David Stern

Halloween seems like the perfect time to talk about the ugly little troll who stole fun from children so that his hick croney could take a noble group of warriors to a far off, uncharted land.

I won’t be watching any NBA this season, or the next, or the next.  As long as the Troll is in charge, I’ve got no interest.  Clearly, the NBA doesn’t value its fans.  They shat all over 40 years of tradition in Seattle.  So screw you, little Troll and your league of thugs.  I hope nothing but horrible, terrible things happen to you for the rest of your hopefully short life.

I was at a Sonics game on March 22, 2002 where they played the Houston Rockets.  I’d gone to the game with my dad and my brother and we had the nosebleeds.  I’d brought my binoculars and was scouting the seats when I spotted him.  He wasn’t quite the Troll back then, so I displayed no fear as I made my way down to his seat in the lower bowl to politely ask him for his autograph.  He cordially obliged.

Six years later, the Sonics are gone.  Seattle is a little smaller and a little less fun without them.  And the NBA is dead to me until they replace the Troll.

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