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)

Holiday 2011, Act 3: New Year's Eve

Closing out the trilogy that was Holiday 2011, I'm no longer in the mood to write. Plus New Year's Eve doesn't a complex story. Matt and Bethany visited me in KC. We partied. It was 2012. 

(Matt, Bethany, Melody, Jaron and I began the night at Charlie's, famous for trashy pictures in the bathroom, free-for-all pots of chili and The Deuce: a shot of whiskey and a PBR for $5. You know the dudes were all over that)

(Thank you Eric for the most awesome shirt ever. Melody - you're with Number One!)

(Good-timing it at the Trotti household)

(Dog in a shirt)

(Video games gone wrong)

(Video games gone right)

(Video games gone ghost)

(Matt said I was Number Two. So I jacked him in the face)

(Dogs are not play-things)

(Now HERE'S a family photo)

(We even had the dogs at each other's throats)

(And at each other's throats while on Melody)

(Yes, that's a Star Trek combadge, that my girlfriend bought for me. I know, I don't believe me, either)

Holiday 2011, Act 2: The Religious Holidays

I am one of those people who politically correct individuals feel the need to say “Happy Holidays” to instead of “Merry Christmas”, due to the fact that my mother is Jewish and my father, Lutheran. Celebrating both holidays with both sides of the family usually requires an intricate mix of planning, flexibility and, now more than ever, luck. Fortunately, while one holiday remains fixed on a particular day, the other one affords me an eight-day sliding scale for when we can plan to celebrate as a family. And as fate has it, they usually overlap at some point. Here's how I celebrated them both this year...

Act 2, Part A: Hanukah

(When conscious, Sydney totally appreciated the Firetruck ride)

Family traditions, like records (minus my HS 800 track record) are meant to be broken, or at least evolve over time. With one brother married with two kids, the young one engaged and mom living in a fire station that also acts as a barbecue joint, you can see how our traditions would have to have evolved. Somehow, each unit was able to come together on the same night at the firehouse for a Hanukah celebration that I can all but guarantee is unique.

The usual suspects were there, of course: the potato pancakes, brisket, lighting of the candles and the songs. Long since memorized, we’ll have to wait until Georgia (4) and Sydney (2) are old enough to read before we break out the paper notes once again. We exchanged gifts, no longer closing our eyes until mom lays them down in front us; with little kids around, this seems ridiculous, though I’d be lying if I said I couldn’t remember the last time we passed out gifts in this manner.  

(Wichita's Fire House Trolley, all lit up)

(Wichita's Fire House Trolley, all disappeared)

After gifts were opened and hugs and kisses exchanged, we did what I assume all proper Jewish families do: loaded up beer in eco-friendly bags and hopped on a fire truck to drive around Wichita, seeking out Christmas lights. The Cummings family came along, giving us all a chance to catch up. With heated seats and a see-through retractable screen, the Wichita’s Fire House Trolley (yours to rent from Jet BBQ) is about as comfortable as is possible in the winter. I’ve benefited from thousands of dollars worth of free Firetruck rides from The Jetman, but with the whole family there, plus the Cummings, the lights and onlookers, the beer and heated seats, this was one of the most enjoyable tours of Wichita. Hope no one has plans for next year, because I've already reserved the firetruck. 

(Mom and I keeping it real)

(Eric, Melissa, the girls and a gigantic centipede)

(Chad and Amy freaking out they're having so much fun)

Act 2, Part B: Christmas

(The storm before the calm - just hours after this...the house was quiet)

Fresh off a successful turkey day, the Whantner clan reunited once again, this time for the annual X-mas celebration. If Thanksgiving in the new house was crazy – and it was – Christmas was a bit more subdued. This year marked an odd confluence of familial responsibilities that made it possible for us all to be together for Christmas Eve Night – when we have our family celebration – but not much more than that.

Eric, Melissa and the girls were staying with her parents this year. David and Jess left after we opened gifts to head back to KC to be with her family. Matt and Bethany also had responsibilities with her family as well. I’m sure that if Melody’s family wasn’t living in Chicago (and VS actually gave her time off for the Holidays), it would be my turn to spend the holidays with them. The “other family” year - an interesting wrinkle as our family expands in numbers and commitments.

