Thirty minutes to tip-off, Waiting around Door 7 of the Entertainment Centre to the news that by a stroke of luck, our contact, Adam, scored ticket upgrades to a corporate box right on court side. A ticket for ticket swap. What was going to be a viewing up in the midsection of the thickly scattered audience graduated into seats between the boxes of Macquarie Bank and The Sydney Morning Herald.
Two rows, connected in groups of four, the chairs offered nothing in the way of slouching comfort. Cushions on the back and seat of the chairs were padded enough to hold off from the hard plastic yet soft enough to allow for hard punches to connect with the red moulding. Postured into a fixed face-front position, turning around to focus on the action up and down the court falls more upon the neck than upper torso. Careless twisting pops you off the seat.
Lights to the Entertainment Centre gradually dimmed into darkness save for the EXIT signs. Darkness followed by spotlights introducing the Trendwest Sydney Kings and their starting five. Shortly after, during the singing of the national anthem—with thoughts to a dead fan or somesuch—the over head lights ran along a subdued amber to pale yellow to bright white taking out a few seconds for the eyes to readjust to the burn. Ears were already throbbing and the drums crackling from the high pitched screaming. Most of it coming from within by the four girls holding down the front row of the box. By the end of the national anthem the eardrums were ringing and wouldn't stop till at least an hour after the final buzzer.
First to score on the board, the Kings struggled to hold back the Bullets of Brisbane. Kicking out the points, the spread grew larger and larger and then fluctuated around the 20 point region to leave a blown 25 point chasm by half-time. The Kings weren't looking crash hot. Easy rebounds were missed, shots rimmed and were seriously off target. Their defence was painfully gaping and the usually sullen Matt Nielsen looked more worried than usual. Despite the King's best efforts to hold him down, Derek Rucker kept scoring easy points and helped the Bullets slink away with a comfortable lead by the end of the second quarter.
A mere metre away from the sidelines and directly opposite the King's box, the glistening sweat off the arms and scalps of the players is much easier to witness. And the strapping. Ankles of pretty much every player on court were wrapped heavily in bandages as if to cover their Achilles heels. The refs (one of which resembled Josh Charles - Knox Overstreet from Dead Poets Society) and the Lion kept finding their way in front of the box. The action was blocked for scant seconds at a time with readjusting of the seated in order. Between bouts of walking past and spraying silly string at the girls in the front, the Lion cranked on the charm. Even when stripped down to his shiny purple briefs.
Sitting so close also sparked a few fearful thoughts of a wayward ball flying into the box and knocking off someone's head. The Harlequins cheerleaders were a whole lot easier to appreciate. Shiny scales, probably sequins, on the bottoms of their second-half costumes didn't help with swaying the opinion that they could double as the Sharks' Mermaids. With stares into the middle distance of nowhere well glazed, their strappy pompoms cut through the air to comfort ears feared rendered dead for the night.
Half-time presented the four minute basketball acrobatic antics of a group called the Scream Team. Energetic and fun, they presented all sorts of trampoline assisted slam dunks. One of the guys flew sideways into the backboard and another act had them placing balls in splayed and inverted crotches and such. Working the crowd as well as they were their best reactions followed the few mishaps and mistakes in missing an alley-oop or falling on each other. As a comedy act, they're fine. As a spectacle, they're brilliant.
Crackers and cheese. Probably cheesy crackers and cheese of brie. Or even limburger. Several blocks sitting on the plate were coloured differently so it's not impossible that they had variety there. Wafting from the Macquarie box it was mildly fragrant and a little disturbing. Food, listed on the trodden menu as being around seventy five dollars, didn't make an appearance in our box. On either side, wine, plastic cups and paper napkins, wraps of a sort featuring a meat that resembled raw fish, buffalo wings and bread rolls; temptingly within reach. Tanned and gilded, the lothario and Michael Diamond look-alike and his family didn't eat much of it. In the other box, a guy with a faint Bruce Willis profile.
Like a sphincter unable to hold back the advancing flood brought on by diarrhoea, the Bullets were undone by the regenerated Kings. CJ Brunton, after a spectacular slam dunk out from the sides, hung perilously close to a technical. Players were flying all over the court ever more than the first half and the sweeps were trying to keep up with the mopping of sweat off the floorboards. Compared to the first two periods, the Kings really gelled and tightened the margin. Each time they closed the deficit to single digits the crowd cheered with a standing ovation, those that stood up too long were shouted down. With a few minutes to spare, the Kings in front by two, Luke Martin fell over himself in a hilarious and seriously questionable circumstance—no one was around him—and handed the Bullets a last ditch attempt to win the game. Thankfully they failed when Rucker was not able to pot the basket. With that saving miss, the Kings somehow ended up at the free throw line to put the game beyond the reach of the Bullets to hold down the sweet agonising, although nearly lost, win.
Kings defeat Bullets 104-100 in the first game of the semi-finals for the 2003/04 NBL championships.
Reviewed on Sunday, 14 March 2004