The deliciousness of their tears

The first thing I did when I got up Tuesday’s was to watch replays of Aaron Gordon’s game-winner in Oklahoma City.

Well, OK. The first thing I did was eat two (small) bowls of knockoff Frosted Miniwheats from Trader’s Joes. Then I started watching replays of the final 10 seconds of the NBA playoff game between the Denver Nuggets and the Oklahoma City.

I wasn’t studying Gordon’s shooting form, the floor spacing or even Russell Westbrook’s pass. I wasn’t even really watching the ball.

I was scrutinizing the crowd, relishing the expressions of abject agony and soul-crushing defeat. It was like “Where’s Waldo” only there are more of them and they are way more sad after Gordon’s 3-pointer gave the Nuggets a two-point victory.

Are you familiar with the surrender cobra? If not, that’s totally OK. It’s only in the past 10 years that the term has been invoked to capture the body expression of fans who—knowing their team’s defeat is imminent—are reduced to placing their hands atop their heads while every last drop of hope drains from their body.

In the words of Dr. Evil, “It’s really quite breathtaking.”

Chris Baldwin is something of a pioneer in this regard. He’s the Michigan fan who—in 2015—assumed the pose while trying to digest Michigan’s loss to Michigan State on a blocked punt.

 Over the past 10 years, surrender cobras have become a way to measure the degree of disappointment over a specific outcome, which is why I found myself pointing at people on my screen and laughing maniacally as I tried to quantify the heartbreak I found in just one section of fans behind the Thunder’s bench.

Yeah, I’m a sick son of a gun, but you probably already knew that.

My antagonism toward the Oklahoma City Thunder is fairly well known at this point. If I was the kind of person who spoke marketing I would say it’s part of my personal brand. I don’t speak marketing though so I’d say it’s a feeling that I recognize is immature and not altogether fair, but it brings me a lot of joy.

In fact, cheering against the Thunder has been the single most consistently enjoyable thing that I’ve ever done as a sports fan, and over the past 14 years I’ve assembled what can only be described as a Hater’s Anthology. There was the initial discovery of my resentment in 2011, the decision to root for Lebron James and his Super Friends in 2012 and then the sheer delight of watching the Thunder choke away a 3-1 lead over Golden State in 2016. I tacked a couple more over the next few years.

Does this reflect well on me? Probably not. After all, I’m writing a newsletter about grudges, and more particularly the benefits that come from giving them up. I’m just not ready to do that. Not when it comes to the Thunder.

My biggest worry this year isn’t whether I’m too bitter, but whether the Thunder are so good that they might break my heart. I wrote about this last month for The News Tribune. The Thunder finished with the best record in the league this year, 68-14. They set a league record for inter-conference victories, going 29-1. Shai Gilgeous-Alexander is likely going to be the MVP.

The Thunder had a really good record last year, too, but they didn’t have enough playoff experience for me to be worried. I was right about that. Dallas offed OKC in the first round.

This year, I’m not nearly so certain. In fact, I’m worried. That’s true even after Game 1 loss on Gordon’s buzzer-beater.

However, I’ll just distract myself by reveling in the misery that I could find in that crowd.

I felt a gentle tug of sorrow while watching the Mariners on Monday night.

Not because Seattle lost. When you go to extra innings, the team with last licks has a pronounced advantage and it’s not shocking Seattle couldn’t make the one run it scored in the 10th stand up.

No, I felt genuinely wistful because the Mariners were playing the A’s on the road, and the game was not in Oakland. This was surprising because I never thought I’d miss the Coliseum.

It wasn’t particularly nice the first time I went to a game there, which was back in 1990. It got markedly worse once the Raiders returned and Mt. Davis got built.

The most enduring memory I have of that stadium is the way the seagulls would start circling toward the end of a football game.

But it just feels wrong to see the A’s playing somewhere other than Oakland. That’s not a knock on Sacramento. Seems like a totally nice park. I find the trees on the berm in the outfield quite charming, and it sure looks like watching a game there is the most intimate experience possible in Major League Baseball today. But still: The A’s should be in Oakland. The fact they aren’t is example No. 3,962 of the ways in which we allow rich dweebs to have way too much control over the sports we love.

My favorite piece of draft coverage this year—and honestly for the past several years—was Kalyn Kahler’s “Prospect X” which she bills as the most overlooked player in the year’s draft.

She wrote about the prospect leading up to the draft without revealing his name or details that would allow someone to easily triangulate who he is. It was only after the draft: Tommy Mellott of Montana State. He was drafted in the sixth round by the Las Vegas Raiders, and while he played quarterback in college, he’s expected to see time at multiple positions.

The story Kahler wrote on Mellott is pretty extraodinary and well-worth your time:

• Revealing the identiy of Project X

  By Kalyn Kahler, ESPN.com