This is not a problem at all, though. It’s wonderful that the individuals we’ve invited into our Whantner circle also have loving and caring families, and a place to spend time with family during the Holidays. And it makes the non-off years that much more special, and of course awesome. And we still get some time together. So we make the best of it.

The only downside I see, in fact, is that somehow I was swindled into watching the first two The Santa Claus movies, the ironic result of a gag gift gone wrong. David, Eric and I bought the The Santa Claus trilogy (really - they made 3 of them?) for Matt and Bethany last year after they proudly claimed to have watched them all in the span of a weekend. The $30 dollars bought us a plethora of smiles last year, but a dearth of them this year. At one point it was dad and I watching the second installment – JUST dad and I – together on his new 110-inch projector. We did this with the full knowledge that all three Jurassic Park movies were within our reach…

 

(I want to find the guy who called this movie "Rip-Roaring Holiday Fun" and punch him in the face)

I had a real nice December 25^th with Dad and Linda, going for a nice morning jog around Terradyne, our old neighborhood. Nostalgia warmed me against the cool weather as I passed our old house, the swimming pool we used to visit, the clubhouse and the spot in the middle of the road where Chad and I once painted a chalk outline of a “dead guy” with an almost-empty can of Cool Whip. Not sure if the parents know about this, but I claim “Statute of Limitations”.

Dad grilled some mean steaks for Linda and I, and I actually spent the night at Matt’s apartment before heading home the next day. With the brothers and their sig others coming and going, it was one of the calmest and most relaxing Holiday’s in recent memory. Different, but even so, very fun. But still, I can’t wait until next year, when it’ll be all 12 of us in the new house. Maybe 13 if Melody has her way about it...

As a funny bookmark to this Holiday experience, check out the Gparents' attempt to take a mini-family picture before church.

(Grandma & Grandpa: Check. Granddaughters: Check. We're all set, right?)

(Take one: Sydney - that was a heckuva sneeze. Reagan - take a look at Georgia and smile just like that. Well done.)

(Take two: Reagan - you're almost there. Sydney - you're looking at the camera, now smile this time. Georgia - that's perfect. Stay just like that)

(Take three: Georgia - NOOOOO. You know Reagan's got a great smile going on back there. At least the grandparents had it down)

Holiday 2011, Act 1: Thanksgiving

(Whantner - Deal with us!)

This year, for whatever reason, the Holidays sped by at a blurry clip. Week after week of three and four day work-weeks ran through like old-school film roll, until I almost forgot what it was to work five days straight. And in maximizing this free time – admittedly spending long periods doing absolutely nothing – the one thing I failed to do was take a break from all the activities (and once again, the nothing) and pen some updates. So here’s my Holiday 2011 season in condensed form, in three quick posts.

Thanksgiving this year was at Dad and Linda’s, and marked the ten-year anniversary of our new family’s inception. Like all merged monarchies of such esteem, our battle-tested unit needed a way to properly represent our ilk to outsiders – so we created a badass Family Crest. If you don’t know us, and even if you sorta do, I’ll offer up a view into the Whantner family peephole:

            The focal point of the crest contains a Georgia Bulldog head, representing the Brantner’s southern roots. It’s angry because get out of our face! Inside the shield lies a veritable a cornucopia of symbols from the White and Brantner past, as well as the Whantner present and future. The blue golf ball is there for the many early-merger putt-putt outings, often more competitive than the family park rules permitted. Wheat for the Wichita Shockers is obvious, though the White family pickle is not. This green gem is hidden in the tree every year, and the lucky child who first spots it, and either averts or Greco-Roman wrestles the other brothers’ to retain it, is awarded a special prize – usually the DVD that we all fall asleep to at 10:15 on Christmas Eve night. The keg with the bow represents hope. Not Obama Hope, but hope that our “Christmas Keg” idea from so many years ago will come to fruition. The banner below cements our established merger in 2001, and you bet your ass that’s bacon framing the shield. Why? If you have to ask, get out of our house!

(This is an amazing picture, other than the fact that I look like a lonely single father)

The awesome family shield and grand opening ceremonies of the new house gave us the confidence to take the most amazing family picture, below. My personal favorite is the family shot in front of the window, where it looks elegant and modern-day inside, and rustic, old-timey outside. I showed this to one of the art directors in my department, and this was his favorite. So that means it’s for real…

And yes…that’s me and my dog; the result of having a girlfriend who works retail and can’t travel during the holidays. Was I glad that she couldn’t be there for the pictures? No. Am I super-stoked that I was able to take serious, seriously ridiculous, pictures with my tiny 12 pound beagle/jack Russell, Mina? You bet. Thanksgiving 2011 = Success. 

