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The Spokesman-Review Newspaper
Spokane, Washington  Est. May 19, 1883

Did You Expect Human Behavior From Behring?

It sounded like a scene from a war movie.

I half-expected somebody to shout “incoming” as the helicopter descended with a deafening whock-a, whock-a, whock-a.

It wouldn’t have been more unexpected if it had been a space saucer setting down to colonize Kirkland.

Who in the world, after all, would have the hubris to fly a helicopter onto the Seattle Seahawks’ practice field - WHILE THE TEAM WAS PRACTICING?

Before the rotors could droop, out popped Seahawks owner Ken Behring.

While minions hustled over to kiss his ring, coach Chuck Knox - who owned the telekinetic power to bend spoons with the intensity of his glare - unleashed a pair of laser beams in Behring’s direction.

Team owner or not, nobody - repeat, nobody - did that at a Chuck Knox practice.

As Behring tries to transplant the team and King County officials plant their heels for what will be a bloody legal battle, that audacious display from training camp several years ago is illustrative of a crucial fact: that Behring has never understood any part of football - its traditions, its values nor its importance as an element that defines a community.

He’s as out of place as an air-ship on a football field. And in retrospect, it’s clear this relationship was doomed from the start, with the seeds of discord being planted long ago.

This, then, is the purpose of our visit today: to try to provide some perspective, some background that might help us understand a man so callously eager to rip the still-beating hearts from fans’ chests.

As a professional policy, I’ll never stoop to the juvenile practice of name calling, even if it is to satisfy a seething urge to label Behring a ruthless, duplicitous, corpulent, Elmer Fuddish human-toad.

So don’t bother trying to drag something nasty like that out of me.

Remember, please, that this is a self-made millionaire who ran his first used-car lot from a converted chicken coop.

Not to impugn the integrity of the purveyors of experienced autos, but it might not be out of line to suggest that Behring’s ethics with King County have been relative to those of the guy who cranks back the odometer on a jalopy and then breathes a sigh of relief the second it rolls off the lot.

When he bought the Seahawks in 1988, Behring saw it as a chance to expand his real-estate empire into the Northwest. But on several occasions, he reportedly pulled out of deals to develop property in the Seattle area because he was frustrated by King County bureaucracy.

This, likely, is the taproot of his contempt for county officials.

Further, he developed no relationships with the power brokers of the area. Boeing decided not to renew its lease on a luxury suite last season, and Seahawks corporate golf outings reportedly were noticeably bereft of honchos from Boeing or Microsoft.

So, if he couldn’t cultivate friendships in the region, he’d buy some and bring them in. Witness Tom Flores.

Flores, a neighbor in California and a friend, was brought on board as an administrator and then head coach.

But when that “friend” suffered through three losing seasons, Behring dismissed him without ceremony. Yes, he needed to be relieved. Not humiliated in the process.

Fans understandably grew impatient and booed Behring when he appeared at games. And he admitted he felt like an outsider.

These were the Behring straits, the cumulative issues he faced: fan hostility, a marginal facility, disaffection for the county and its officials.

In September, when a King County vote was taken on a measure that would have provided a good portion of the funds needed to renovate the Kingdome, Behring did nothing to support the matter.

How blind were we to not see why? He didn’t want it to pass. He didn’t want improvements, he wanted to move. Fans be damned.

Hope exists, however. King County will sue to uphold the Kingdome lease. And the league itself might bring action, although the NFL has had about the same success in court as the AFC has had in recent Super Bowls.

A great scene in the movie “North Dallas Forty” captures the essence of this festering dispute. It showed John Matuszak unloading on a cowering coach who repeatedly tried to tell the player he is a part of a business - not a game.

It has to be more than that, Matuszak argued, when you literally put your blood and sinew into it.

Likewise, it is this philosophical polarity that is the source of the problem between Behring and the Seahawks fans.

To the fans, it’s a game that is an enjoyable part of their life.

To Behring, it’s a business no different than real estate or used cars.

And the pain that fans in the Northwest feel today - simply, sadly, conclusively - is a product of the fundamental inability to reconcile that difference.

You can contact Dave Boling by voice mail at 459-5577, extension 5504.

, DataTimes