FREEDOM

Our collective sixteen-year fever is about to break -- Chris Cohan has sold the Golden State Warriors. A lot of fans are up in arms about the specifics of the sale, believing Larry Ellison to be a white knight that Cohan cruelly cast aside. Don't get caught up in that stuff, people. Ellison clearly bungled the negotiations, and is a douchebag besides... plus, the sixth-richest man in the world is not guaranteed success in a league with a salary cap. He shan't be missed.

The new ownership group of Joe Lacob and Peter Guber contains at least one douchebag its own self; if you like showbiz tales, "Hit and Run", the account of Guber and Jon Peters's idiotic demolition of Sony Pictures, will amuse you to no end. But we're getting a hands-off-gasbag vibe from Guber here. Lacob's the key guy, and as a (not-for-long) minority Celtics owner and a longtime Dubs season ticket holder, he passes at least an initial sniff test.

We'll have to see about these new fellas, but the story of the last fella is complete. And for Warriors fans, it's a story with a particularly unhappy ending.

Chris Cohan made out like a bandit here. He bought the team for $119 million, and sold it for $450 million sixteen years later... that is a nice tidy profit. Not all of Cohan's business ventures have panned out, and you certainly can't say he rates well on customer satisfaction, but for his purposes, ownership of the Golden State Warriors was a massive, massive success. He and Rowell soaked a loyal fanbase something fierce.

I don't know that any useful lessons spring from that. Cohan might've had a shorter and less successful reign if fan interest hadn't been so unconditional, but unconditional love is part of what makes the Oracle crowds what they are. Would we all trade the unparalleled quality of Warriors fandom for a better team? Would a 54-28 team playing 80% full arenas be more or less satisfying than the "We Believe" squad? We are all too loss-riddled to know.

All we know is that the games shall continue, and the circle shall turn; a centimillionaire jagoff is catcalled off the stage, and two more centimillionaire jagoffs enter to wild applause. A man that destroyed a movie studio is now being hailed as the savior of a basketball team. If you feel like Charlie Brown running towards another Lucy-held football, you're not the only one. But we may just get that kick off yet, and damn, it'll feel sweet if we do.

Fare thee well, Chris Cohan. You have plagued my leisure time for sixteen years, and I have only the vaguest sense of what you look like.