(Gorgeous smile, Reagan. You want to tell people that I had to pick up my dog and wave her Elvis-clock style to make you laugh?)

(So tall, blonde and attractive - they must be Whantners)

(The King and Queen of Whantnerdom)

(Dude's camera broke, these girls are so adorable)

(Why say "No", when it feels so right to say "Awesome"?)

And yes…that’s me and my dog; the result of having a girlfriend who works retail and can’t travel during the holidays. Was I glad that she couldn’t be there for the pictures? No. Am I okay with the fact that I was able to take serious, seriously ridiculous, pictures with my tiny 12 pound beagle/jack Russell, Mina? You bet. 

Thanksgiving 2011 = Success. 

Rock Chalk Throwdown

(KU made the ball do what it is doing on David's shirt a lot during the Ohio State game. More than them, in fact)

With all of the annoying conference realignment noise in the news, it’s refreshing when two powerhouses meet up for an early-season non-conference throwdown. Even more refreshing when the Big 12 representative puts a whupping on the Big 10 team. And yes, statisticians bemoan the inaccuracy of placing a 10 or 12 in either conference name, as the number of teams in both leagues has changed more than KU’s quarterback. But there are some numbers in this equation that do matter:

• 2 – Ohio State’s rank before the game.
• 13 – KU’s rank before the game.
• 46 – KU’s current non-conference home game winning streak.
• 21/7 – Thomas Robinson's total number of points and rebounds.
• 17 – Approximate number of tasty jams by KU (this number might be slightly exaggerated). 
• 10 – Number of rows up David and I sat behind the KU bench.
• 114 – Decibel level it reached in Allen Fieldhouse, equivalent to that of a rock concert (think NIN as opposed to Hall and Oates).
• 3 – Number of centimeters vertical that KU’s Jeff Withey jumped, in a previously unseen feat of longitudinal prowess. (He did not grab the rebound)
• 2 – Number of obesity jokes cracked by new head football coach, Charlie Weiss, in his first address to the KU public at halftime.
• Beatdown – This obviously isn’t a number, but it’s exactly what happened to Ohio State.

(If you're a KU fan and this video doesn't make you cry, you're a robot. And we're not friends!)

And David and I were there front and center to see it all. Front and side, to be accurate. He made the “extra ticket” call and I happily obliged. All I had to do was supply him and his family with Dean and Deluca lunch, then buy him a pre-game brewsky for his troubles. Hey, what are brothers for?

The seats were ridiculous. 10 rows behind the KU bench, straight out from the endline. We somehow avoided pesky face-painted neighbors, and were rewarded with a direct view of the basket all game long. We could see Bob Knight and Jay Bilas working the game. KU alum Scott Pollard working radio. Ex-baller Mario Little dressed as a bum in the student section (we were legitimately concerned for his well-being as he was sporting a ridiculous beanie, flannel shirt, vest and boots combo).

(As a longtime season tic holder, David said this was the loudest game in recent memory)

Weiss was there just 9 (and possibly 8 and 7) rows in front of us. His coaching counterpart was there as well, pacing the sidelines. Bill Self must have internal radar for when ESPN’s cameras are pointed at him. The goofy, self-deprecating Self we see on the telecasts and from the rafters was not the same dude 10 rows in front of me. He lit into players and refs with equal venom. He red-faced it with the best of them. Ironic that he showed his emotions openly while Bob Knight sat calmly in his front-row chair, pondering a nap.

(Last time I saw this guy, students were pelting him with snowballs (true story) at a Notre Dame football game)

That’s not to say his anger wasn’t merited. I’d certainly be ticked if my starting center forgot how to box out (Withey). Or my point guard completed more passes to Ohio State than to Kansas, bum knee and all (Tyshawn). Or the refs’ forgot that Ohio State’s seventh foul in a half meant we were shooting one and one. I actually hold him in higher esteem now...not sure why.

