roc tha block; Kings v Bullets - Semi Finals: Game 1 - Entertainment Centre - 01/03/05

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 2 March, 2005 - Print Version

Smacks of inequality this thing with time. A rhyme is fine if made in line. Wait long enough and the monorails will count the minutes for you.

From the side, Ben Knight sneaks in to start off the racket. The Kings and Bullets tip back and forth with the hosts coming off slightly better. Snapping wrists play up the passing game, wild and fervent are the hands of Kings. Before another breath is drawn, Jason Smith is up again stopping and popping for the easy shots. Rolan Roberts' rather highly visible mouth guard suggests some biff will occur. Simply easy threes from the Queenslanders were quickly gone and eaten into the efforts. Caught in the lights, the visitors are just holding on to make sure they're in the right place before the quarter ends off at 27 to 22.

Feistier than last time, the Lion drags on a girl with thongs for the night's dance. Starting off with the same tiresome beat, they manage to throw in a welcome curve, a different end on the mix track. Shock registers on the face of a bespectacled man on the left, totally aghast at what he calls her apparent lack of dance blood. The freakish point flashing as the mascot grinds into the girl and really puts his frenetic hips into it. Duckman is a fine teacher of thrust. Probably the best dance bit all season long from the Lion.

Returning to the second, the Kings begin the slashing of the Bullets of Brisbane. Sprinkling salt all around the open cut, the Kings blow out the wound to a twenty point margin. Passing is faster and the offense is more tenacious. Roberts and Bullets' Ben Castle tumble like gophers foraging in line, both falling over phantoms. Missing only a step to the act they fall in synch, rise and quickly rejoin the game with hardly any notice from the crowd for their time roll. Here in lies the start of tomahawking Roberts, not once or twice, the import slams dunks with a force set to concuss anyone underneath the hoop. Swing when you're winning and the half reads 58 to 36.

Rodney O makes it hard to remember the name of the act that starts the half time entertainment. Their name itself is also a flit in the air. J Love? Love Crew? Four women in army fatigues arrest the hold, snatching the limelight and slowly groove their moves. Matching the soundtrack, they pulsate slow on the rhythm, holding back any crazy fleck outs from the back. Gyrating with a subtlety, they are at both one and individuals, each adding their own piece of flair toward a set choreograph. The Harlequins and this crew do not play the same game.

Chingy swaggers and saunters after the dancers. Two other well blinged out blokes flank his sides. Nobody clears their throat before hand. Right Thurr cranks and crackles through the extra speakers on for the scene. The sheer volume of the backing track drowns out any plausible credibility. The slurring is right thurr and the hurrl starts to currl. Tiring. Checking for snipers from the rounds, they, just like the dancers, rotate around the main circle and keep on it for a meagre one song performance before they are off and the dancers are back on with an ever appreciative Lion soaking it up full on frontal.

With as many jump balls as there are rnb and hip hop artists, the match continues into the third. An alley-oop from the first quarter only charges the dunk-fest as a few more are driven into the ground. David Barlow makes it on court rather early, largely due to fouling heavy Smith and Luke Martin banking five personals each. Even with a tight defence, the Bullets still manage to sink a couple of shots from the arc without much hassle. A clean run up to the hoop sees Barlow pull up short and shy of connecting a dunk. It gets lost. Doesn't matter. Kings still head up the ranch, 83 to 58.

Simon Kerle delivers a clothesline to Smith, picking up a foul and a collective howl. An action stirring enough to whip the crowd in to a clean verse chant of, "If you hate Simon Kerle, clap your hands." Much clapping, much participation. Kerle can only touch the ball to generate deep and sonorous booms of boos and hisses. Great, fantastic. Even Rodney O joins in the fray, calling out his hair sway. All on for the pummelling hate. Bryant Matthews attempts a similar stock soon after but falls just short of the level of Kerle. There can only be one play villain for the night.

Midway through the final quarter, The Voice throws some love to an exiting Ja Rule. This then sets of a line of girls racing their way round the flats of the Kingdome. Ushers with arms wide out fail to stop their stampede. J-Wess, 112 and other bits from the roc tha block tourist entourage also up and leave; all gone and out before the final buzzer.

End game sees no let up from the Kings. Blocks and rebounds have no time to register on the Bullets radar before causing another shot in the arm. Two guys behind snap and start swearing at the kids who all night long shout "Go Twinkle Toes" on Martin's court appearance. No recollection of much referee interference, bodies are sliding all over the court and picking up replay time on the big screen.

Defeat drains the arms of the Bullets, all their efforts are in vain as the dwindling minutes turn into seconds and then a sorry walk home. Not much of a contest, Kings butcher the Bullets with a 113 to 79 result to win game one of the semi-finals of the NBL Championship season of 2005.