Here We Stay. This is Sacramento's last stand. This is it. Two outs and a full count in the bottom of the ninth inning. The score is 2-1. We just need one run. One run to stay alive, to fight another day.
I have spent the past five hours trying to come up with the right words to say for this night, trying to encapsulate all twenty years of my short life, of my passion for the Kings, for our team, into one post. When it comes down to it, it is impossible to contain all of that passion, all of those emotions in one measly post.
I don't have a precise first memory of the team, rather I have images of the post-lockout season scattered through my head. I come form a family of rather lax sports fans. My mom hails from Tokyo and thus brought absolutely no sports allegiances with her whatsoever. My dad was an indifferent sports fan to start off with (more on that later) who's favorite athletes were Larry Bird and Joe Montana and thought that most sports were too violent and barbaric for the young 7 year old me to watch. Thus it must have been divine providence that somehow, someway, the Sacramento Kings found their way onto the family tv. Needless to say, I caught Kings fever hard. I remember my first favorite player (Vernon Maxwell [not sure why]), remember the first time I cried after a loss (Game Five "Sorry son, no more Kings games for 6 months."). Strangely enough, however, my most distinct memory of the that first year was how I would completely blatantly butcher Peja's name (Stovajack) and have the error go uncorrected.
It was love at first sight.
I remember those years after the breakout, the epic struggles against the Lakers, the behind the back passes, J-Will's attempts to decapitate someone in the tenth row with a errant elbow pass, C-Webb's signature snarl (the "The Other Team is Going to get it now" look), the occasional foray to Arco Arena after which my ears would ring until the next morning.
Then came the 01-02 season, the year that everything clicked, where only one thing stood between us and our rings: The Lakers. I remember the Doug Christie/Peja hook-ups, Bobby Jackson playing with the tenacity and heart of an entire city, Scot Pollard unveiling his latest bizarre hair style. But most of all, for better or worse, I remember the series. I remember not being able to watch game 5 (which was probably a good thing, seeing as how 10 year old me would have most likely burned down out house). I remember C-Webb freeing up Mike for the game winning shot with a crushing screen that Derrick Fisher is probably still recuperating from. I remember the sinking feeling in game seven, the stark realization that we had come so close to the ultimate goal. I remember the solemn vow that we would be back next year, that this year was just a warm-up.
And the next season started off in just that method. We were playing on a whole other dimension. By adding Keon Clark to the bench mob, we finally had enough frontcourt defense to contain Shaq just a bit more. Jim Jackson's sudden reemergence only further boosted the strength of our team. It seemed that it was finally our year.
And then it happened: The most devastating moment in Kings history.
I remember sitting in front of my television in stunned silence. This couldn't be happening to us. Not this year, not ever. I remember watching through tears as Webb was carted off of the floor, taking our title hopes with him.
And still, we fought on. That was all we ever did.
I remember those videos of Webb rehabbing his knee, putting everything that he could into coming back, into rising like a phoenix from the ashes. But when he came back, it wasn't the same. Vlade was older now. To replace him, we brought in Brad Miller, who, in those days, was one of the best centers in the league. But to get him, we had to trade away some of that glory team.
One by one, the team -our team- was dismantled. Vlade eventually moved back south and was and will be the only Laker to ever receive a standing ovation in Arco Arena. Doug Christie's body was traded away to Orlando. His heart stayed in Sacramento. C-Webb was next. His departure was the toughest pill to swallow. He never did get the ring that he deserved. Soon Peja followed and he too was never quite the player he was here. When Mike Bibby left, so did the last traces of that magical team, the Greatest Show on Court.
The years after that were hard. It was a long cold winter in Sacramento. But flowers even managed to bloom in the snow.
No matter what happens, I will always remember the Here We Stay Game: The chants, my dad (the guy who had no interest in the Kings to start off with) cheering until his voice was destroyed, and most of all, Arco Thunder absolutely striking down the Clippers in cruch time.
It is springtime now. And a new flower is blooming in Sacramento. Tyreke. Demarcus. Marcus. Beno. Sammy D. The Goon Squad. Can you hear it? It's the Arco ghosts echoing through the rafters.
It was only hours ago that news came across the wires that C-Webb was back at it again, once again fighting for Sacramento. Fighting for our Kings. This is it. Our greatest hero come back to us in our darkest day, strapping those boots up for us one last time with the game on the line. Trying to win one more victory for the Kings, for us, for Sacramento.
How poetic is it that the erstwhile star, the "team cancer", the man who wanted nothing to do with this city when he was first sent here is now the man fighting for our team? This is my hero, our hero, picking himself off of the floor, picking up where that fateful fastbreak in Dallas ended. This is C-Webb putting an entire city on his back for one last time and snarling that trademark snarl.
I am writing this through tears (that seven year-old boy watching the Kings lose against the Jazz is still here). I don't want them to go. I can't imagine Sacramento without the Kings, can't imagine myself without them. All those memories, all those bittersweet loses, all that heartbreak. I wouldn't trade it for the world.
So to all Kings fans out there, I'm begging you. BELIEVE. BELIEVE IN ONE LAST SHOT. Even though times are dark, it's never over until it's over.
