One year later, pain of losing Sonics persists

Has it already been a year?

No worries if you forgot this was the day that the Sonics were seized. Fiascos don't tend to have anniversaries. They just creep back into memory, and the next thing you know, you're grimacing again. But it has been one awkward, lousy, wretched year.

After reaching that infamous settlement with Mayor Greg Nickels, Clay Bennett moved the Sonics to Oklahoma City and changed their name to the Thunder. They proceeded to lose too many games to count. Most of Seattle decided to ignore the NBA and adopt Major League Soccer. The economy sank into a critical state, and Michael Jackson died. Only one thing hasn't changed, really: Robert Swift, the tattooed, rebellious center the Sonics drafted five years ago, still can't stay healthy.

Things have become so different that many locals say Seattle has moved on from the Sonics. The boldest — and usually, the angriest — of them suggest that there was no great loss, no grieving process and no nostalgic episodes. In truth, however, you only need to visit the bars and restaurants near KeyArena to understand the loss, and you only need to talk with die-hard fans to understand the grief and nostalgia.

A year later, the pain is dulling, but it still persists.

"I'm still pissed that we lost our team," said Ron Dino, the general manager at The Spectator sports bar in Lower Queen Anne. "It's just not as fun watching basketball anymore."

Dino speaks from the perspective of both business lost and his love for the game. He was a ball boy for the Sonics from 1982 to 1984, and his mother worked for the organization. Last October, when the NBA season began without the Sonics, Dino and The Spectator held a Sonics funeral at the bar. Fans came and placed jerseys, posters and other memorabilia into a cardboard coffin that night.

The coffin sits in an office in the back of the bar now. The plan is to eventually make a collage out of all the items and display it at The Spectator.

"That's our idea — just in case the Sonics do come back," Dino says. "It still feels like a part of us has died, and there's nothing we can do. We didn't have any say in what happened. It just got ripped away. It feels like it's gone, never to come back."

Like many businesses near KeyArena, The Spectator has suffered. They all have a hard time quantifying the exact financial hit because they figure the slumping economy caused patrons to stay at home, too.

But they talk about going from packed bars to half-empty ones during the NBA months. They talk about people being not interested even in watching basketball games on television. They tell the story of the old Mainstage Comedy and Music Club across the street from KeyArena and fear the same fate. The club is now closed and sprayed with graffiti.

"It's a tough time," says Don Tremblay, co-owner of T.S. McHugh's, which is about a block from KeyArena. "The Sonics were our biggest nut. The Thunderbirds gave us a good crowd for hockey games, too, but now they're in Kent. It's been rough. People think that Seattle has moved on just fine without the Sonics, but I think the whole city overlooks the businesses in our area."

In Lower Queen Anne, Tremblay says, it's difficult to find parking spaces, which can be a deterrent for people who live outside of the neighborhood. With fewer sporting events at KeyArena, he believes many people are staying away from the area. He estimated a 30 to 40 percent drop in sales over the winter months.

"And during those weeknights when the Sonics would have been playing, I'd say we were probably down about half of what we used to be," Tremblay said.

It raises the question: Can those businesses survive without a major pro team at Seattle Center?

"I think there's a way for certain businesses to work around it," Tremblay said. "I think smaller venues can survive and do well. For us, it's going to be tougher. We need to fill the place a few nights a week."

It has been just as difficult for die-hard fans, too. They were particularly jarred last week by the news that the Portland Trail Blazers, once the Sonics' biggest rival, are coming to KeyArena on Oct. 14 for an exhibition. Losing the Sonics has been hard enough. Watching the Blazers' shrewd move to try to become the Northwest's team almost seems cruel.

"They're our rivals," said Brian Robinson, the co-founder of Save Our Sonics. "They're not our consolation prize. For me personally, it's too early. It's still way too early. It's still an open wound."

Like many Seattle fans, Robinson didn't watch much NBA basketball this past season. He didn't watch a complete game. It hurt too much. Instead, he put his energy into trying to convince lawmakers of the need for a viable arena plan, which would have triggered what he calls "the $30 million countdown."

As part of the KeyArena lease settlement last July that allowed Bennett to move the team, the Thunder owners would owe the city an extra $30 million (on top of the $45 million lease buyout) if the city figured out funding for a new or renovated arena by the end of this year. But the $30 million charge would go away if the NBA awarded Seattle a team within five years.

Of course, the KeyArena renovation idea never gained enough traction in the state Legislature, and now it looks like the city will lose that $30 mil. It's just the latest bungle in a series of mishaps that led to the Sonics' departure.

The reality now is that it will take a very rich, determined and charismatic person to bring NBA basketball back to Seattle.

"People feel like they got burned," said Kevin Calabro, the former Sonics play-by-play announcer who is now the voice of the Sounders FC and a radio talk-show host for 710 ESPN Seattle. "And it's a big world out there. Once you move out of the market, it's hard to get a foothold again. It's not like the NBA can just come back when it wants to, and we're going to suddenly get excited because LeBron's coming to town. We've done that."

And right now, we're just done. The year passed so quickly. The world shook, but it didn't end. Losing the Sonics is quickly becoming another fiasco we'd like to forget.

Jerry Brewer: 206-464-2277 or jbrewer@seattletimes.com.