I haven't listened to much of the Maloof Mea Culpa that has been taking place since the Maloofs decided/were forced to stay in Sacramento while mentioning the conditions of said decision every single time they mention it, but I've heard the main thrust of their argument. Their frustration with a sluggish City government forced them to look at other options to keep their business viable. I can understand that. Business is business and cash rules everything around us. But then they drop their doozy of a defense mechanism by daring us to put ourselves in their shoes and ask "What would you do if you were a Maloof?" On the day of the big Here We Rally...er... rally, at which the Maloofs are allegedly going to speak, I've decided to answer that question.

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I've been trying to put my thoughts on this potential move in writing for the past month or so, it's been a rough go. I've started this post roughly 800 times, using hundreds of different angles and just can't finish it. The emotions are too raw still. I wish I could say it's helped me work through the seven stages of grief. I wish. Instead, for the past month I've been alternating between crippling depression, blind rage, and drunk. Sometimes a mix of all three.

Often, when I'm in one of those moods, people will ask me what's wrong and almost scoff at my anger/depression over a sports team. That's always pleasant, especially when they see I'm not joking and feign sympathy. I know it's kind of stupid. I don't need to be told that getting this worked up over a sports team isn't healthy, just ask my liver. Trying to explain why I care so much is a lofty task. It's been something that's just ingrained in me for so long that I'm not even sure why I care so much, I just do. This post will explore that.

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I had originally planned on posting this after I got home from the Heat/Kings game as an alternate view from Section 214 (a section my friend bought tickets in by pure coincidence). Then I got lazy. Instead, I'll just cut to the best part of my time at that game. Mostly because you don't need me to tell you that we suck in the third quarter and need to stop settling for jumpers. So let's get to Bill Walton...

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Remember me Reggie? I know it's been a while, but I saw that you made it back into the NBA, good for you. I can remember back in the 80s when you used to rub me gently and talk for hours about how you would be a better coach than Coach Russell. Sure you weren't setting the bar very high, but you made it man, you're realizing your dream. Good for you.

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(Insert haunting piano playing here)

There's been a lot of words used to describe this whole Donaghy revelation over the past couple days. A lot of people don't like to talk about it, but one of them is fear.

Fear that we've come this far since 2002, only to have all that baggage thrust upon us again. Fear that after 20+ years, the only person I've ever known to be responsible for protecting the integrity of the game, doesn't want my team to win. Fear that we never had a chance at the 2002 title because it wouldn't have been as profitable. That fear I've dealt with over time. I don't believe in the conspiracy. Because I know it's just the result of another fear.

Fear that my team will never win it all. Fear that our chance has passed us by. Fear that on top of all conspiracy theories we can throw out, that 2002 was never going to be our year. Fear that some evil ref wasn't responsible for the collapse of 2002, we are.

But me? I like the fear. It means that nobody's responsible for our destiny but us. Not a myriad of bad calls. Not a sinister edict from the commish to push the series to seven games. Not even the Mamba is responsible for our destiny. It's us. We had 53 minutes to get the job done at home. We couldn't do it. If we couldn't show up during the most important 5 minutes ever played at Arco Arena, then we didn't deserve that title.

One day I hope to be there when we do deserve it. Until that day when I get to shower my best friend with champagne as if we were in the locker room with the Kings, I embrace the fear. It may not mean we're close or ready, but at least I know by embracing it I've learned to take responsibility for my own actions. There can only be one. One day I hope it's us.

For as long as I can remember, there have been a few undeniable basketball truths. The Kings will always need a rebounding big man. They will also always let a double digit lead shrink down to dangerous levels in the 4th quarter, even if they're playing the Grizzlies. The Jazz have the most ridiculous team name in relation to their city in all of sports. David Stern is pure evil. And Ron Artest is 86 different kinds of crazy. But after listening to Ron at length with Carmichael Dave for the past couple weeks I've come to a shocking conclusion. Ron Artest isn't crazy. Although I may be for thinking so.

