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Fuck the Magoofs

Forgive me for my angry sports fan rant. Fuck the Magoofs family. No, that’s not a typo.

I’m sure I speak for thousands of people in my hometown of Sacramento, Calif., when I say this about the Maloofs. Look, we get it. They’re broke (well, broke under rich-people standards). They’ve had to sell controlling interest of the Palms, a casino they built from the ground up. They sold their secret cash cow, a brewery they had stashed away in New Mexico. They can’t afford to put a quality product on the Power Balance Pavilion floor. And, the straw that broke the backs of what was once called the greatest fan base in the NBA, they’ve backed out of a solid-although-nonbinding deal that would get the Kings a new arena while at the same time getting rid of the eyesore along Interstate 5 known as the long-defunct railyards, not to mention screwing up the employment potential the new arena could have flowed into the River City.

What pisses me off more than anything is these fucks are holding my city hostage. They know they have the leverage. Sacramento only has one pro team in the four major leagues. We have to cling to the Bay Area for our sports, but the problem with this is that many folks from the Bay hate Sac people, kinda like we don’t like people from Los Angeles. The Magoof$ know that no matter how Sacramentans respond, they win. If we continue to support this struggling team, they make money. If we boycott, their “Major League” scenario works: Put a shitty team out, watch attendance go down faster than Jenna Haze on a movie shoot, file for relocation, build a winner elsewhere.

It sucks. No, it hurts. This is a team of which I’ve been a die-hard fan for the 28 seasons they’ve been here. As a child, the first NBA team I was introduced to was the now-hated Los Angeles Lakers. We’re talking Magic, Kareem, Worthy, SHOWTIME!!! Yet, when Sacramento scored the Kings in 1985, even though I didn’t move to live with my mom in town until the next year (lived in L.A. with my dad), I was instantly a Kings fan.

I’ve seen the highs: The arrival of Chris Webber, Vlade Divac and Jason Williams got my boys some serious run on NBC and even a Sports Illustrated cover. The fans broke a Guinness World Record for loudest in the world. I’ve also seen the lows, and there are a ton of them, none more stinging than a former referee admitting the league screwed the team in 2002.

Nothing I’ve seen before this comes close to, as Big Worm put it, playing with my emotions.

At this point, all I can do is hope for one of three things:

1. The Magoofs come to their senses and go along with the deal they helped negotiate.

2. They sell the team to someone who wants to keep them in Sacramento.

3. They die after being attacked by a swarm of wild hummingbirds.

OK, I’m not serious about that last one … well, not 100% serious.

All I (and the rest of the Kings’ faithful) can do is wait and hope for the best.

Maybe next time I’ll be in a better mood and have something better to write about, rather than hate on the Magoofs. Time to refill this glass with Jack.

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