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).
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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…
(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.
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.
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.
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.
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
For more pictures, click here: Awesome Wings Photos
(Counting down the days 'till next year)
