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Sambol at the ready and it's a dicey flavour of burning hotness gracing the lips and tongue to deceive on actual temperature. Very much the pain threshold of testing fatigue. Breaking point past here and no lines in the grains of rice. Tasty fat lips and counter time to swap coins aplenty for the hole in the pocket holds nothing more than disappointment. And no coins.
Pad See-Yew with a crack of an eggshell and the tip-off is underway. Heat builds quick with a shank of plastic down the front. Apparently it works double. Optimistically blind, a row steal the seats one behind, leaving the front all clear as the resolve.
Sydney Kings are impressive with the lead out early over the Townsville Crocodiles. Matt Worthington is out stepping a change up with no sign of slowing down to smell the burning leather. Crocs throw up little in the way of strong defence and formidable offence this early out in the first quarter. Spectacular dunk force from Jerome Beasley is too much as the ball shoots straight out of the ring toward the rafters and its Kings 31 over 22 for the Crocs.
No water on the water gate makes it a gate of dry illusion. One where dashing back and forth is not for the slippery of feet. Whatever lands on the rock with the back of the skull is best.
Sydney Kings spread out against the Singapore Slingers. Numbers, shooters, attention to detail. Keeping up with the up keep and the visitors from another city, but not entirely of another country, hold on level par with both the hold and block of the hosts. 21 to 20 with the Kings up a single digit.
Zone out to the cold sweats, the break into the city is a step off on the station before it all goes underground. After that, time is no longer an ally but a lying, filthy, cheating cur.
How often do you see a bloke washing a soft drink can at the public toilets any how?
Rest of the review of Pepper shred; Sydney Kings vs Melbourne Tigers - Entertainment Centre - 28/01/07
Juicy fat peach in hand quells the uproar in the stomach. Contorting against the dismal array of cool breeze hitting over the skin on the day's way through. Frankie say relax, but Frankie is dead from exhaustion with vultures dashing hairs of salt into his eye sockets. Pepper, anyone?
Sydney Kings are well across the state with Adelaide 36ers in the dust. Long road toward the black and it's impressive to see the start of the night blow out with the hosts high on a margin of 16. Kings Matt Worthington and Russel Hinder daming the cherry shooters to mark forward a path clearer as a table cloth where you find no spills ever mark deep into the fibres of the cloth. Kings laughingly out far and wide with 35 on the dozen from the 36ers.]
Rest of the review of Twisting socks; Sydney Kings vs Adelaide 36ers - Entertainment Centre - 20/01/07
Pork chops on a sizzling plate and the look of rice stewing in the sauce is enough to break out a plate of vegetables in oyster sauce. Long enough and the people in the toilets start waiting for one brave soul to open the doors out. Prospective three lands two and the split cut into the deal is about the same either way. One note, one seat less.
Smacking kids loud from the row behind necessitate the move across the sections. It's a game to watch and enjoy, losing the hearing is not a fun night out for anyone outside shouting down the speakers at the concert.
Rest of the review of Home on the range; Sydney Kings vs South Dragons - Entertainment Centre - 18/11/06
Back streets and alleys feature cobblestones, loose steps and cardboard to walk across. Feel the freezing breeze as the legs crumble and give to one mother of a wind chill. Nobody rubs this close late at night without it being down William Street. Or with metal slugs in the chamber. Perspective and all, so very clear and charming to the crowd. Rain drops keep falling on the head, but that doesn't mean anything for the fire in pig's bed.
Slip of the tongue and the crackle of the announcer starts with, "Your Tre... Firepower Sydney Kings!" to intro the team as they run onto the court.
Rest of the review of Chinatown; Sydney Kings vs West Sydney Razorbacks - Entertainment Centre - 21/10/06
Darkness is the Kingdome. Spotlights roam around and the cheerleaders and dancers sparkle on the floor. Late for a weeknight in the city, tip off is thirty minutes behind the ticket time. Oils on the right reeks heavy of sweat, a pinch on the back of the throat and the light rises up with the food staying down. Basketballs descend from below, lobs high hit hard on the other end of the parabola. Danger? Only from the one that waits in rafters to bonk the one looking for their seat.
Squeaks are out with extra syllables in the national anthem. Over by the northern upper blend, blurting mid-verse, essence of which no doubt for the home side in the face of the Tigers fans over south.
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.
Blood takes to the porcelain of a nearby toilet basin. The rich raw essence not losing any vitality as it drips drops to the rushing waters. Time takes on an age as the latchy few outside the Entertainment Centre box office find clipboards in their faces. Phil appears to be one such note taker, and as a man, appears to be a short wide woman looking for a speech impediment to call her own.
Slipping late into the seats with under a minute, the first quarter is lightening fast. The Kings are up over the Taipans with a healthy ten point margin. 31 to 21 in favour of the home crew.
Tight pants in fishnets walk the aisles handing out bats for those too lazy to stand on the outside rustling through the hands. Tiny dazzlers dole out the tattoos, no spit or water for those without. Dead red on the ends and the upper levels of the Superdome are just as empty save for a few sitting behind glass.
Kings lip the tip and Jason Smith out is out quick with two threes to hold over the hosts' double take. Pedestrian moves endure the length of play, spectacular swatting on show. Lack of finesse is stunning, the lag just filthy. Scores swap leads quick and with no perceptible upper hand for either side. Shuffling forth and back, the two hop on the other with no breath on black. Horns lock out the first, each with 27 on the board, pigs hard to the trough.
A fat man with sweaty fingernails and a brunette without a cap dole free CD mailers to the lingering outside the Entertainment Centre. With the supply from a nearby Defence Force recruitment van, the contents are semi-educational with not nearly enough brainwashing in hand. Their sell is soft and wanting, a desire more on handing out the postal items than in swinging new recruits to lay their lives on the line.
Darkness for the introduction, a cooling turn from the massive hold of heat on the outside in Darling Harbour. Spotty sections of the lower bowl see a call to the upper section to fill it out. Many do, others remain back in their seats not eager to tempt to trot and fall over each other.
Flies. Damn flies. Spring isn't here until the incessant insects are back out in force. Waiting in line at the box office, they make sure the people know it's coming up close to summer.
Finger licking glow sticks fly from the silver section and into the backs of heads in the gold. Spotlights in the dark introduce the Sydney Kings in a classy showing of simple light effects. Comatose floodlights keep the Entertainment Centre in the moments before dusk as the clock stays forever on three minutes. Black drapes around the dead back section of the venue present an air of cosy; with the low lights the ceiling feels equally suffocating.
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