Not getting over it

OK, the Kings are finished with the 2001-2002 season, and we—that is, those of us around here who don’t think Phil Jackson has a decent shot at getting elected dogcatcher, much less president—are licking our wounds, moving on, maybe even scanning the green sheet to see how the Giants are doing. In fact, by the time you read this, the Lakers will have made quick work of the Harlem Globetrotters, the Washington Generals, the Tottenham Hotspur or whomever it was they got matched against after squeaking by the Kings, and the season will be history. And those of us who haven’t abandoned the NBA for the more consistently refereed sport of professional wrestling may even be looking forward to next season’s opener, around Halloween.

By then, perhaps Shaquille “Dumptruq” O’Neal will have ballooned up to Jabba the Hutt gravitas from inhaling too many BK Shaq Packs. Perhaps Kobe “The Antijordan” Bryant will have announced he’s leaving the Lakers and the NBA for a team more befitting his maturity level—those little kids he played with in that McDonald’s commercial. And perhaps Rick “Mr. Vanessa Williams” Fox, that paragon of good sportsmanship who seems like the term “nice guy” was invented just for him, will have joined Kobe at Team Mickey D. One can only hope. Oh well; at least Mitch Richmond got a championship ring out of this bum deal.

So here we burned Kings fans sit, already being gaslighted by the media outside the River City. Even local AM talker KHTK 1140, normally as over-the-top rah-rah for anything Maloof as the sports page of the local daily, aired Sporting News house dim bulb Kevin Wheeler jabbering about Laker hegemony. “Who’s gonna stop ’em from winning six or seven rings?” he drooled last Sunday night before stopping himself: “Sacramento fan, don’t even call me. I don’t wanna hear it.” Yep, a done deal’s a done deal—just ask Al Gore.

So what to do? Commiserate; find a watering hole or soda fountain with a jukebox, maybe, one with “Step Onto the Court,” that local rap hit by Dynasteé (Taste Records), whose namechecking of the current Kings roster rings with a certain poignancy given what happened. Pop in a few quarters, and order whatever makes you feel better, and imagine what might have happened if the NBA didn’t have so much invested in its chosen post-Michael Jordan stars, the Rock and Stone Cold Steve Austin …

Nope. Not getting over it.