‘When It Rains’ By Brent Barry
When it rains
I cannot help but sit here and think of what this means
For the fans and the city of Seattle, and what felt to be routine
Like a ferry ride to Bremerton or fresh salmon from old Pike Place
A cup of joe while on the go, crossing bridges at a snail’s pace
But this season there’s a void, a reason not to cheer
The balls have all stopped bouncing, and the Sonics – they’re not here.
Now life has more to offer us than just some doctor’s game
But for most of you, and it includes me too, let me remind you of some names
It started with the voice, Blackburn announcing Spencer Haywood checking in
Then Bill Russell coaching Slick, and Tommy Burleson
It was basketball in the Pacific Northwest, you could feel it all around
And fans held tight, and tuned in each night to see Downtown Freddie Brown
They paved the way for some inspired play at Lenny Wilkens’ return to lead
But in ’78, while playing great, the title was not to be
Lonnie Shelton and JJ entered the mix, and the perm of Sikma too
And DJ and Gus (like the rest of us) saw the green and gold pull through
The 80’s had come, and with it some Magic, and a Bird that flew high in the East
Still Chambers and Ellis, pretty nice fellas, and X-Man – oh what a beast
The 90’s brought some grunge, alternative stuff and everyone took the pill
They brought in George Karl, and with that a snarl, and he seemed to fit the bill
Gary Payton took his rightful place as the greatest to wear the fatigues,
And with alley-oops, and spinning scoops – the Glove was wearing out the league
The Reign Man was made immortal, ripping rims down coast to coast
And the biggest treat from any seat was Kevin Calabro as the host
There was Det, and his mullet, Big Smooth and Hersey too,
And Mr. Sonic Nate McMillan, who gave his career to you
Those teams were special for the Emerald City, it’s style was renowned
64 wins in a single season, then seeing Mutombo on the ground
Then glimpses of a Baker, a Mason, and a Rashard Lewis
Ray Allen tickled many twines but barely even knew us
And here I sit in my office space and think of my career
And what to say to my two sons – that the team just disappeared?
I played in Key Arena, I lived on Queen Anne Hill
I played pinball at Shorty’s after games and ate burgers at both Red Mills
I would have some chowder down at Duke’s and watch the seaplanes take their flight
And find myself in Fremont, with a beer on any given night
I saw Star Wars at Cinerama, tossed a pitch at Safeco Field
Drove all the way to Bellingham to see Pearl Jam performing Yield
I ate at Belltown restaurants, I strolled in Green Lake Park,
And I loved to view the Christmas lights downtown when it got dark
I lost golf balls at Snoqualmie, but never got a chance to ski it
And I’m sad that the kids who love pro ball will never get a chance to see it
A chapter left unwritten, generation with a gap
41 years of NBA action and now no one to clap
But here’s the silver lining – above every cloud there is a sun
The possibility is something that we hold onto, even if it’s slim to none
For the faith and hope and love and our tenants of the days as one grows old
And for all at stake, the clouds will break, and we’ll see the green and gold