Saturday, January 21, 2012

Retro Night With The Wichita Wings



Professional indoor soccer is one of those rare spectacles that cannot be properly explained with written or spoken word – the eyes, brain and at least one of the other senses (smell, possibly?) must experience it together, first hand. Sure, you could tell someone that they’ll watch a soccer game where double-digit outcomes are expected from both sides. That like in basketball, there’s four fifteen-minute quarters and a three-point arc. Similar to hockey, there’s a penalty box where the administrators of particularly egregious infractions are shelved for two minutes. And unrelenting body-checking.

Loud early nineties music is blasting through the stadium at all times - ALL times. I’m fairly certain the last two times I’ve heard Bush’s Machinehead were at Wichita Wings games, 14 years apart. And Kurt Cobain’s legacy will never be in jeopardy as long indoor soccer is still around. 

Athletic dudes with funny names and socks pulled up over their knees crash into each other, hurling their bodies with reckless abandon as the ball squirts around the field, from player to player. Professional indoor soccer covets a variety of personalities, all sage enough at something to keep playing at this level: The super-skilled dribbler (who can’t shoot); the tall, speedy forward with a cannon shot (who won’t defend); the versatile playmaker (who is good at everything, but can’t play the entire game); the bruising defender (who has a way of getting the tiniest piece of the ball in addition to one or both of the opposing forward’s kneecaps); the acrobatic keeper (seriously, they all are); the fiery ex-player/coach (who still thinks he could be out there, and is probably right).


(VIDEO: Check out how quick the action turns sour with this Comets goal)

With the above in mind, Retro Night at the Kansas City Sprint Center was shaping up to be a dream event. It pitted fierce long-time rivals against each other: The Missouri Comets and the Wichita Wings. This rivalry has transcended home cities, leagues that have folded and begat other leagues (that have folded and begat other…), bankrupt teams, players switching side and allegiances, coaches doing the same, mascots, owners, cheerleaders, cheering sections. The histories of these teams resemble two close-by trees, their individual subterranean networks of roots having crisscrossed to such a degree that neither tree knows whether the roots visible at their base are their own, or that of their frenemy.

For a ‘90’s Wings fan, this game was tickling blast from the past. Former Wichita Wings star LeBaron Hollimon, graduate of Wichita Northwest, traded in his short shorts for a suit and now patrols the Wings bench area, dishing out guidance like one of his mid-90’s tackles. Through a friendship (or contractual obligation) with my high school club coach, Tony Palomino, LeBaron would sometimes join my practices and help coach our team. He was a nurturing mentor who provided us with unbiased and helpful constructive criticism, such as the time that he said our defense resembled a “sloppy shit sandwich”, a phrase so cutting and hilarious that I still use it to this day.


(LeBaron...wishing it could be him out there) 

On the other side of the pine stood his former teammate, coach and player/coach, Kim Roentved, one of the most celebrated Wings of all time. Roentved played 14 seasons for the Wings during two stints, and another five for the Comets. His fiery demeanor, flowing perm and natural leadership made him a long-time fan favorite. That and the fact that if there was ever a fight, an overly-aggressive slide tackle, a verbal berating of a ref, or a hell-bent sixth-attacker in a dirty yellow jersey running like crap all over the field, it was The Rocket.


(Roentved, a shadow among men)

Kim and LeBaron were the types of dudes that Chad and I would watch while in high school and think, “Man, it’d be freaking awesome to play for the Wings”. And while we traded in our shin guards (the Sunday night league I’m in doesn’t technically require them) for much-less-cool professional jobs, we know someone who didn’t. Chris Lemons is more than just the Wings starting left back and a guy with dope hair – he’s a graduate of Andover High school who helped lead our high school team to some of its more successful years (until my jerk brother’s team won the State Championship).