Miracles do happen.
Here we stay
I have spent the past five hours trying to come up with the right words to say for this night, trying to encapsulate all twenty years of my short life, of my passion for the Kings, for our team, into one post. When it comes down to it, it is impossible to contain all of that passion, all of those emotions in one measly post.
I don't have a precise first memory of the team, rather I have images of the post-lockout season scattered through my head. I come form a family of rather lax sports fans. My mom hails from Tokyo and thus brought absolutely no sports allegiances with her whatsoever. My dad was an indifferent sports fan to start off with (more on that later) who's favorite athletes were Larry Bird and Joe Montana and thought that most sports were too violent and barbaric for the young 7 year old me to watch. Thus it must have been divine providence that somehow, someway, the Sacramento Kings found their way onto the family tv. Needless to say, I caught Kings fever hard. I remember my first favorite player (Vernon Maxwell [not sure why]), remember the first time I cried after a loss (Game Five "Sorry son, no more Kings games for 6 months."). Strangely enough, however, my most distinct memory of the that first year was how I would completely blatantly butcher Peja's name (Stovajack) and have the error go uncorrected.
It was love at first sight.
I remember those years after the breakout, the epic struggles against the Lakers, the behind the back passes, J-Will's attempts to decapitate someone in the tenth row with a errant elbow pass, C-Webb's signature snarl (the "The Other Team is Going to get it now" look), the occasional foray to Arco Arena after which my ears would ring until the next morning.
Then came the 01-02 season, the year that everything clicked, where only one thing stood between us and our rings: The Lakers. I remember the Doug Christie/Peja hook-ups, Bobby Jackson playing with the tenacity and heart of an entire city, Scot Pollard unveiling his latest bizarre hair style. But most of all, for better or worse, I remember the series. I remember not being able to watch game 5 (which was probably a good thing, seeing as how 10 year old me would have most likely burned down out house). I remember C-Webb freeing up Mike for the game winning shot with a crushing screen that Derrick Fisher is probably still recuperating from. I remember the sinking feeling in game seven, the stark realization that we had come so close to the ultimate goal. I remember the solemn vow that we would be back next year, that this year was just a warm-up.
And the next season started off in just that method. We were playing on a whole other dimension. By adding Keon Clark to the bench mob, we finally had enough frontcourt defense to contain Shaq just a bit more. Jim Jackson's sudden reemergence only further boosted the strength of our team. It seemed that it was finally our year.
And then it happened: The most devastating moment in Kings history.
I remember sitting in front of my television in stunned silence. This couldn't be happening to us. Not this year, not ever. I remember watching through tears as Webb was carted off of the floor, taking our title hopes with him.
And still, we fought on. That was all we ever did.
I remember those videos of Webb rehabbing his knee, putting everything that he could into coming back, into rising like a phoenix from the ashes. But when he came back, it wasn't the same. Vlade was older now. To replace him, we brought in Brad Miller, who, in those days, was one of the best centers in the league. But to get him, we had to trade away some of that glory team.
One by one, the team -our team- was dismantled. Vlade eventually moved back south and was and will be the only Laker to ever receive a standing ovation in Arco Arena. Doug Christie's body was traded away to Orlando. His heart stayed in Sacramento. C-Webb was next. His departure was the toughest pill to swallow. He never did get the ring that he deserved. Soon Peja followed and he too was never quite the player he was here. When Mike Bibby left, so did the last traces of that magical team, the Greatest Show on Court.
The years after that were hard. It was a long cold winter in Sacramento. But flowers even managed to bloom in the snow.
No matter what happens, I will always remember the Here We Stay Game: The chants, my dad (the guy who had no interest in the Kings to start off with) cheering until his voice was destroyed, and most of all, Arco Thunder absolutely striking down the Clippers in cruch time.
It is springtime now. And a new flower is blooming in Sacramento. Tyreke. Demarcus. Marcus. Beno. Sammy D. The Goon Squad. Can you hear it? It's the Arco ghosts echoing through the rafters.
It was only hours ago that news came across the wires that C-Webb was back at it again, once again fighting for Sacramento. Fighting for our Kings. This is it. Our greatest hero come back to us in our darkest day, strapping those boots up for us one last time with the game on the line. Trying to win one more victory for the Kings, for us, for Sacramento.
How poetic is it that the erstwhile star, the "team cancer", the man who wanted nothing to do with this city when he was first sent here is now the man fighting for our team? This is my hero, our hero, picking himself off of the floor, picking up where that fateful fastbreak in Dallas ended. This is C-Webb putting an entire city on his back for one last time and snarling that trademark snarl.
I am writing this through tears (that seven year-old boy watching the Kings lose against the Jazz is still here). I don't want them to go. I can't imagine Sacramento without the Kings, can't imagine myself without them. All those memories, all those bittersweet loses, all that heartbreak. I wouldn't trade it for the world.
So to all Kings fans out there, I'm begging you. BELIEVE. BELIEVE IN ONE LAST SHOT. Even though times are dark, it's never over until it's over.
Miracles do happen.
Here we stay
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