Baseball fans live in the future, constructing whole imaginary cities out of innuendo, speculation and wishful thinking. Even when we get it all wrong—as we did with Prince Fielder's move to Detroit—these cities are at least interesting places to spend time.
The Kings are the worst offensive team in the NHL by a wide margin. They have failed to score goals under three different coaches and probably 30 different lineup combinations. None of this would be interesting, except for the fact that their impotence feels somewhat unmerited.
The Baseball Hall of Fame will announce the members of its 2012 class on January 9. If all goes according to plan, one or a few inductees will get phone calls from some suit in Cooperstown and they will cry. Then word will be leaked our way. We will sing the praises of the chosen, pour one out for Edgar Martínez, and begin anew the cycle of arguing about what greatness is, how you measure it, and how you deal with the fact that sometimes greatness is built on a foundation of bullshit.
In Brandon Roy, Seattle had the next best thing to its own basketball team: a player who was born and raised in the city, stayed all four years to become an All-American at U-Dub, and played for the next best thing to the Sonics. Now the city can’t even tie its dwindling NBA spirits to him. Like the Sonics, he was here and then he was gone.