Three-peat with a sweep; Kings v Hawks - 2004/05 NBL Championships - Grand Finals: Game 3 - 19/03/05

Ethan Switch - Sunday, March 20, 2005 - Print Version

Octopi on the plate struggle against the tiring jaw. Time on the clock reads late and the feet make haste to spend an all too familiar fate of the wait. And they wait. And wait. Monorails pass, people file through, still, the wait continues and the booming from inside the Entertainment Centre suggests the tip-off is now a thing of a minute's past. Picnic Point flashes into the mind for a second before logic dictates a few steps toward 15 to meet up with Atom. Bingo, luck is in, the man stands at the door just about to walk in. Tip off is still a few away, minutes after aboriginal group The Donovans take their guitar and harmonies to the national anthem, making it seem longer than it should be.

Dropping down from the rafters like a dead Hart on a rope, the Lion sheds his cape as the crowd boos the Hawk's mascot around the court. Touching base with the floor, the Lion quickly dismisses the Hawk with one paw, sending the trespassing mascot on his back scurrying away. Half of the Harlequins cheerleaders, all in the Philips version of their outfit, tussle with the other half sporting red tops in a scene pretty much out of one of those movies that have the magnetic film read right through to the plastic tape. Or, for those more up-to-date, where the shutter of the DVD image flickers. Pompoms are cast all over the floor, a couple of dancers are saving themselves from a pin down and the two mascots engage in another round with the Lion showing no mercy to his guest.

Slopping the gruel, the start is taken out by a quick shot from the Hawks. Backing the tracks, Jason Smith charges the Kings on with a sweet shot from the arc. Kings hustle fast, the Hawks doing their best to keep them down. Defensively, the visitors are keeping things tight and feisty, making it look like a fight worth staying for. 22 to 21 in favour of the Kingdome.

Taking offense to having his ears under siege from a clangy mini-gong, a man turns around and berates a woman in the group of what happens to be that of Spittle Man's. Right in mind, the man's argument is solid, coherent and very polite. "Two hours of this?" he asks, certain that her enthusiasm will no doubt kill any chance of total silence as she slinks back into her seat to blow her plastic trumpet. Anthony Mundine flashes up on the big screen to murmurs of boos and slight hisses. Snapping, the next cut is over to Kostya Tszyu behind the Kings bench who elicits boisterous cheer and pretzels.

Only into the second quarter and Wollongong are shutting down, making sure they have all their luggage with them. Shots try an effort to find a score, well far from finding the hoop. Kings launch into a stream showing no rest and certainly no favour for the visitors. Shooting with such ease, Smith leads the Kings on an easy path with CJ Bruton and Ben Knight flanking his sides. Time starts on the free throw line with the Hawks all out on the fouls. Premature, though very well into the swing of things, Kings fans applaud the 60 to 39 lead into the main break.

An aboriginal dance group, whose name might contain "itc" within the title, pounce upon the floorboards as they arrest the eyeballs in the final half-time for the season. Wearing more than the cheerleaders, their dance is frenetic, energetic, and loses a few of the crowd numbers. Interpretation is key, and with one eye behind a flashing camera bulb, hard to determine. Possibly something to do with a hunt. Or a kill. Quite good actually.

The aboriginal hip hop group, Local something or other, right after the dance troupe, are the same as all the other hip hop groups, asking the audience to "make some noise" and get with the cherry squishing. Same save for the didgeridoo. Drowning themselves out with a lot of hand waving, they're off as soon as they are on. Not quick enough though. At least their accents are authentically Australian.

Into the third, and pretty much pushing the glamour man to floorboard limits, the Hawks muscle on Bruton, taking his fitness to task. Mark Sanford and Luke Martin crank up the intensity more so and bleed the visitors with Smith streaking hot on the board. Rodney O notes the captain's thirty points and ten rebounds but no word on assists. Hawk's Troy Pilon gets a French makeover on his surname thanks to The Voice. Adam Ballinger and Darnell Mee do their best and still fall short of a lifesaver. Three-peat chants start loud and heavy from the attending crowd with a 94 to 67 showing into the last quarter.

The hive mind controls the break between the third and fourth quarters. The night's raffle draw of a holiday just barely getting a chance to announce the winner. "Three-peat, three-peat, three-peat," already signaling death to the Hawks. The soundtrack to this night is pulling out all the old tracks and whipping them ad nauseam, giving no chance for the natural energy of the crowd to take over. Hard fought is the battle between the disc jockey and the fans. The jukebox selector looks to outgun them on every turn, drowning their sheer numbers with louder strains of tired tracks.

Money time sees a slow down in the Kings. Scoring in the midsection of the quarter stays in limbo, Hawks can only watch on as they do nothing to snag possession. Substitutions toward the second half of the final quarter see seas of standing ovations blotting the Entertainment Centre. Queen's We Will Rock You spins another, though hobbled, round as the last minutes drag on for the Hawks as they try and steal the last shot for themselves. Rolan Roberts chances a flight and just misses out on slamming in a last alley oop for the year from the side.

Disappointing effort from the Hawks as they roll over and look up at the board, 112 - 85. Kings take out game three causing a sweep and claiming the Philips NBL 2004/05 Championship crown for a third successive year, an historic feat.

Bodies flow onto the court as barriers stand erect between the teams and the fans in the stands behind the benches. Glittering streamers and a man in sequins flutter from the rafters. Sanford's shoes go flying into the stands. When the officials take a little too long on the platform, they're cut short with the trance clap, bit by bit, a warm up to the players taking their rings. Talks of which aren't helped when the fans clamour for some skin of the players over the rope line. Their fans all but gone, Hawks are gracious in taking the second spot. After the raising of the trophy and sporting three fingers for the cameras, the night mills about with a steady shuffling out the door.