It was surreal seeing him out there in the same colors as some of our favorite Wings players, such as “Fast” Eddie Henderson, Chico Borja, Dale Ervine, Chris Peat, the Dunn brothers, Tatu (more on that dude later) and “Stormin” Norman Piper, among others.    This is a guy whose dad, the team and town doctor, at one point in my life informed me of the following medical bombshells: my tonsils are jacked and need to go; my finger is broken, even though mom sent me to school; I passed my sports physical; that even though I was in pain from an accidental cleat to the groin, I was going to be just fine. Chris and his family were part of AHS soccer during the early years, when the program was in its infancy. When we practiced on the middle school’s backup football field. When we’d bus it 4 hours to beat Dodge City 13 – 1. I’ll stop here before I begin to sound like Uncle Rico.


(Lemons, getting his D on) 

So as you can imagine, we were more than excited to see this game. Kyle, a long-time Comets fan, was also not going to miss it, even though being a Comets fan is lame. Kyle is famous for breaking out old-school indoor soccer trading cards during one particularly celebratory New Year’s Eve party. That provided us with hours of conversation over how great the sport is, how short the shorts used to be, how amazing the perms, rat-tails, mullets and mustaches were…and were our eyes deceiving us, or did a reputable company actually print indoor soccer trading cards?

The Sprint Center was not sold out, but the 8,000 plus fans in attendance were not there by accident. While technically a home game for the Comets, the Wings followers – now apparently called the Orange Army – had a strong showing. The classic “DE-FENSE” and “WICHITA…WINGS…WICHITA…WINGS” chants were loud enough to be heard by the players and fans alike. This made me ponder the whereabouts of some of the long-time and visible Wings fans, such as the large guy with the beat-sticks and that always started his own chants and the old dude who wore overalls to every game, and was courteous enough to berate the refs using their first names.


(Three fans, two teams, one badass hat) 

What about that lady who won the 1990 Taco Rio Fan of The Year? She wasn’t there, but she darn sure goes to all Wings games in Wichita. That lady is Donna Cummings – Chad’s mom. She taught us a daunting lesson that day: no matter what level of success Chad or I achieve in our lifetimes, there is nothing that we will ever do that will be more awesome than winning the 1990 Taco Rio Wichita Wings Fan of the Year. Period.

The pre-game introductions were classic. Fans waived glow-sticks as the lights turned off. The Comets mascot (which a paternity test might determine is the love child of the KC Chiefs and Sporting KC mascots) rode around on a scooter under the spotlight, tossing out plastic soccer balls. The jumbotron showed clips of ancient match-ups between the two teams (footage obviously cut straight from VHS), ending much as you might expect it would: with a clip of the Comets goalkeeper running and jumping towards the wall feet first, propelling himself into a rapid-fire back flip. You couldn’t tell if he stuck the landing, because a Syfy-channel quality explosion engulfed the screen when his feet were due to hit the ground – digital flames were everywhere. When he was introduced, that very same keeper ran not towards his lined-up teammates, but instead headed for the wall and, somehow to everyone’s surprise, performed the very same, incredible off-the-wall back flip. His body did not explode.

The White Puma, Jimmy Nielsen, Sporting KC’s keeper and team MVP, was on hand for the opening kick-off. He was also at the bar inside the Sprint Center waiting for Chad and I to take our pictures with him. Or so that’s what we presumed.


 (Chad and The White Puma)



(The Puma and I)

Some Jock-Jams song was booming over the system as the ball was put into play. The game was fast. The sport is fast. Season tickets to Sporting KC has us accustomed to a very deliberate, spread-out style of play. Not in indoor, man. There’s a reason players go shifts of 2 – 3 minutes; because they’re running their asses off. I forgot that slide tackles were permitted; and I forgot that a slide tackle in indoor almost always leads to a diving wipeout. Sprinting, running around, leaping over tackles, forward somersaults, bodying up, crashing into the boards, sprinting off and leaping over the wall into the bench area…these are just some of the ways a pro indoor soccer player marginalizes his body throughout a career.


