Sonics Fans Are Politely Pumped for Their New Arena

Seattle is not an easy city to piss off. It’s the kind of town where people constantly mutter “sorry” and “thank you” while avoiding eye contact no matter what they’re doing. But a neocon hamhock named Clay Bennett provoked the sleepy town in 2008 when he famously carpet-bagged away the only Seattle team to win a big-league title in living memory. He turned the Seattle SuperSonics into the Oklahoma City Thunder after a clumsy dance of bad-faith bargaining, and after one of his partners assuring the press back home in OKC that “we didn't buy the team to keep it in Seattle” (oops). That indiscreet investor, Aubrey McClendon, was also a notoriously corrupt greasy-haired oil baron and a financial backer of those "swift boat" attacks on John Kerry. You couldn't create more perfect villains for Seattle in a test tube. I mean, Oklahoma? Oklahoma? That boring flat bit of the country where everyone is obese and eats meat three times a day and there’s no decent coffee to be found? They took our team? This ruthless raid left Seattle bleeding from a wound that has not yet closed, inspired the award-winning and excellent documentary Sonicsgate, and caused at least one barber to refuse to serve OKC fans.

But citizens of the Emerald City hold grudges uncomfortably. Seething bitterness is just not in their nature. So now that the Seattle City Council has given jilted Sonics fans hope by moving forward with a plan for an NBA-grade arena, they're ready to don the green and gold again. Hundreds of them took up an offer from Chris Hansen (the local-boy financier bankrolling the arena) to buy them a beer Thursday night at F.X. McRory's bar in the stadium district, a few blocks from where the Sonics may rise again. (Chris Hansen is almost unrealistically beloved by Seattleites at this point. If he succeeds in bringing the Sonics back and they win a championship, they may just appoint him king.)

The crowd included Mayor Mike McGinn, gubernatorial candidate Jay Inslee (who could have passed for an ex-player himself, with his height, trim build, and warm-up jacket), and a guy who told me a long story about his friend Binky who he used to sell drugs to and go to Sonics games with until their supplier got shot. Binky's gone now, but the replica jersey he gave my subject is still in fully wearable condition.

In his remarks to the politely chanting mob—a variety of mob that only exists in Seattle—Hansen struck the note of prudence you'd expect from an aspiring but not yet confirmed civic savior. "A lot of people have told me they'd like to buy me a beer," he said. "But the day when an NBA player gets off the plane in Seattle wearing a jersey that says 'Seattle SuperSonics,' that's the day you can all buy me a beer." But nobody in attendance was in the mood for such caution, nor to wonder whether NBA players actually traveled in uniform. What's the point? Whatever happens next, for one golden (and green) happy hour, Seattle was smiling about the Sonics. It beats the hell out of crying.