(Self having to remind his point guard that our team is the one wearing white jersey's) 

The game, for all its high emotions, was never really close. Ohio State came within four, I believe, but KU was never in danger of being overtaken. Each time they crept back in, Self subbed out Withey and crossed his fingers that T-Rob wouldn’t be baited into another silly foul. The resulting dunkage pretty much did the trick.

(Dunk you very much)

One question remains: how different would the game have been with Ohio State shoo-in All-American Jared Sullinger in the lineup? I’ll answer that question with another question: how much better would KU be this year with the Morris twins? OK, not my strongest argument, but college basketball is all about rolling with the punches. Injuries are jabs, suspensions are hooks, academic ineligibility is when two boxers hug it out, and graduation is a haymaker. Early entry into the NBA draft is Mike Tyson eating a chunk Evander Holyfield’s ear. And Mike Tyson got busy with KU in the offseason. That said, I would have loved to have seen T-Rob and Sullinger go at each other. But as is, they're left with the knowledge that they've had the same experience as Big 10 newcomer Nebraska: an Allen Fieldhouse Loss. 

(When you hear this chant, you can begin to do what's going on in the next video...)

Seeing as the Monday polls had Ohio State remaining at #2 and KU only moving up one slot, apparently the coaches, talking heads, possibly even the BCS felt that it was a hollow win without Sullinger in the game. Well…they didn’t see it. And David and I did. From ten rows behind the KU bench. We don’t really care what everyone else says…we know it was a great victory because, did I mention, we were there...

(Victory Chest Bumps)

To see the rest of the KU pictures, go here: Awesome KU Dunks

Sporting KC: A Season of Change

How Did They Get It So...Right?

(Good question)

I held out for years before I finally bought a Kansas City Wizards jersey this past season. For good measure, Chad bought me one as well. With my blue and white options, I was a proud dual-jersey, half-season ticket owner. The Wizards sucked - an issue only exacerbated due to the fact that their home games played out in a baseball stadium. Adding insult to that particular injury, our seats were located directly behind home plate; though typically the gem of baseball spectatorship, it proved to be the absolute worst spot imaginable to watch soccer, seeing as we were an extra couple hundred feet from pitch, jutting out from an odd angle off of the far corner, and management, for some baffling and never-explained reason, refused to take down the giant netting that usually protects spectators from errant foul tips, but in this context made it appear that we were watching the game through a spider web. Also, once we were given free Budweiser Chelada, which I suppose is an oxymoron since we all paid dearly for it hours later.

Attending a Wizards game had quickly turned into the same experience as attending a Royals game. Tickets are cheap. Team stinks. Concessions too expensive. You make it a point to over-party during the tailgate. Parking attendant tells you that you have to enter because it’s the sixth inning. You kind of remember the game, but mostly the conversation and camaraderie. You mistakenly cheer when the Twins homer because you think the Royals are batting. One team wins and the other loses. Das Boot at Lews after the game. Coffee in the morning.

Considering the state of affairs, you would think Chad, Jaron, Neb and I would have been whole-heartedly open to a change from Kansas City’s current iteration of a professional soccer franchise. So when the KC soccer brass announced the Wizards were no more, and the new franchise name was Sporting KC, tipping their hat to Portuguese powerhouse Sporting Lisbon, our emotions were mixed. Initially I liked the idea, even if it perpetuated the trendy MLS wave of European envy. I didn’t understand how changing the name would make the club any less sucky. Mostly, I was pissed I now had two “legacy” jerseys.

We purchased our season tickets as we had planned to, our decision unaffected by the recent events. As ownership kept repeating that everything was going to change, we began to not only listen to this yarn, but to see it unfold before our eyes.

They eschewed a lucrative stadium deal by partnering with Lance Armstrong’s Livestrong foundation, resulting in the first major sports franchise (though I suppose that term is relative depending on who you talk to) to name a stadium after such an organization. We were invited to tour the stadium while still under construction – sadly, no hardhats were handed out – to see our seats and get a feel for the place.

(The stadium was impressive, and normally packed to - and beyond - capacity)

Our tickets arrived in a presentable box with the ticket book and parking passes neatly tucked away in their respective slots. This was a marked improvement from the previous year, when the tickets and passes were loosely stuffed in a white envelope, so full to capacity that they George Costanza’d all over the place when I opened it.  The free scarf coupon was the only loose item this time, but it was acceptable because it was…a free scarf coupon.

