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Randy Boyd’s first three novels have been nominated for a total of
four Lambda Literary Awards. His next novel is Walt Loves the
Bearcat, a story of love and football.
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for more on Randy’s novels. Click here
for more on Randy’s first three novels.
Go Pacers, Screw Everyone Else
By Randy Boyd
If I could get away with it, I’d do she-devil, soap-opera-villainess-type-stuff to stop every team in the NBA that tried to hurt (or out-rebound) my baby. The love affair started in childhood (what doesn’t?). Daddy was a perplexing man (whose wasn’t?), but many, many times he took my brother Stephen and me to the old Fairgrounds Coliseum in Indianapolis to see some black guys with big Afros and white guys with long sideburns, all of them wearing very short shorts and Indiana Pacers uniforms. The league was called the American Basketball Association, but they might as well have put Ringling Brothers somewhere on the logo. They threw up a red, white and blue basketball and came up with kooky innovations like a 3-point shot and a slam dunk contest at the all-star game. The Pacers squared off against teams like the Virginia Squires, Utah Stars, Miami Floridians, and the dreaded Kentucky Colonels, almost as hated as those dreaded Kentucky Wildcats, who (along with Purdue, which broke star Scott May’s arm late in the regular season), cheated the unbeaten Hoosiers outta an NCAA title in 1975. The Pacemate cheerleaders wore go-go boots and sat courtside on furry round swatches of carpet meant to resemble basketballs. Security wasn’t a concept in anyone’s mind. My brother and I (and our friends Mack and Wiggy) would wait for the players coming off the court after the final buzzer and ask the giants of the ABA for their sweatbands. George Gervin. Zelmo Beaty. Doctor J. They all gave them to us without thinking twice. The ABA was bush league compared to the NBA then and the corporate-like pro sports atmosphere of today. But it was everything to the people of Indianapolis, whose Pacers were as much a factor as today’s Lakers, Kings or Mavericks. They brought three titles to the city and Pacer People rocked the Fairgrounds Coliseum, and later, a brand new Market Square Arena (during the arena naming contest, little ole prepubescent me was sure I’d win the year’s worth of tickets by proudly submitting the name: Indiana Stadium. And just in case that didn’t go over so well, submission No. 2: Indianapolis Stadium). Pacers fans even stepped up when the front office held a telethon to save the franchise from going to that big luxury suite in the sky, where all folded franchise go, joining the likes of the Spirits of St. Louis, Oakland Oaks and Carolina Cougars. This homosexual Negroid sports pundit in the making put in 2 bucks. The Pacers and their winning ways were a source of thrills and continuity in a tumultuous adolescence (imagine Michael on Good Times trying to come to grips with being gay). By the end of the ABA in the mid-70s, the Pacers were in decline. When NBA adopted them (along with the Nets, Spurs and Nuggets),the Pacers sank into LA Clipperland for a good long while. Then came Reggie Miller, booed by the fans at Market Square on draft day. That skinny kid from UCLA? He’ll never last in this bang-’em-up league. Seventeen years later, Reggie and the Pacers are more than on the map. And Reggie is Indianapolis’ Greatest Pro Sports Star Ever Period. And while the Coliseum still stands, Market Square was flattened around the turn of the century. In another downtown location, a state-of-the-art Fieldhouse stands as a tribute to old school basketball barns and a testimony to how far the city’s first big league sports franchise has come. But there’s still a little ways to go. Still a little “we’re from the ABA and we’ll show you” mentality resonating in all the memorabilia decorating the halls of the Fieldhouse. The Dallas Chaparrals nee San Antonio Spurs did their part twice. And now the picture window is wide open for the ABA’s best franchise on and off the court to come full circle. I have been there since Mel Daniels, Roger Brown, Freddy Lewis, Don Buse, Kevin Joyce, Bob Netolicky, Billy Keller and George McGinnis were household names in the city in the '70s. Since Steve Stipanovich, Chuck Person and Vern Flemming were household names in the city in the '80s. Since Mark Jackson, Dale Davis, Rik Smits and Antonio Davis were household names in the city in the '90s. I listened on the radio when there were no television contracts, always wearing the same black socks because, that was, after all, the reason they won. I felt the joy of the last championship, over the dreaded Kentucky Colonels, (almost as dreaded as the Wildcats who, along with Purdue, cheated the unbeaten Hoosiers ...). I suffered the agony of being down 0-3 to the Utah Stars in the Western Division finals, then the ecstasy of tying the series 3-3, only to be followed by more agony when the Pacers came up short in Game 7. I called my mom many times from college in the early '80s, before the days of round-the-clock, readily available sports news, to ask, “Did the Pacers win tonight?” I was there in person for 95% of the home playoff games during the five Eastern Conference finals years of the '90s. I witnessed firsthand the Miracles on Memorial Day: Rik Smits beating Shaq and the Magic with a two at the buzzer to tie up the conference finals at 2-2, Reggie beating Michael and the Bulls with a three at the buzzer to tie up the conference finals at 2-2. I was there when Kobe Bryant single-handedly pulled out pivotal Game 4 in overtime in the NBA finals, giving Phil Jackson’s Lakers their first title. I was also there when the State of Indiana decided that LA, which was up 3-1, would not win their championship at the Fieldhouse in Game 5. So, you see, Your Honor, I’m guilty as charged. I’m a biased homosexual Negroid sports pundit. I did it and I’d do it again. I was there on the night in question, whatever night in question you’re referring to. Say whatever you want about me, call me a Pacers fan, call me Pacer Crazy. Yeah, I’m Pacer Crazy, like that hit tune of the '90s states. Pacer People are supposed to be Pacer Crazy. Throw the book at me. Make it a coffee table book, which I hope with all my body and soul, will say ABA CHAMPS TO NBA CHAMPS ... YOUR INDIANA PACERS. And I don’t care what my lawyer says, I admit this, too: I hope we get to play and beat those dreaded LA Lakers, because they got in our way (along with a poor foul call with about a minute to go in Game 6) in 2000, and because we didn’t survive the telethon and Reverse Affirmative Action the NBA subjected the four ABA teams to (depleting them of cash and draft choices and handicapping them for years) to play a start-up like the T’Wolves. KG and Company are just now doing what the Pacers did 10 years ago, winning a couple of rounds and making it to the conference finals. I want the Lakers, sideshow and all. Bring it on. Bring on Detroit first, of course. We’re not looking past a very good and title-contending Pistons. But we want it all. I want it all. So there you have it, Your Honor. Do what you want. Say what you will. Call me whatever. I’m Pacer Crazy and I have no plans on looking for a cure. Click here to read Randy’s e-mail to a Pacer bud after Indiana cooled off the Miami Heat. Randy's Outsports archive May 26, 2004 |
Yes!
Yes, Your Honor, I admit it: I’m not an unbiased homosexual Negroid
sports pundit. I’m in love with the Indiana Pacers and I hate
everyone and anyone who gets in their way.