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A littering of moon cakes on discount mark another festival that goes on by. Milling around the outside of the Entertainment Centre is down. People are all but absent. Nothing in the clouds that are just waiting to crack open hours later. With a head full of foam and moss, everything is on mute. Everything.
The Bullets of Brisbane break out the bank and bill the first bucket of the night. Mark Worthington looks like a development player, all unassuming, blending into the background. Teaming up with Ben Knight, they deliver a frenzy with an attack that sees them all over the board. Bobby Brennan and Michael Hill are an imposing set, but the Brisbane take a breath too long in the first. Rolan Roberts dunks with a force and ownership that sets Mark Bradtke on the back foot of intimidation. Kings up easily on the second half of the first quarter with 30 to 23.
Rest of the review of Burn the floor; Sydney Kings vs Brisbane Bullets - Entertainment Centre - 17/09/05
Cleaner lines and sharper edges. Everything changes when the furniture makes with the faces. Quiet and spooky is the Entertainment Centre forecourt. Even with the Castle Hill RSL brass band playing it big outside the box office. Gates hold the entrances with a new ticketing style and a sense of greater policing. The merchandise stand with the magazine at a stunning three dollar fails to fly away with the not-quite-sure pick-pocket. For the first game out for the Kings at home, copies of Kings News are understandably anorexic. At least these aren't begging for dollars.
Quick on up, the stands watch on as the Kings' championship banner for the 2004/05 season rises from the black to sit high and proud with the 2002/03 and 2004/05 banners. Against the others, 2002/03 looks like a year in tatters, out from the wash too soon and not doing all that great. Slightly worse for the weather and showing signs of old age. The new flags shining far too bright in the face of the first.
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.
Black curtains running the flanks behind row O or such close in the Entertainment Centre and give it a nice cosy feel. With the rows and rows of back seats cut off, the sea of bodies across the way is most reassuring and doesn't stink of the regular season's spotty emptiness. Red and glints of white hold fort in the south-east corner, the Wollongong crowd are moderate. Gone for tonight is the Airganix blimp, in its stead, a torpedo-like and limp Virginblue airship, willowy and struggling to stay airborne against the strong currents of the air conditioning system. Rita May falters for on the middle of the national anthem, but holds the end well enough to make it insignificant.
Messy though the tip off, the Hawks are left watching as the Kings bolt away to a twelve point start before warming back into the game to notch an effort on the board themselves. Pace from both sides is good, their toes roll in rapid rotation. Energy is vibrant, a tight crowd adding a great deal. Kings end shines at 27 to 17.
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.
Rest of the review of roc tha block; Kings v Bullets - Semi Finals: Game 1 - Entertainment Centre - 01/03/05
Three to six chili pods and their seeds molest and infect every bit of meat in the szechuan beef dish. The onions and capsicums cannot escape their burn. Forget weeding out the seeds from the broccoli. Each bite takes the threshold up and reasoning down another notch. Lips bleed and the tear ducts throb as the masochist within takes to devouring the entire plate, stopping short on drinking the entire plate of seeds clean. It's akin to rubbing chili straight into the eyeballs. Where is the girl handing out the free chocolate samples now?
Kings coach Brian Goorjian collects a hefty photo inside a frame, marking his 400th game win from the previous night against the Hunter Pirates. This continues his reign as "the most winningest coach in Australian sports history." The abuse of the superlative rights to words knowing an existence in the sports realm. A deathly slacker teen in loafers to the right shows his contempt at the passionate and fiery Tigers supporter over on the left. Despite the game having not even started yet matters not as he charges all on out. Eventually it does, and the abuse and strains enjoy a hearty life for the game.
Scorching metal is only a tip away as it watches searing beef singe the tongue. The pain is intense, the back of the throat numb. The tongue now smells of blast skin. Room to move is spent casually getting into a hustle with a row of guys. Their tickets say row M, their drunk mates behind insist on row K. Wayward steps back out of the seats nearly collect a chin. A row is taken across the aisle and below the K. Beef in the crowd is large tonight, their numbers looking rather well.
The Hawks of Wollongong are already on the board and the peter of the game is already starting to affect a nose bleed for entertainment. Kings show no pep. No hustle either, Skip. Their disposition and imposition clearly outside taking a long straw up the left. Ben Knight's Knightrider punctuation again plays with an explicit mention of the show, forcing its connection. Surprisingly, the Kings manage to do a deal with the Hawks that sees the hosts end the first quarter on 24 to the visitor's 13.
Finding a hard time swallowing broccoli, a few copies of Kings News still do no dent on the areas with no seats. The girl at the box office graciously hands over a ticket for a section close to the action but without the fill of beef. The Filipino All-star game wraps on 34 to 20 with the Blues claiming victory over the Golds. Or the Golds over the Blues. Or East over West. Or vice versa. The announcer for the early game holds no gravitas, no real conviction. It's like the system is turned off and nobody is paying the bills for the reconnection. That guy better not charge for over time taking his time draining the pipes.
Victoria/Vanessa/Veronica Martinez smoothly delivers the national anthem as a big fat guy whimpers out a whine for the sake of making himself heard over the din. Clear and easy to listen to, it's evident that Advance Australia Fair is too short to stand alone in its single verse state. Blanket advertising from the Daily Telegraph suffocate the Kingdome. The Imperial March introduces the Adelaide players whereas the Kings walk in with what sounds like Rebel Blockade Runner.
