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 offence 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.
Throwing away/out piles of "Where's Barlow?" T-shirts into the crowd, the Lion creates a panic, a stir and all out madness. School kids snag themselves three tees apiece. None of them able to keep to their seats and require multiple hits with a copy of the Kings News in the hand of the old gent to the right. Totally bypassing the Lion each time he hands out the shirts, they mug the helpers, the guys and Harlequins in Santa hats desperate to keep their heads above the flailing arms and elbows. The Airganix blimp has nothing on this seizure.
Roberts continues to slam again, early in the second quarter, angry in the swing. Showing signs of wear, shots and easy passes are lost into the bright lights of the Kingdome. BJ Carter blasts away a nice bomb with nobody watching. On a whole the Pirates step up their game as the Kings fall back and watch with a little disarray. The side starts to crumble. Despite the powerful opener, Kings are trailing into the second half, 49 under 53.
Back again to an even height range, the mini cheerleaders throw in some new moves to their routine as they warm up the half-time act. At this point, the big screen starts pulling all sorts of on-the-fly editing: fade aways, cascades and slow motion trails. Only for this and the cheerleading Harlequins, the usual motion returns for the regulation b-balling. Down on the court, in front of the Kings bench is a digital billboard, lacklustre and clamouring onto its own novelty.
Six guys from Natural Born Breakers take centre court. Half in white, the other in purple. They battle it out freestyle, each taking the other to the next level of a throwdown. Reaction is luke-warm, the crowd show no interest save for when a couple are hopping on their heads. Execution is shy of smooth and grace, their connections a little loose. Under an excellent track mix starting with Fatman Scoop, the act is an entertaining few minutes that could do with a little trimming. White singlets win this round.
Third quarter, Kavossy Franklin is still nigh untouchable, bombing from all over the court with no argument from the locals. The agony continues, the shooting is dismal and the defence is comedic. Taking the game as their own, Hunter Pirates hold down the Kings 82 to 77 to enter the fourth.
Taking much delight in their achievements and scores, Rodney O shows the love toward Franklin and Ben Melmeth from Hunter. Even at the expense of the home team, the Voice is taking in their glory as part of the purple and gold. Contrasting this is the at times regulation calling of Kings plays. Apart from the often seen Roberts dunk.
The final quarter, money time, down and dirty. The lyrics to We Will Rock You continue to be mixed right out, stealing any kind of soul to the beat. Clap-clap, clap it remains. Struggling to even make a break toward the light, the Kings barely stay on the heels of the Pirates. Fluctuating a margin that at one stage looked bloated enough for a whitewash, the gap slowly diminishes. Tepid shooting and weak defence feed the plague, dead down with no hope for a comfortable win. A man an aisle across is in massive sweats, a shylock waiting at home, his heart set to give.
2.10 stands on the clock and Roberts steals the ball to launch into a dunk out from just below the free throw line. The Philips big screen hosts at least three replays of the flight, each one longer than the last. There is much more time to survey the ground before coming back down. Less than a half minute remains on the board. Pirates are set to walk home the winners. Kings call a few time outs, each returning with a sense of danger and an eye for the risky. Playing it with a slap of the wrist, they send the visitors to the charity stripe in the move toward snagging rebounds for a quick clean up. Things look out of hand when it appears that the Kings' shooting doesn't quite hold.
Looking set to clean out the night with a win, the Pirates blow it all with over eagerness and a look of panic in their eyes with 2.2 seconds to go. Picking up a foul on the arc, Smith finds himself at the free throw line with three shots and a chance to win the game. Leaning in, the crowd smell a hint of a near lost victory. They recoil and collapse as the second shot bounces off with the third and the margin looms a loss. With no time left on the clock and Smith fighting up from under the ring, Pirates grant the captain another three.
There is no mistake this time and there is no more time, 0.0 on every display. The first is good, the margin is one. The second connects, the scores are tied. Miss the next and overtime, sink the third and the Kings snatch a win from the depths of a loss and a horrendous showing. 97 - 96, Kings win.
Reviewed on Friday, 17 December 2004