(VIDEO: This is why you put your hand in front of your marbles when you're selected for the one-man wall)

The goals came quickly when they happened – indoor soccer is not a sport that rewards texting. The Comets drilled an impressive 3-pointer, but only after a Barry Sanders-esque handling of the ball. Neither of the refs, yet the entire Wings fan section saw this obvious infraction on the jumbotron replay. I thought Chad was going to hurl his dad’s 1984 Wings kango-style hat at the announcer, seated 5 rows below us in-between the two penalty boxes. Kyle, sporting a 1981 vintage Comets shirt, high-fived other Comets fans and refused to admit that his team was a bunch of cheaters.


(Homeboy is totally about to get his scissor-kick on) 

Most of the goals were the result of a fast break or counter-attack, each team capitalizing on lazy defense or the odd keeper clearance that lands directly on a cherry-picking striker’s foot (see Dale Ervine’s entire career). It’s hard to fail when you’re on a breakaway and We Will Rock You is violating your eardrum’s threshold for not violently spurting blood.


(VIDEO: Some nice wall work leads to another Wings goal)

With action close after the first 30 minutes of play, were discouraged from pee breaks with the announcement that there would be a “reunion” game. An image of a gimpy and out-of-shape Chico Borja immediately filled my heart with a reformed-Grinch-like joy. Sadly, the skilled half of “The Classic Connection” did not participate, nor did his cherry-picking Jekyll, Dale Ervine. There were other names there, though.

In goal was Chris Damico - the Aaron Rodgers to Chris Peat’s Brett Favre…assuming that is, that Rodgers isn’t quite as good as Favre, but still balding and sharing a name. Protecting the other set of pipes was Yaro Dachniwsky and his ponytail, of the Kansas City Attack, formerly the Atlanta Attack. I once shot a PK against him during a summer soccer camp when I lived in Atlanta. Totally had him faked out with my eyes, before I launched the ball thirteen feet over the crossbar. It was his camp; no need to embarrass him.

Ted Eck was there, rocking the same exact haircut he had fourteen years ago. So was “Scorin” Gorin Hunjak. Tatu, the highest profile signing in Wings history, was there sporting slightly more circumference than normal, still measuring in at well below 5’7, but with quads the size of Land Rover. I used to have a Wings shirt with his autograph on it (if I remember correctly, Dad took me to a public event where he was speaking and signing things); I kept it prominently displayed in my closet but refused to wear it out in public for (a completely rational) fear that I’d get mugged by some indoor soccer-loving hoodlum. Because they exist.


(Tatu...still a menace on the pitch) 

 The teams were rounded out by a bunch of stocky, portly dudes with great skills and sputtering motors. Survivors of WNBA-quality team names such as The Cleveland Crunch, Tampa Bay Rowdies, Chicago Storm, and the Baltimore Blast - now they simply played for the Blue and White teams. Sadly no Fast Eddie, no Chris Peat, no Eric Rasmussen, no one else of Wings mid-90’s fame, unless you count Kim Roentved coming onto the pitch in his suit and tie to mash it up a bit. Time was called, leading the players from the multitude of teams and leagues to embrace each other, and possibly search for oxygen masks. The PA announcer got on the mike a few minutes after time expired to leave us with one final goodbye message from the one-time all-stars: “One of the members of the reunion game has lost his car keys”. Touching…


(One of these dudes may have had to cab it home)


(The Rocket lives unafraid of the penalties for uniform violations)

We beered up and were pumped to witness the conclusion to this game. It was tight throughout, with no team gaining more than a few points advantage. As is typical with indoor, things got more physical as the game progressed. Tempers and blue cards flared. The coaches became more vocal and animated on the sideline. I thought there was a good chance Kim was going to punch one of his own players. Or maybe that’s just what I wanted.


(VIDEO: If the shot's not looking good, of course you call a timeout)

With two minutes to go, Wichita was up 10 – 9, and the Comets pulled their keeper for the indoor soccer equivalent of the Hail Mary: the sixth attacker. Five guys turns into six, at the expense of a wide-open net. There’s nothing not hilarious about a goalie up past the midfield line and absolutely no one – from either team – on their half of the field. The microsecond the ball changes possession, five or six dudes sprint all out to the goal to prevent the yang to the offensive’s six-man possession yin: the full-field nail-in-coffin goal.  