Balmain criss crosses with all sorts of vowels and a military imprecision still misses its mark. Like a sticky plague, the bookstore captures another wad of bills, this time featuring animals over the change. Despite heavily sweating, the blue dye remains on the bag as the disparity between Creature Comforts and The Bittersweet Summer weigh themselves for a piece of garlic splinter.
The Flames of Sydney University and the Lightening of Adelaide finish up their game well before the seats are found. The section angle here right between seats with Kings News. Large chunks are taken out with the spectator numbers slightly more than that of the Bondi shield match a few weeks ago. Blockheads are at a minimum, other people having also made their connections down. The last derby of the season between the cross town rivals; The Kings of Sydney and the Razorbacks of the West. One up for each, the deciding match is this and a sudden urge to eat out the left side of the face explodes under the jaw. An urge going on more than a few weeks now.
Canadians behind talking about Bryan Adams and Shannon Noll, Chinese in front with a kid covered in chicken pox, the line at the ticket window is people heavy, one of which smells of cherry bubblegum in her hair. The queue runs up to the front door of McDonald's and tourists choose just one point in the line to break through to the other side. Greasy locks on a guy selling match day raffle tickets shine with a dull thud, no knowledge of the previous Kings captain sees him writing down Matthew before stumbling on Neilsen. With the trans-Tasman match, both anthems meet the stadium. A man in his late twenties/early thirties, presents God Save New Zealand, cramming in the last syllable and Rita R-something, a teenager in a black dress in stylistic tatters on her way to a party, delivers Advance Australia Fair with solid justice despite the song itself being a let down.
Rolan Roberts starts the tally and the Kingdome continues on majority mute, the songs aren't blasting nearly as overtly as previous outings. The play is also a luke warm affair, the speed is gone and the energy pretty much non-existent. And this is the opening quarter, both teams should have enough energy. Doesn't show. People are still filling in the seats right up to the end, beefing out the atmosphere. New Zealand almost have the first easily in the bag before a late surge from the Kings see them watching the margin dissipate. BJ Carter falls over himself to close out the first, Kings behind on 31 to 36.
Defeat again at the counter of Books Kinokuniya—where they choose not to ever think about the prospect of paper bags larger than for spit collectors. Soon to find itself on a float, a copy of Ultimates 2 #1 rests atop three copies of Kings News #46 (import Rolan Roberts mugging the front page). Early to the seat, an elderly man starts to chat up a conversation. The wall is high and only when two visitors from interstate sit in the row in front does he start up again. St. Michael's Primary hold the court in the opener, Greens vs Gold. Under 13s Green win, 46 on a margin of ten or thereabouts to match the Under 12s of earlier. Or so they say.
Mark Sanford begins the scoring on an easy pop after sort of winning the tip off. The pace settles into a rhythm, points made with little fanfare though it does seem to explode. Bradely Sheriden denies a Pirates' Davidson and the mirth starts afresh. Mere seconds after subbing in, Kings' Rolan Roberts slams a dunk with plenty of attitude and time to adjust his landing. Geordie Cullen takes offense to Roberts' mere presence and roughs up the scene in front of a referee, who watches as he does. Making their way ahead, Kings 32, Pirates 27.
Lifting two tickets from the palm of Jason Smith and standing near a Lion reeking of toil and sweat, a problem makes itself known when the need is for three. Hustling quick at the box office, a suitable compromise with seats on the corner and far closer than stated, still behind the backboard with a great view in section 8. Australian Idol finalist Dan O'Connor belts out a strong and thankfully short rendition of the Australian anthem, careful not to wail needlessly on imaginary syllables. Wild interpretation is not the duty here, a serviceable performance is. And was. Wollongong wear warm up jerseys with no single sponsor, every player towing the line for another name, different from the last, none the same as the next.
Jason Smith begins things with two points through the ring. Fresh of the boat, or whatever form of transport, new import Rolan Roberts enters the court and blasts open with a slam dunk and a quick rebound seconds later. This man has presence, aggression and commands the space he stands in. Mark Sanford is a pasty goth in comparison. Strong on, the Kings are looking to make sure the Hawks don't win on this night as they end the first with 14 against a home 20.
Rest of the review of Rolan Roberts; Sydney Kings vs Wollongong Hawks - Entertainment Centre - 04/12/04
Falling over the dark, startled by the lack of an adequate buffer between one location and another, an already underway spotlight array highlights the Harlem Globetrotters with introductions that sound as if their names are familiar and known throughout the stadium. Even if they mightn't be, they quickly start to work the crowd into their act with a few launching basketballs into the stands. Each return garners a semi-patronising applause from Paul "Showtime" Gaffney. Acrobatic handling starts the moment any one of them touches the basketballs. Beyond which, the Globetrotters themselves are a well orchestrated outfit that sees the short fry referee, announcer and the New York Nationals, opposition for the night, mixed seamlessly in the entertainment. One big happy family.
Most, if not all, of the act is taken by Showtime Gaffney as he steals not only the show but balls, shoes and a purse. When not on Gaffney, a slam dunking, and hugging and swinging, duo of Curly "Boo" Jackson and Antwan Jackson live pretty much around the rim of either ring, taking to extremes the sheer capabilities of the system. Neat, energetic and just all out fun, the spectacle pays no mind to whatever rules or regulations exist. Feet and legs touch the ball, steps are taken with a liberal dose of extension, the referee is harassed to a cackling degree, delays of game penalties non-existent... it goes on and does in the head of anyone looking to follow the Globetrotters on the basic fundamentals.
Rest of the review of Harlem Globetrotters vs Nationals - Sydney Superdome - 26/11/04
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