Hope.
Hope is the fickle, enigmatic companion of Kings fans: a coterie of jilted lovers, a mishmash of psychotic devotees, a hard-nosed tribe whose greatest era came and passed 17 years ago. We laugh in the face of victory, scorn those who succeed, and smirk at franchises who go through minor hiccups. We are the frontline veterans snickering at the wide-eyed fresh meat just in from boot camp. Your organization made a bad hire? We’ve made a dozen. A busted draft pick? That’s the norm here in Sactown. You’ve missed the playoffs for a half-decade? We’ve joined that club twice over and then some.