(The game was as serious as Chad's hat) 

On the other hand, if the keeper-less team can knock one in, they sixth-attacker sprints off in favor of the regular keeper and normalcy resumes…assuming the other team doesn’t employ the exact same tactic. It’s like chess, but with more flailing elbows. Wichita’s defense held tight, no doubt aided at least in part by the utterly-original “DE-FENSE, DE-FENSE” chant the Wings fans brought with them from the Air Capitol, and the 1980’s.


(Kyle hoped his celebration wasn't premature)

Ten point three seconds remained and Missouri had a free kick near the goal. Twelve grown men shifted position in a space equivalent to that of the area behind a Taco Bell (former Wings sponsor) counter. All six Wings players were within a corpse-outline of the goal. The free kick was blocked by some unlucky body part; the ball bounced, and was then cleared by a man in orange, kick-ball style – high up and towards the other goal. Nine attackers would not have prevented this outcome, as once a team decides to bunker down and defend their goal box, the ball has to be precisely struck and perfectly placed to get past them. And let’s face it, that doesn’t happen with five guys in your grill.

Once we hugged it out and unloaded a few “Suck it, Kyle’s”, we headed down to hopefully snag some time with Lemons. He came up and we briefly chatted and bro-hugged it out, telling him how cool it was to see him out on the field and that we hope things are going well with him. He thanked us for supporting him and the team. Chad fought the urge to ask him to sign his Wings cap, something that would have made the exit awkward for both sides. It’s embarrassing enough that the phrase, “Man, Chris is totally living my dream” came up at all that night. Though we won’t reveal which one of us uttered it.


(Congratulating our high school buddy on a Wings win)

Also stopping by was Jamar Beasley, formerly of the Kansas City Wizards, but better known as the younger brother of US Soccer Star DeMarcus Beasley. We let out a big “JAMAAAAR!!!” and he gave us a smile and thumbs up. We left it at that, because our next question was likely to have been about his brother; and tonight, it was all about Jamar and his Wings.


(Jamar feeling the love from Wings fans) 

And while our favorite Wings player of all time, Kim Roentved, didn’t indulge us by hurling his suit jacket into the crowd or slapping an opposing player, he did trot over to our side of the field to give the refs a piece of his mind after time expired. We couldn’t read his lips, but I’m assuming phrases such as “I own you” and “do you know who the hell I am?” were said behind a veiled smile. Chad once again fought the urge to seek an autograph for his hat - this time though, to prevent a bloody lip.


(Classic Roentved, all up in the ref's face) 

To say that Retro Night at the Sprint Center exceeded our already-high expectations is an understatement. It brought us back to a specific time, place and mindset. (We all experienced a weird moment when at one point Chad referred to a song as “Old-school Lenny Kravitz). We remembered the many Friday nights at The Kansas Coliseum, walking around the stadium, drinking cokes and messing with the Wings dinosaur mascot, Score. That time I accidentally knocked over the little girl trying to get a free shirt. Thinking Chad was going to get decked by the longhaired, angry blue-card recipient who was drenched in sweat and alcohol from the beer that was chucked at him. Ron – Chad’s dad – returning a ball to the field of play without even using his hands, aggressively heading it. Our family babysitter for when my parents travelled, who was a Wings cheerleader. The Wings cheerleaders. The year my family purchased season tickets, and the many games we went to together.

It was refreshing to be around professional indoor soccer again. I’ve been to, played in and seen hundreds if not thousands of soccer games in my lifetime, but the pro indoor soccer leagues retain a special place in my heart. Retro Night confirmed this, and now I know that if I ever want to teleport back to my high school days - at least on an emotional level - all it takes is $25 and a map to find the Wichita Wings.  

For more pictures, click here: Awesome Wings Photos   


(Counting down the days 'till next year)

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