Bay Area sports fandom is special. Rocco the bulldog shows why

San Francisco Chronicle​

20 hours ago

Rocco Thompson died last week. The English bulldog, companion of professional basketball player Klay Thompson, was by every account a very good boy. He was 13.
I've been contemplating why I'm still thinking about a dog I've never met, and a person I don't really know, more than a week after the pet was euthanized far into canine old age. (Most English bulldogs don't live past 10.)
And I've come to a simple answer: Rocco's life, and Thompson's choice to share it with fans, exemplifies what's special about Bay Area sports. The championships in my lifetime have been great — 19 total between the Warriors, 49ers, Giants, A's and Raiders — but the extracurriculars have arguably been even better. The wins gave us parades and fleeting bragging rights. The stories off the field gave us something much deeper.
When Thompson was drafted in 2011 he was a silent figure, happy to play behind starting guard Monta Ellis and mind his business. Players and coaches noted that he 'barely said a word.' We knew little more detail about his life than the basics on his basketball card.
So I was shocked in 2014 when the Chronicle convinced Thompson to let reporter Rusty Simmons tag along on a dog walk at Cesar Chavez Park near the Berkeley shoreline. The resulting article featured a litany of endearing moments, including Rocco's reaction to Thompson's then-recent $70 million contract extension.
'He didn't know what it meant,' Thompson deadpanned. 'That's why I love him though. He didn't care the day before I signed the contract or the day of. He just loved me for me.'
From there, I connected with Thompson more and more. And as the team won, he opened up to the Bay Area, sharing his love of boat life, reading physical newspapers and passing on basketball knowledge. (His 'reverse waterfall' video is still the best-explained visualization of good shooting I've ever seen.)
These kinds of connections exist in all kinds of sports and in all types of cities. But I think the Bay Area is a special incubator for them. Living four years in Los Angeles and one summer in Boston, it seemed as if sporting teams were either ignored altogether (the Rams) or placed in live-or-die circumstances that make athletes feel more like chess pieces than complex human beings.
We give our athletes a little more slack to show their quirks. We reward broadcasters who are storytellers, and we show loyalty when a team is down — remember the Warriors' leanest of years in Oracle Arena? — embracing the moral victory like no other place I've seen.
The Giants have been borderline unwatchable as of this writing, losing five of their last seven games, scoring just 11 runs. But I'm still cheering for every Wilmer Flores at-bat, because I know he learned English from watching 'Friends,' choosing that show's theme song as his walk-up music.
When I think about the 1980s San Francisco 49ers, the first Bay Area sports dynasty I experienced as a fan, the bulk of my good memories aren't about big plays or final scores. I think about Dwight Clark wearing that enormous fur coat to the team's snowy first Super Bowl in Detroit, then bringing it to the parade on Market Street.
I think about this horrible rap, superstitious Ray Wersching refusing to look up after his kicks, and the time Joe Montana stopped by the Baskin-Robbins where my older sister Toni worked. Everyone in my family still remembers his order: pralines 'n cream.
I was all in on the Golden State Valkyries from the moment the new WNBA team was announced. (I coach middle school girls basketball. This was the dream.) But I didn't have a favorite player until I saw an epic KPIX news segment with forward Kayla Thornton, who confidently insisted her favorite New York pizza is the very mid national chain Papa John's.
'I don't really care for pizza, but if I had to choose it would probably be … just a regular Papa John's,' she said. 'When you go to a real Italian spot, when you pick up the pizza it all just drags down. That's pitiful.'
It was verifiably wrong, but so relatable, in the way former Giants first baseman Brandon Belt stuck by his love of chain restaurant Olive Garden. Celebrity athletes. They like unlimited breadsticks, just like us.
This is where sports becomes more than metrics. It becomes our shared Bay Area language.
Kenny Stabler smoking darts on the sideline. Duane Kuiper's single home run. Manute Bol's 3-pointers. Ronnie Lott's amputated finger. Every single thing Hunter Pence did. J.T. Snow rescuing Dusty Baker's son, Darren. The Mustache Gang. The Hamptons Five. Crazy Crab. We Believe.
I think that's what made Thompson's departure for the Dallas Mavericks this season so much harder, for him as much as us. He's an introverted person who shared a lot of himself. But sports is still a business. Bay Area fans and journalists suggesting the Warriors would be better without him must have felt like a betrayal, even if we welcomed him back on the opposition with a standing ovation and Captain Klay hats.
There will be chances to feel the love again. Someday there will be a statue for Thompson. Hopefully with a bronzed English bulldog by his side.
Rocco 'gives me a chance to clear my mind of everything and think about life — anything but basketball,' Thompson said in that 2014 interview. 'With me, my friends or my family, I can't help but talk about basketball, so this is my escape.'
And you, Klay Thompson, were our escape. Sorry you lost your friend. And thank you for sharing him — and the journey — with us.