply put, that would have saved the team. The voters rejected the levy, sacrificing any chances of keeping the team in Seattle.

Howard Schultz: Schultz was shocked, SHOCKED!, that a businessman from Oklahoma City, who had made lots of money in Oklahoma City, would buy a team and move it to Oklahoma City, who does not have basketball team, but who rabidly supported the Hornets for the brief time they played there. Jackass. I hate your coffee, and I hate you! The lawsuit is b.s. and nothing more than a PR stunt to save face for delivering our fate into Clay Bennett's greedy little hands.

Clay Bennett: Is he to blame? As much as I hate that he pulled the rug out from under us, his only shady dealing was the not-surprising discovery that he apparently never really had any intention of keeping the team in Seattle. Of course, all that might have worked out differently if the wool socks and Teva crowd hadn't turned out in droves to vote down the new arena.

I'd be curious if anyone else can let me know who to blame before I go through the trouble of making a voodoo doll to represent our moronic voting public.

Rally for the Sonics

A week from today, a court will hear Clay Bennett plead for the right to take our Sonics to browner pastures this summer. If we win, we get two more years. I know what you're thinking: what's the point? We've got at least three years before the Sonics will be competitive, right? It will take at least that long for Kevin Durant to put on 20 pounds, P.J. to learn to call an offensive set and Earl Watson to retire. So what does a win in this trial give us? Two more 20 win seasons? Is it worth the effort?

Well, yes it is, you pessimistic assclown. If nothing else, we'll have two more years to convince a local group to buy the Sonics. A long shot, sure, but that's all we've got. So quit your bitching and let's look alive. Save Our Sonics is organizing a rally at the court house. The Glove will speak. Xavier McDaniels will be there. All's I'm saying is that if the X-Man can come all the way out from South Carolina to rally the fans, we should return the favor by walking our lazy asses downtown.

June 16th. 4:30. Seventh and Stewart.

Show up, jerks.