(Lance's brand literally hangs over everything SKC)

They started eBombing us, but with mostly interesting updates. “Livestrong Sporting Park signs on to host Team USA during Gold Cup”. Awesome. “Get discounted concert tickets for all LSP shows”. Nice. “Come hang out with other Sporting KC fans for road-game watch parties”. Cool. Not going to happen, but cool nonetheless.

Excitement was building. They succeeded in making me curious about what they’d do for opening night. Whether or not it made an impression on me was to be determined.

Then the season began with a bang. Literally, as fireworks, then massive amounts of smoke filled the stadium and nether regions our lungs. The owners spoke. Lance Armstrong spoke. Sam Brownback spoke. Chad Ochocinco didn’t speak, he smiled and flashed a peace sign. He did not see game action. Players were introduced to a very loud and sustained cheer, something more akin to the Chiefs than the Wizards. People were excited.  

(Currently there's one gold seat in the house - this guy's)

Right before kickoff, a second round of fireworks went off. In the stands. In the Chicago Fire fan section. That’s when we learned that there were giants in purple shirts lurking seemingly under the bleachers, with one task: remove hooligans. Thanks for driving, hope you like the view from the closest bar.

(A fire breaks out in the Chicago Fire fan base)

That the game ended in a 0 – 0 tie, the shriveled grape of soccer matches, worried me not. We had one goal taken back for a (presumably) bunk offsides call. We were robbed of an obvious PK when Omar Bravo was blatantly taken down. The end result, in fact, was the only thing we felt robbed of. The experience was overwhelming, and beyond holdovers Kei Kamara and Matt Besler, there were a lot of new faces on the squad. This is what excited us most. Some were pretty (Bravo), some were ugly (Aurelien Collen), some were Brazilian (Julio Cesar), which meant he had to be great, and some seemed prematurely tabbed for greatness (Teal Bunbury).

One was The White Puma…

(A packed house cheered heavily in Sporting KC's inaugural game) 

If opening night was setting the starter log in the campfire, the rest of the season was chucking in some kerosene and a match. Here are some of the highlights:

Sporting KC 1 – San Jose 0: First win of the season. Game winning goal by eventual Rookie of the Year C.J. Sapong. Offensive prowess was a constant for SKC, with a potent quad-headed attacking monster of Sapong, Keimara, Bravo and Bunbury willing and ready to strike at any time. Soccer is flat-out more fun when dudes can score. 

Expansion team Vancouver Whitecaps came to town, and with it, national team defender and former British streetballer Jay Demerit. One of the bonuses of the tempered success the MLS has been seeing of late is that veterans and recognizable International players are signing at a higher rate. Sometimes I’m more excited for who I’m going to see on the opposition than who will play for us. This was one of those times. Just today, in fact, I ordered his documentary Rise and Shine: The Jay DeMerit Story. The story of how this doc was even made is just as amazing. FIFA basically “loaned” them the rights to World Cup footage – worth millions in rights – for a repayment down the line. Unheard of. Can’t wait to watch it. Oh, and in classic DeMerit fashion, he was yellow-carded for sliding through somebody.

Read more about Jay DeMerit's story at: http://jaydemeritstory.com/

(Grilling out in front of the stadium: Zach's level of interest is obviously high)

I’m always pumped to see Premier League teams, however the Newcastle game was kind of a letdown. Compared to the (former) Wizards beatdown – probably not an accurate descriptor – of Manchester United, it was a bit underwhelming to see our B team limp to a draw with the Magpies C team. At minimum a goal or red card would have been nice.

Due to stadium construction, Sporting KC was on the road for much of the first two months. In recompense, we had five home games in the month of August, going 3 – 2 during that stretch. Good wins versus Real Salt Lake (and the hippied Beckerman), Portland and D.C. United were offset by close losses to Seattle and FC Dallas. The Seattle loss was acceptable, because who expects to best a team with former US mainstay Kasey Keller protecting the pipes? The Dallas one was tough, because we were ahead much of the match, only to let three unanswered goals slip by. We held their young mo-hawked stud, Brek Shea – real name – in check most of the game, only to let him slip down the left sideline twice near the end of the game (once in injury time) to deliver perfect crosses that were easily knocked in. That one hurt.

