They Can Rattle, Roll Right Here

Rain is not the only reason the Seattle Seahawks should reconsider immediately and come on back to nice, dry L.A.

Those earthquakes up there, they can really ruin a game, man.

Imagine the horror. A quiet Sunday afternoon. A big Seahawk game at the Kingdome. The hated Raiders in town.

Suddenly, an 8.1 quake shakes Seattle.

Rivers of cappuccino spill through the streets. Kingdome concession stands overflow with gallons of Costa Rican-blend double decaf latte and Colombian-grind flavor of the day.

Al Davis, his white silk slacks soiled permanently by coffee stains that just won’t come out, no matter how much bleach you use, threatens legal action against the county of King, the state of Washington and the NFL on legal grounds--”and I do mean grounds,” the Raider owner says, scrubbing the brown stains from his cuffs.

Next thing you know, new Seahawk owner and zillionaire Paul Allen is in hock, running next door to Bill Gates’ mansion to borrow a cup of micro-chips.

And then, there is Ken Behring.

Or, as I now think of him, Ken “Nostradamus” Behring, foreteller of doom.

Thoroughly vindicated, Behring appears amid the rubble of the Kingdome, like Fred Flintstone in a quarry or Burgess Meredith in the “Twilight Zone” episode about an atomic bomb going off, and, stepping gingerly through the fallen ceiling tiles and the Ken Griffey For President bumper stickers, Behring stands shouting to the heavens: “I told you people! I told you!”

No, if I’m a Seahawk, I say no thanks, no more Seattle for me.

Too dangerous, that place.

Ride-by bicycle shootings. Umbrella warfare. Punks stealing the flannel shirt right off your back. Let’s face it, the streets of Seattle are mean.

I believe the Seahawks should really give this some more thought, before it is too late. They could come down to L.A. right now and play at the Coliseum, where only the press box is unsafe, and who cares if that thing collapses? So a couple hundred media twerps fall a hundred feet onto their thick skulls, big deal.

Last week’s 5.4 quake in Seattle was no laughing matter, although now, at least, I finally know why everyone up there walks around in boots.

It proved Behring’s point that a fault line did exist in Seattle, which is why he wanted his Seahawks to flee for their lives.

They all laughed when Behring shouted “Earthquake!”--yeah, they said, and Iowa has those big volcano eruptions--but nobody was laughing after a Mariner baseball game was interrupted by the most frightening sound since a Randy Johnson fastball whizzed by John Kruk’s helmet.

Kingdome inspectors walked around pointing their flashlights like Nancy Drew in a cave, then proudly declared: “See? This place is solid as the rock of Gibraltar!”

And Seattle residents proudly agreed, although most of them thought the rock of Gibraltar was a grunge band with three guitars and a drummer.

Behring’s theory, that a quake could crack the Kingdome like a Jumbo Grade A egg, was promptly ridiculed as just another flimsy excuse for letting Los Angeles have his unlucky little football team.

Evidently, it will take a 6.4 or 7.4 quake for Behring to prove his original point, that anyone attending a football game in Seattle could end up in Tacoma--or a coma.

Seismologists today at Wash Tech will tell you: “This place could blow up faster than Lou Piniella after an umpire’s call.”

Of course, poor old Behring is preoccupied these days, peddling his NFL team to the owner of Portland’s NBA team and defending himself against charges that he is the Sen. Bob Packwood of football bosses.

I hope the Seahawks see the light.

If you have to play in earthquake country, you might as well play in warm earthquake country.

L.A. fans will be pleased to know that the NFL’s Arizona Cardinals also have commissioned a study that proves they should leave Arizona immediately, due to snakes.