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Alright guys, I heard this idea earlier this season. And since there's only 2 home games left and I'm going, I think it's time to implement it. It's time to sing "Peaches" by Presidents of the USA to Peaches. Let me know if you want to join in. Hopefully it's not just me.

http://www.lyricsfreak.com/p/presidents+of+the+usa/peaches_20110593.html

Ron wants to stay now. And by "now" I mean approx. 10-10:30pm on April 1st, 2008. It's probably changed 6 times by now.

Link

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(Muff209 has a full report from the team's viewing party in Stockton last week. Enjoy. -- TZ)

So as I mentioned sometime last week, there was a Kings Viewing Party at Fats Bar and Grill in Stockton on Saturday. I wasn't sure exactly what a viewing party entailed but the idea of watching the Kings game with Big Mike, some Kings dancers, and Slamson seemed, well ok it didn't seem like a very enticing endeavor. But the promise of drink specials and a chance to audition to cohost House Party for a game did seem exciting.

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Hey! Hey ding dong! Listen up! Peaches here to tell you about the Diamond and Gol..wait a minute, this isn't the right one. Who's the jackass who switched my scripts? That's not funny you idiots. Goodbye!
Why is this jackass still here? Lamb? Lamb? Why is this jackass still coming through on my headphones? I thought we hung up on him. Hey, hey, calm down there I'm trying to do a live commercial read. What do you mean you're the producer? Where's Jodi Bacon? Give me Jodi Bacon. Put Jodi on.
What do you mean Jodi's not there? Alright fine, what about Deuce? Where's Deuce Mason? Not there either? Fine, I'll try and wing it. (Clears throat)
When I got my garage redone there was only one place I even considered and that's Asher Garage. Hi, Peaches Napea....wait, does that say Peaches? Alright, who's the wise guy? Nobody's supposed to know about that. Only close persona...can we get somebody to hang up on this idiot? My button isn't working. Someone shut this jackass up.
What? Play nice or I won't get paid? Hey buddy, if you want me to promote your product you gotta tell me what it is because I don't have the script in front of me. The what!? Las Vegas Kings? Who put this idiot on. Let me tell you someth...can I finish? Can I finish? Let me finish. The Kings will NEVER, let me repeat that again NE-VER move to Las Vegas. Not after the...WILL YOU PLEASE LET ME FINISH!? I gave you your time sir. Yes, I know I tried to hang up on you, but there seems to be a probl...will somebody PLEASE get Jodi in here?
Fine, you know what look, just send someone down here with the script and I'll read it. I'm done listening to you. What's your name again? Duke? Send someone down here with the script "Duke". (Throws off headset) Good-bye.
(6-year-old child with a Pats jersey on walks in with script. Peaches snatches the script out of his hands then promptly kicks the child in the balls.)
Will somebody get this kid out of here? Why the hell is he here? Stop it! Stop crying you little baby! You sound just like a Raider fan. Goodbye. Why the hell is this kid still here? I hung up on him! We need to get an engineer here to fix this button. What? You want a tip or something? Get outta here. (Kicks kid who slides across floor and out the door)
Alright, let's do this. I got a flight to Arizona to catch. In case you haven't heard my Giants are in the Super Bowl.
(Clears throat)
Hey, Peach...do I really gotta say Peaches? I hate it when people call me that. Hello? You there? I think we lost him. Hey, where did my headphones go? Who's the asshole that keeps messing with me? Fine, you know what? Let's just do this.
Hey, Peaches here to tell you about the new, hip, crazy cool blog out there called Las Vegas Kings. As their personal bitch, I defended the Maloofs time and time again during that arena measure a while back. The Maloofs know what they are doing, even if it's forcing Geoff Petrie to hire Eric Musselman. Don't worry, just wait and see and that decision will make sense once the Maloofs reveal their flawless master plan for the team. But I'm not here to talk about the Maloofs, I'm here to talk about a blog named after the city that they made famous, Las Vegas Kings. All you gotta do is go to vegaskings.blogspot.com. That's vegaskings.blogspot.com. Go there for insightful columns, links to interesting news stories, and more! And coming soon, podcasts and YouTube videos. So come to VegasKings.blogspot.com, post a comment and tell them Peaches sent you. I know I will.

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