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Sydney's Town Crier walks up and down the front of the Entertainment Centre shouting on about the Grand Final match between the Harbour City and Melbourne. Leaving a little in the tank, the bellow feels hollow, put back and just not quite there. Like the friend who suddenly bursts shouting at odd intervals of the conversation. Such as the rise of a preposition or hanging off a solecism.
Dangling from the rafters, the Lion makes a descent amid fizzler sparks standing in for the indoors fireworks display. Smoke and the tinge of burnt fills the air minutes in. Wielding lightsabers, the Lion and the Tigers mascot battle, the one with the stripes falling down. The Sydney Kings Cheerleaders work their magic in the dark of the spotlights before the introductions.
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.
Stabilizing a blasted brainstem numbed with a burnt throat, no real sense of doom or elation presented itself. At least not in the wait to the final tip-off of the 2004 NBL Championships. Hype and buzz were mysteriously absent. The Entertainment Centre was filling nicely and with the crowd numbers announced at 9609, cozy is the Kingdome. Few patches remained in the seats but these are always the least bodied. No surprise to see them stocked with a splinter contingent of the rival's fans.
Name bombing started and stopped just as quick. The announcer reeled them off at a moderately speedy pace. Among the spectators, ex-host of ex-show The Resort, Jon Stevens and recycling the affection for Ebi Ere, Glenn McGrath with an ooh-aah of his own. Other names filled out near a dozen. Their attendance at the game means nothing and treated as such by the fans. Even less of a reception was paid to sub-grade singer, Christine Anu. Her availability more than likely the reason she was singing for the night. The Australian anthem is easy and for Anu, easier as singing it she wasn't. Music played over the speakers and the only voices heard resonated from the crowd. She was silent and presumably lip-synching for the fact.
Lost in a myriad of mulch, highlighted by the pale moonlight, a way off a dizzying path found in strengthened lights crossing over the Warm Up Arena. Chants of "Shout it, shout it along," beamed from speakers hoisted 50 metres high and stragglers from the Royal Easter Show were also in the stream. Coaxed into a steady flow toward Sydney Olympic Parks' State Sport Centre, aka the Pig Pen, venue for Game Four of the NBL Championships.
Visually unappealing from the outer, the inner fares from a weak mix of tomato sauce, wood chip and a little body sweat. Not at all overpowering, but there for the keen snorters. Air conditioning, as remarked by Jade the second we crossed the door, was notably absent. Collective heat from all the people like a downtrodden sauna ready for a tune-up and kick start.
Devon, or a weak scent of salami, mixed in with copious amounts of body odour and dressed down sweat were the night's eye watering primer. With nearly a row taken up by the gang in support of the Trendwest Sydney Kings, the few remaining on the left were taken by a family of Razorback supports. One of whom was a rather portly sized—let's just face the fact that she was fatter than the seat allocated—woman. Despite everyone else around her feeling the cool currents of the air conditioning, she just couldn't stop readjusting her armpits and the hold of skin surrounding. At one stage in the night she nearly took out the eye of her son in an akimbo stance.
One man on the far left, right up against the wall of the Entertainment Centre, vocal as he might have been, was quite lame in all of his attempted barbs toward the home team and defending champions. "Get a haircut," directed at King's CJ Bruton was the first of many weak potshots. They got louder, but failed to get better.
Rest of the review of Sheer Asphyxiation; Kings vs Razorbacks - Ent Cent - Grand Finals: Game 3 - 31/03/04
Choking down a wide sized apple, the skin was left hanging over the fence. Jade's brother was at the wheel and tested the G-forces available. Slight, even during rounds in the underground car park. The lower the level, the more fragrant the rotting produce.
Outside the Entertainment Centre, the milling pills were many and in a constant state of flux. The covers band from earlier appearances were still playing outside the McDonalds. Cigarette butts went flying across the paved areas surrounding as the crowd were gearing up for what was billed as a battle of Sin City. Could not find any explanations as to why, but it was. Taken.
Rest of the review of Battling Sydneys; Kings vs Razorbacks - Ent Cent - Grand Finals: Game 1 - 24/03/04
Game one was played out and won by Sydney. The second of the series moved the diehard fans toward a domed location in Perth. I was not die hard. If anything I was only in the games for the ride. Since no plane tickets were purchased for the trip West of Australia, a few of us decided to head down to an rejuvenated establishment of the retired sort to watch their feed of the game. Televisions were mounted into the ceiling and after one of the group asked for the sound to be turned up we leant back and cranked our necks to watch the spectacle as covered by the boys from FOX Sports.
Stats flashed on the screen: 68% of teams who win the first game go on to win the finals, only 30% of these sweep the series. Brian Goorjian hadn't won a finals series for the last five shots at the championships.
Rest of the review of Only Sixteen (Kings vs Wildcats - Grand Finals: Game 2 - 06/04/03)
The area outside the Entertainment Centre was filled more so than I've ever known it to be. More than a month or so ago during Seniors Week when they were cattled off in buses to some unknown destination. Blocking a set of steps to the upper levels were six amigos in full three amigo attire. One gave me the eye but I think it might have been either lazy or glassy. I'm hoping glassy. Seats in the centre were pretty much full, all except for a smattering of purple upholstery here and there in the vacancies. On a regular game there'd be an expanse between the back wall and the last line of patrons, that wall was taken up that night.
There was no music to warm up the freezing fans. The six amigos obviously couldn't get themselves a gig at Game One. The Stone Age Lion was lowered from the rafters but unlike Owen Hart only his feathery wings dropped from the height. His cape was thrown off as soon as his hind feet touched the ground and with the excitement, proceeded to strip down to his jocks. While they Kings were being introduced this near naked Lion was strutting his fur.
Rest of the review of Can You Smell It? (Kings vs Wildcats - Grand Finals: Game 1 - 03/04/03)
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