Birth of a Blog

"Walter! Shoot it, Walter!" The echo slammed against the empty seats in Portland's Memorial Coliseum that night, as the Blazers played the Atlanta Hawks during our team's inaugural season, 1970-71. I'd heard of Atlanta's Walter Hazaard before, but knew of no reason for any fan to be that rabid about him. The memory of that night is one of my earliest of the Blazers.

I was 24 years old that year. Basketball, in general, was my favorite team sport because I was good at it (in a "pick-up game" sort of way). And I was nuts for the Blazers because, at heart, I'm a homer. I would go on to be a season ticket holder for 20 years, and I further demonstrated my over-the-top fixation with all-things-Blazers by flying to Spokane in year #2 to watch Portland's rookie, Sidney Wicks, do battle with the Sonics rookie, Spenser Haywood; and by continuing on to the Coliseum after wrecking my brand new Corvette, pulling it to the side of the road, and hitching a ride to the game. I often joked that I had Blazer "needle marks" in the crook of my elbow.

My time as a season ticket holder began to wane with the birth of satellite TV and the ostentatious 10' dish on my front lawn. The neatest part of following the team via satellite was watching the opponent's TV broadcast and hearing what the 'enemy' had to say. I was so proud of our 1989-1992 teams. Good people (mostly) and good neighbors (mostly). You know the names, Clyde, Terry, Buck & Duck. Our coach was an original Blazer, as was our GM. Both lived here, too.

Then came the moment I never thought would happen. They weren't "my" Blazers anymore. They were "Seattle's" Blazers, with a GM who'd run the team from there. They were thugs and retrobates. They sickened me. I was embarrassed for my city. The first hint of change came when Cliff Robinson hit that lady cop. The next was when a few players were borderline (?) criminal with teenage girls in Salt Lake City. By the time of Rasheed Wallace, Damon Stoudamire, Bonzi Wells, et al, I was done. Who could blame Sabonis for not wanting to come back to Portland? Even Paul Allen ticked me off by declaring bankruptcy on the Rose Garden. What had happened to conscience? To civility? And for heaven's sake, they even replaced Bill Schonely. That was the final straw - they were "Portland's" Blazers no more.

Then came Kevin Pritchard, who walked his talk. Consistently. The team began to feel "local" again. The new President, Larry Miller, had lived in Portland for 15 years before his appointment. Players began to live here by choice. KP proved that you can have good players who are also good people. By all appearances, sans the cable TV package, the franchise seemed to put the fans first above all else. Being a fan was fun again. We became competitive, and despite what John Canzano thinks, Rip City is back. In fact, there is only one person to decide when 'Rip City" is officially back. The ol' Schonz. It's his phrase and he's declared it's back. He's right, too. It's when fan-dom is palpable. It's in the air, not in the win-loss column. It's the buzz & hum of a community & state.

I lived in Portland for 53 years. I only moved for love. She lived in Clearwater, FL and couldn't move west. So I moved east. I ache for the Northwest, but I'm able to stay super-connected, less actually attending home games, and I have my points-of-view based on a well-founded historical perspective. In 1990, when I first thought of writing a column, I told someone that "I could even write about the color of the sox they wear!"

So here I am. Lots to say, from a standpoint not many have, except for Harry Glickman, the Schonz, & Dwight Jaynes, etc. Those guys had the best view. Mine was from a few feet back.