(The Cauldron celebrates another SKC victory)

September brought on five more home games and further domination. We had a weird one against LA. Having ascended rapidly in the standings after a poor start, SKC was now in the playoff hunt, and meeting the west’s best team. Beckham and Donovan were there, as was surfer turned soccer player Frankie Hedjuk (who was once hilariously slapped by a Mexican assistant coach after a US victory). Newly acquired Irish international Robbie Keane didn’t suit up, nor did his one-time teammate, my favorite player of all time, the long-retired Irish international Roy Keane. But that one made sense. 

It was a raucous back-and-forth battle with playoff implications. Livestrong Stadium was as loud as it had ever been. There were great goals and chippy fouls. Donovan subbed in and quickly received a yellow-card caution for a lazy foul. Beckham, apparently having spent too much time watching American football, received a yellow card for trying to ice the kicker PK taker (video below). Omar was having none of that. Though the tie was a slight let-down, Matt, Bethany, Melody and I greatly enjoyed Garmin’s free seats, just a few rows up near the mid-line. It was a nice deviation from our normal seats, but our hearts still belong in the south stand.

 (Beckham fail, followed by Omar goal)

The month ended on a high note, as SKC dominated the Columbus Crew in a victory that we realized after the game, put us in first place. White Puma (keeper Jimmy Nielsen) was running around the field like a track star, giving props to fans and riling up his teammates. After a very s…l…o…w start to the season, SKC was sitting alone in first near the end of the season. Peaking at just the right time.

(More awesome than a double rainbow are double SKC fedoras)

October saw Sporting wrap up first place and gave us one entertaining home game in the process. Livestrong Park was packed, anticipating the arrival of the New York Red Bulls and their trident of stars, each of which, I’ll use just two works to describe: Thierry Henry (The Legend), Rafa Marquez (he sucks) and bright young talent Juan Agudelo (So Gifted). The win was a relatively easy one as Henry kneed our Honduranian workhorse Roger Espinoza in the head 19 minutes in, and was promptly shown straight red; Agudelo was resting and played only the final ten minutes or so; and Rafa Marquez still sucks. Long-time US Soccer fans such as myself recognize and appreciate this karmatic comeuppance, no doubt a result of the pendulum finally crossing the pit that saw Marquez violently elbow Cobi Jones in the face during Mexico's 2002 World Cup round of 16 loss to the US.

(Champs...like a Boss!)

Eastern Conference Champs!

Completing the hail mary that was an entire brand make-over, SKC used their home-field advantage – and leveraged the ridiculous amount of second half home games – to win the Eastern Conference. The tight race – just five points separated the first five teams – took until the final weekend to solidify, at which point SKC rested two points over second place Houston and an astonishing 23 points over last place New England. I imagine that management could have predicted no better outcome. SKC entered the playoffs as a no-longer-longshot to reach the finals.

A cumulative 4 – 0 stomping of last year’s winner Colorado put us into the Eastern Finals. It also proved to be the first time I’ve ever prepared to go to a game, stepped outside, then immediately turned back. Melody and I felt the freezing rain and torrential winds that were outside and said ‘eff that. I use the excuse that she was recovering from pneumonia, but I wouldn’t have gone regardless. Nothing’s worth freezing my ass off like that. Jaron soldiered through, however, and was rewarded with a great win and the requisite humorous moments that occur on a slick and soggy pitch.

The Eastern Conference Finals against Houston…we won’t talk about.

While these are some of the tangible highlights of the season, there were many subtle ones that centered around us the fans, not the players. Jaron, Neb and I attended almost every game, sometimes hitting up the stadium twice in the same week. Chad and Melody both bought official SKC jerseys. We had large tailgates with many friends, grilling out and kicking around the soccer ball. Almost everyone in my family attended a game with me, and they all left having had a memorable experience. Beyond the high quality of play that we began to expect with each passing, the experience proved worthwhile in that we knew we could invite anyone – soccer understanding and interest notwithstanding – to the park and they’d have a great time.

Here’s hoping we keep all of our weird-named players (Graham Zusi, Soony Saad, Kei Kamara, Teal Bunbury and co.) and some of the normal ones too, so that 2012 is even more successful than 2011.

I believe that we will (win)!

For more photos of Opening Night: Sporting Home Opener

For photos of the Vancouver Game: Awesome Soccer Pics