Secret Society Of Clippers Fans Discovered

LOS ANGELES, CA--On the outskirts of Los Angeles, in the basement of an abandoned warehouse, a clandestine society of Clippers fans operates under a cloak of secrecy. The elite cadre of closet Clippers followers meets weekly to discuss the team, view games, and analyze front office moves. It has functioned in complete anonymity for close to a decade. The cloak has been lifted, however, and for the first time in human history the world is being allowed into the world of The Clipper Club.

Jay Simmons of the Los Angeles Times discovered the society after receiving an anonymous tip from a disgruntled former member. Simmons then began an investigation, peeling away layer after layer of secrecy to get to the truth behind the myth.

“I received en email from someone named Daniel. It contained an address and a list of names,” said Simmons, chief editor of the Times’ sports section. “The address was for this old, broken down warehouse on the south side. The names weren’t familiar to me at all. So I drove down to the warehouse, climbed in through a window, and started snooping around.”

What Simmons found was shocking. The main floor of the warehouse contained boxes of Clippers memorabilia, merchandise, and historic artifacts related to the miserable franchise.

“There was an autographed 8 x 10 of Donald Sterling. Donald Sterling? My God, why?” asked Simmons. “Randy Smith T-shirts, an Eric Piatowski rookie card, even a Buffalo Braves commemorative pin from the inaugural 1970 season. Holy shit. I can see why they keep this thing secret.”

Though disturbed by what he saw, Simmons was driven by morbid curiosity to dig deeper into the mystery of the Clipper Club.

“Once I got drawn into this thing, there was no turning back. I was in too deep. I had to get to the bottom of it. Why would a group of people dedicate their lives to one of the worst franchises in sports history? Why would they follow the team with the fervent commitment of a religious cult? Why, why, why? So many questions, so few answers.”

Simmons quest would be cut short, however, when the sound of approaching voices forced him to escape through the window.

“I imagine they were arriving for a meeting or something,” said Simmons. “It was frightening. I heard the voices and I froze. Then I got my composure just in time and bolted out the window. That was a close call.”

If he wished to get any further with his investigation, Simmons knew he would have to go directly to the source: the list of names provided by Daniel. One night later, he was indeed able to locate an address and telephone number for the top name on the list. All the others were unpublished.

When Simmons phoned “Michael” and the call was directed to voice mail, he left a simple, short, cryptic message: “I know. Call me unless you want the rest of the world to know, too.”

“I figured that would be the best way to get some answers,” said Simmons. “You know, a little blackmail. It worked. I got a call the next night from a Michael. He told me to meet him in the Staples
Center parking garage and he would tell me what I wanted to know.”

The meeting took place the next night and Jay Simmons was finally introduced to the Club. Michael opened up to Jay, telling him everything he wanted to know. He even took him through a labyrinth of secret passages and trap doors to the Clipper Club’s headquarters.

“Michael was very open with me,” said Simmons. “He seemed relieved to be able to open up to someone, like he’d been holding it inside for years. What a fascinating story, and what an amazing hideout they had.”

The hideout was a large, fully furnished room deep in the bowels of the warehouse. It had a big screen plasma TV on the wall, a fully stocked bar, and thousands of dollars in Clippers memorabilia and merchandise, including a rare World B. Free retro jersey. The giant steel door to the entrance could only be opened with a retinal scan. Upon entering the facility, Michael had one piece of advice for Simmons:

“First rule of Clippers Club: Don’t talk about Clippers Club.”

There were seven men sitting in the hideout when Simmons arrived, each wearing Clippers T-shirts and hats. The Clippers game against the Timberwolves was on the large-screen TV. Upon seeing Simmons, then men were alarmed.

“Who the fuck is that?” asked one man, leaping up from his chair. “He’s not supposed to be here.”

The other six men responded by covering their faces with brown paper bags or leaping behind the couch to conceal their identities. But Michael soon allayed their fears.

“Guys, this is Jay Simmons of the Los Angeles Times. He found out about us through Mark. I told him everything, on the condition that he would keep our names and location secret. I had no choice. I’m sorry.”

Resigned to their fate, the members of the Clippers Club opened up to Simmons, explaining their bizarre fixation with the awful franchise.

“Well, for one thing, we’re united by the fact that we are the only seven humans who have ever owned season tickets for the LA Clippers,” said a 33-year-old man named Paul. “At first, we used to come down here and beat the shit out of each other--you know, to work out our frustrations. Then we decided just to watch the games and talk about the Clippers. It was just as painful, but a lot less messy. ”

“I was surprised at how normal all the guys seemed,” said Simmons. “They were very nice, cordial, and polite. They seemed just like regular guys, except for their perverse loyalty to the awful Clippers. They all had regular jobs, families, children, homes, the whole nine yards. But the fact that they were living double lives was not lost on them. They seemed burdened by the secrecy of it. Like Michael, they really enjoyed opening up to me.”

Another Clippers Club member, Lyle, tried to explain the roots of the men’s affection for the Clippers.

“It all started when I was a kid. My dad used to take me to Clippers games at the old LA Forum. Every year he would say ‘This is the year. These things go in cycles, son, and the Clippers can only be bad for so long. Law of averages says they should get their shit together soon.’ Of course, he was wrong. They’ve defied the law of averages as well as several other universal laws. But I just never lost hope. My dad died years later, and the last thing he said to me was ‘This is the year.’ In fact, that phrase is written on his gravestone.”

A third member credited the leader, Michael, with introducing him to the Clippers Club and his “real family.”

“Michael is an enigmatic man,” said 34-year-old Will. “When I met him, I was down and out. I was frustrated by the Clippers’ ineptitude and complete failure to be able to compete on a consistent basis. Danny Manning, Loy Vaught, Elton Brand – the list of heartache goes on and on. But Michael took me under his wing and brought me into the fold. When I joined the Clipper Club, I was able to free myself from the shackles of modern society that ostracizes, oppresses, and ridicules those who are fans of the Clippers. I’ve found freedom and self-realization here. Plus, we’ve got a kick-ass plasma TV.”

Simmons spent the entire evening listening to the tales of the Clippers Club. On and on they went, deep into the night. So moved was he by their unconditional love for the team, their desperate hope for the future, and their amazing big screen plasma TV, that he requested membership to the elite club. Unfortunately, he was turned down.

“They just smiled and told me no,” said Simmons. “They said it was normal for me to want to join the club and enjoy hanging around in the secret hideaway and stuff, but it wasn’t right to admit someone who was not a Clippers fan. I understood completely. These guys are all battle-scarred, weary, long-suffering fans united in their misery and longing. Me? I’m just a writer. But at least I’m a writer with a great story.”

Simmons full story of the Clippers Club will appear in next week’s edition of the LA Times in six installments.