100 word summary:
(1)Friday.
(2)4am alarm.
(3)Cold water shower.
(5)Arrive in Constanza. Counterpart unavailable.
(6)Plan B: Small talk, small talk.
(7)Knocking on doors, drinking coffee, gossip, working.
(8)Lunch, around town on back of a motorcycle.
(9)Introductions, explaining, listening, soliciting support. Local politics. Hot sun.
(10)He's where? Which house? Over there? Turn here. Hold on.
(9)Go for a walk. Boiled potato dinner with eggs.
(8)Catch up with counterpart, work. Then the invitation...
(7)Basketball tournament, 9pm, join us. Go Kings!
(6)Body tired, excuses quickly forming and
(5)I would rather decline but
(4)reconsider and accept invitation.
(3)Laughter and music
(2)we cheer
(1)enjoyed
The air in the mountains had cooled and as bodies fill the warehouse-like gym. The interior temperature quivers around that perfect comfortable range. Maria (my counterpart), her two daughters and I find a place among adolescents and young adults that these women have known since birth. Lots of cheek kisses and introductions over the music, announcers, and buzz from the crowd. The first half of the game is calm, punctuated with explosions of sound from the King's pep band, which consists of four drums and a brass section of three vuvuzela-like contraptions. Enthusiasm is high for this first game in the championship series. The local tournament has been going on every weekend for a couple months, and the field has been narrowed to two teams: the Kings (last year's champions, featuring #16, a local athletic hero) and the Blue Team, whose name I didn't catch, but had a noticeably more modest following. Since my hosts are clearly Kings fans, I celebrate with them the King's early lead though I'm secretly rooting for the underdogs. While the girls catch up with their peers and flirt, Maria is enthralled with the game and participates by extending her arms and wiggling her fingers to jinx the Blue team's free throws. Her system seems to successfully thwart the opponent's shot about 50% of the time and successfully embarrass her younger daughter 100% of the time. Around half-time, I begin to yawn, running through all of the reasons I have to be exhausted. As the second half of the game progresses, the Blue team picks up their pace. They are ahead for a few minutes, and their humble fan base gets noisier. Kings fans seem confused. Since we are seated behind the scoreboard, Maria sends a pre-pubescent boy to descend the bleachers every couple minutes and return with a current score. While neither team boasts a strong defensive strategy, these scores are often outdated by the time our gopher returns with his reports. Really, though, the exact score is irrelevant. Both teams keep within three points of each other for the last 1/3 of the game, passing off the lead. Eventually the fans can no longer sit, and everyone is on their feet with the exception of a middle-aged man in a light blue oxford shirt and black slacks, who falls to the ground on his stomach, pounding the polished boards with fists and kicking his shiny leather shoes into the floor with delight each time the Blue team scores. Other fans leave the bleachers and begin to pace the sidelines. The coaches are now shouting orders to the teams from on the court, pulled closer to their players by the tied score and the increased noise from the crowd. The security team that looked so young and relaxed 15 minutes ago spreads out and surrounds the court to keep fans off. They stand with legs apart, gripping their guns and billy clubs tighter, and puff up their camouflage-covered bodies with increased authority and attentiveness. Calls are challenged, players rotated out for minor infractions and finally, with a missed final shot at the buzzer launched from half-court by the Kings point guard, the Blue team wins the first game of the championship series. Their fans storm the court while we, the Kings fans, head to our cars and begin our analysis of the game. I walk through the cold black air with Maria and her daughters, grateful for this evening with them.
No comments:
Post a Comment