Wanted: a team

Let the obituary read: “Today died Zachary Osterman, faithful and at times solitary member of the Atlanta Hawks bandwagon since the stylings of Mookie Blaylock graced the Omni’s parquet floor.”
I’m done. I’m through. I’ve been a hometown sports fan my entire life, which has been good for baseball, bad for hockey and mercurial at best for football. But when it came to basketball, the Hawks always had a special way of failing – like they invented the practice.
They dumped Steve Smith when people said he might be the most underrated player in the league. They traded for Glenn Robinson well after his prime, if there ever were such a thing. They let Pete Babcock run the franchise for far too long, and for some reason stuck their muscle behind Mike Woodson instead of Billy Knight, who despite all his failings had assembled a talented and athletically superior squad of promising young players before his departure in July.
Enter Rick Sund stage right, exit progress stage left.
The indescribable shock I felt when I got an e-mail from my dad this morning simply linking me to a story with the headline “Childress leaving Hawks to join Greek franchise.” Thus was incinerated the last shred of respectability left in the National Basketball Association’s Atlanta franchise.
When a player would rather go to Europe than play in the NBA – regardless of the price – you’ve hit rock bottom. Rumors around the ultimate water cooler that is Atlanta sports talk radio suggested that perhaps the Hawks had no chance of resigning Josh Childress the minute they rehired Mike Woodson, making me wonder if they’ll even have a chance to resign Josh Smith either.
But it doesn’t matter to me, friends. No, I think I’ve run my course as a Hawks fan, I have at last exorcised the last demons of Lon Kruger and Isaiah Rider and, to be plain, I’m ready to get back out on the market.
So here’s my pitch: Make me a pitch. To all other NBA teams from Miami to Seattle (oops), make a case for why I should join your fanbase.
I’m an accomplished bandwagon engineer, and I scream pretty loud through the fourth quarter and beyond (Re: The Hawks three playoff wins against Boston this spring, now seen as a fitting final act in the Greek tragedy that Atlanta has become, like Brutus falling stoically after seeing the best-laid plans so close to success).
My adventure into 10th-grade English aside – If you’re reading this Coach Bounds, don’t hate me for most assuredly blowing that Julius Caesar reference – I’m done with the Hawks, and I’m ready to move on.
I’ve plied my trade as a sports fan for most of my life, I’m seasoned in the ways of basketball and I understand the intricacies of the 2-3 zone at least well enough to match wits with the likes of Billy Packer.
I’m out on the market, and ready to get back in the game. My mourning period was hard but brief, so bring on the Knicks, Yao Ming and please, please Drew Gooden’s most recent hair folly.
It’s been a long time coming, but I’m ready to put my faith behind a team that doesn’t stumble around in the dark without any sense of direction. You don’t have to win, just keep your players in the continental United States.
And Childress: There’s a little place at the base of the Parthenon, makes great chicken souvlaki wrapped in bacon strips. Don’t remember the name, but it was great stuff, trust me.