The Game's Okay, But There's A Little Too Much Sensory Overload On The Sidelines.
By Tom Danehy
YOU KNOW WHAT it's like when you're driving along, come
to a red light, look over into the next car, and the guy behind
the wheel is attacking his nose in pursuit of The Great Lost Booger?
I mean, he's going after it, twisting and probing and digging.
You want to look away, you should look away, you must look away!
But something draws you back. You have to see if he fulfills his
quest.
And then you have to see if he eats it. Or, at least, where he
wipes it.
I, of course, have never witnessed such a spectacle myself, since
I always stare straight ahead, purposefully and diligently, when
I am behind the wheel. However, I've heard stories from other
drivers and their recollections are so vivid, I feel I'm almost
there.
It is with similar grim fascination that I witnessed a Phoenix
Mercury WNBA game last week. Actually, the game was great; it
was all the other stuff that had me afraid to blink lest I miss
something. Plus, I was afraid that Security might nudge me and
say, "Hey, keep your eyes on that court! We're entertaining
you, dammit!"
Those of you who haven't yet made the trip to a Mercury game,
shame on you. The tickets are under 10 bucks, there's plenty of
parking, and it takes less than two hours to get there, even if
you're driving a school van with a warning light on the dashboard
that flashes "Do You Really Think That's Wise?" every
time you try to accelerate past 55.
The WNBA is a great league, done right. And where the league
is doing things well, the Phoenix franchise is doing them spectacularly
well. Everything is done with a polish and professionalism that's
amazing to witness. I just wish there were a little less of it.
You walk into America West Arena and find your seats, which will
invariably be in the top section, since the Mercury has more than
9,000 season-ticket holders. Once you find your seat, you might
as well strap in, because you're not going anywhere. You're in
for two straight hours of sensory overload. And some basketball.
They start with the national anthem. They had three girls come
out and do it doo-wop, a capella style. I guess nowadays, the
Marvin Gaye-at-the-NBA-All-Star-Game version is considered traditional
and therefore outdated.
They're followed by a dance/cheerleader/troubled youth group
known as The Hip-Hop Squad. I now know what happened to The Fly
Girls after In Living Color went off the air. Jennifer
Lopez became a big star and the rest are dancing at America West.
They're okay dancers, I suppose, in that passé, hip-hop
way. They're not bad; they're just completely unnecessary.
Then the music starts. And never stops. It's unbelievable. They
play that techno-disco stuff constantly. They even play music
while the game is going on. It's absolutely bizarre. It's as though
they feel that the product they have out on the court isn't enough
to hold our attention and prompt our enthusiasm. We have to be
artificially pumped up at all times. I sincerely find that offensive.
Since it was a televised game, they have TV time-outs at the
first play stoppage after each four-minute increment of time has
passed on the clock. And after cheering on the home team, can
a fan sit back and relax, or maybe run to the bathroom or food
counter? Oh, no no no. You have to watch while America West-oids
run out and put shot-spots on the floor so Sue and Mary of Scottsdale
can humiliate themselves missing lay-ups in front of an announced
crowd of 13,000-plus.
If they had won, they would have received a $100 gift certificate
to Sears. Since they lost, they got a $200 gift certificate to
Sears.
They have shoot-outs and contests and raffles and those Hip-Hop
Dorks. It's non-stop. It's like they have the need to fill every
second with something, like the crowd has this really short
attention span.
I've seen NASA launches that weren't this tightly organized.
If this is the future of professional sports, I'll watch on TV.
Every high school basketball coach who's been involved with America
West knows the situation. When they run the state playoffs there,
they do so with a machine-like precision ("Your team will
be in the warm-up gym from 8:12 to 8:23 and 30 seconds")
that does its best to suck the life out of the experience.
Mussolini made the trains run on time, and Jerry Colangelo makes
America West run on time. But you can just see him up there, saying,
"You vill have fun, but only ven I say so."
Since it's summertime, there were hundreds, maybe thousands of
empty seats in the season-ticket area. At half-time, some of the
ballplayers I had taken to the game decided to go down and see
the game from the rich folk's perspective. They found an empty
row and were there for about 10 seconds when this old woman got
up and hurried over to alert Security. It was really impressive
watching her move. It's hard to imagine anyone running that fast
with a stick so far up their butt.
Anyway, the Mercury played a lifeless first half and were behind,
33-31, at the half. Then they came out and had the highest-scoring
half in franchise history. The crowd was into it, cheering every
basket, rewarding defensive stops with standing ovations, cheering
the home team to a resounding victory. And they didn't need any
help from the sound system guy.
I had wanted to interview former UA star Adia Barnes, who was
starting for the visiting Sacramento Monarchs. I called the Mercury
office and asked for credentials. They said no. I told them I
had already bought a ticket so they can keep the lousy eight bucks.
They said that I would have to attend at least two Mercury practices
and then apply for credentials.
Hey I'm sorry. I wouldn't drive to Phoenix, twice, to
watch the Mercury practice even if they were practicing naked.
Same for the Suns.
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