Ageless

I’m sure you know all about Julio Franco – a man who has defied age and continues to play major league baseball, even though he’s closer to 50 than 20.

The stories you read about Julio Franco focus on his amazing endurance in relation to other baseball-related themes (e.g., he started playing before Cal Ripken’s streak started, he’s older than Rickey Henderson, etc.).

But when it comes to comparisons, sometimes you only truly appreciate the awe-inspiring when it is taken out of its usual context and placed alongside foreign objects.

That being the case, let’s put Julio Franco in a broader context. Franco’s first season in the majors came in 1982, the same year as the Falkland Islands War, the first artificial heart, and the release of the Commodore 64.

But back to hoops. The 1982 all-rookie team in the NBA – remember, this is Franco’s first season – included Jeff Ruland, Isiah Thomas, Kelly Tripucka, Jay Vincent, and Buck Williams.

Think about that for a second ... Julio Franco and Buck Williams both broke in the same year. Buck Williams!

It gets better. That spring, while Franco was plying his trade with the Phillies alongside Pete Rose and Steve Carlton, the Sonics were featuring one Danny Vranes, like Franco a rookie, and, coincidentally the 5th overall pick in the draft that year. Of course, it should be mentioned that Danny Vranes is younger than Julio Franco.

In other sports news in Seattle from '82, Mike Tice made nine catches in his second year with the Seahawks and the team simultaneously saw the end of the Eras of Zorn and Patera. I should mention that Tice, now long-retired from playing and a former head coach, is younger than Julio Franco.

I could go on, and this is the second time I’ve written about Franco (the last being two years ago), but the man is inspiring. From his 5,000 calories a day to his sojourn in the Mexican Leagues ... Julio Franco, we salute you.

Spring has Sprung

Spring in Seattle used to mean one thing: Playoff Basketball. However, that ain’t the case any more, and it’s amazing the difference at this time of year between being a fan of a playoff team and being a fan of, well, the Sonics.

While people in the fortunate places can stew over matchups, momentum, and all the rest, we’re bored as heck. That’s right, bored as heck.

Seriously, are you wound-up about the #5 pick in the draft? I’m not. This team is so utterly mired in mediocrity that unless that #5 pick turns out to be a player/coach/GM who can dunk from the 3-point line it isn’t going to make a huge difference in wins and losses next season.

Likewise, I’m a little less than thrilled about the coaching possibilities being mentioned. Sam Mitchell? You mean the same guy that “guided” the Raptors to 60 wins in his first two seasons? Honestly, don’t you feel that this year’s Raptors were more than a little reminiscent of the 2003-04 Sonics, a team that went from crap to king to crap again faster than you can say Big Snacks?

Add in the Man Behind the Curtain, Lenny Wilkens, and you can see why Sonic fans are on the blase side this spring. Rather than arguing about how we’re going to be able to pawn Earl Watson and Johan Petro off on some unsuspecting sucker, we’re wondering about who the heck is going to be in charge of everything.

It’s an unsettling spring in Seattle. From Oklahoma Clay to Lenny’s version of “The Apprentice” to Rashard Lewis, everything’s up in the air.

There have been better springs in Seattle, for sure, but I don’t think there have been any worse.

We Feel Your Pain

A moment, if you please, for the Mavericks fan.

I know, empathizing with Mark Cuban after a playoff loss is like feeling sorrow for Donald Trump on a bad hair day, but I’m not referring to the Dallas owner, I’m talking about the fans.

You see, Mavericks fan, we know how it feels. At this moment, the entire country is in love with the team that took from you what was rightfully yours. This upstart #8 seed with raucous fans, a ragtag group roster of underachievers, has stolen your entry in the second round; kept you from traveling to the NBA Finals to reclaim what the officials took from you last June.

Sonic fans feel your pain, Mavericks fan. We feel it every time the networks re-run that clip of Dikembe Mutombo clasping the ball to his chest while lying flat on the Colisseum floor. We know what it’s like when the country gets enamored with the underdog, and roots for the lowly seeded upstarts to knock off the expected champion.

You think we don’t still feel the disgust of watching John Elway, that horse-faced jerk, taunting us from the sidelines while the Nuggets began their comeback in Denver? Please, Mavericks fan, don’t insult us.

And Mavericks fan, don’t expect the pain to gradually subside – it will not. If your team fails on a scale such as this, the pain lingers. First, an open wound for a couple of years; then, a deep scar; and, finally, a mark that never leaves.

Like I said, a moment for the Mavericks fan.

Oh, and Maverick fan? Just be thankful your team isn’t owned by someone from Oklahoma.