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| Symbolic Indianapolis |
Rain pelted the window of my room six floors above downtown Indianapolis. I’d just changed out of my wet clothes. I’d walked the mile from the stadium to the hotel in the warm, steady rain. Yards before reaching the hotel, I became a cliché when a red Hyundai passed by and threw water onto me.
The last road trip of this season's volleyball odyssey--or oddity--took us to Indianapolis, home of Miss Romano, Schneider, the Indy 500, Colts, Pacers, and professional home of Caitlyn Clark. And Nationals.
It's been a disappointing season. For many reasons, this team just never played to its potential. At the conclusion of Regionals, when the coach called us together to reveal our Nationals status, I asked, "So did you see your shadow?" He had indeed. Opening the coffers and extending the season for six weeks and chasing a little piece of what could've been seemed optimistic at best, but there we were.
With Sloane in concussion protocol since Show Me, this trip was uncertain for a long time. When finally confirmed, the logistical scrambling went into turbo, and my wife was able to work out a plan that got us all there and back for the same price as a couple of Rush reunion concert tickets.
The plan was for Sloane and me to fly to Indianapolis on Wednesday so that she could rest and be ready to play Thursday morning. My wife would be joining us Friday morning. Monday, I received an email at work from my wife.
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| The thin line between love and consternation. |
Sloane's team was required to be at the Indianapolis Convention Center at 7:45 Thursday morning. She and I boarded a plane at 5:45 Wednesday morning. After a quick stop in Denver, we landed in Indianapolis early in the afternoon. As did most of the players, it would have appeared. Girls hauling tournament-tagged backpacks streamed through the automatic doors looking for passage downtown. Uber rates were inflated, but we were able to get something booked in short order.
On the way to the ground transportation door, Mario Andretti's 1972 Indy Car was on display. Teenage girls zipped by, heads bowed to Apple, while dads stopped to marvel. After snapping a couple of photos, my daughter, tapping her foot impatiently and drinking her Starbucks, commanded me to "stop geeking out over the racecar!" Also on display was a prominent salute to the National Champion Indiana Hoosiers football team. It's good to see the people of Indiana have finally embraced a superior sport.
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| Geeking out over the racecar. |
Indianapolis is well-schooled in tournaments and conventions, and it shows. The people are cheery and polite. As far as hospitality and citizens, Indianapolis is the nicest city I've visited in a very long time.
At the hotel, claiming no love for the Oklahoma City Thunder secured an early check-in to our sixth-floor room. I went around the corner to a nearby Kroger to grab a few snacks and drinks while my daughter took it easy in the room. She turned on the drama series 13 Reasons Why, which pulled me into its icky web when I returned.
Indiana is home to John Mellencamp's sourpuss patriotism. On brand, "Hurts So Good" was playing in the hotel lobby when I returned. Since we're discussing the Hoosier State, a word about Mr. Mellencamp. How can the same guy write something as soberingly poetic as, "life goes on, long after the thrill of living is gone," and "sucking on a chili dog outside the Tastee Freeze" in the same song? Evidently, he's more of a crank now than he was during his halcyon days, but "Check it Out," "The Real Life," and "Minutes to Memories" still get a lot of plays on my streaming account.
I found 13 Reasons Why to be a little coarse for something my daughter would watch. Pretty much any bad behavior you can think of is on display at some point. Some would defensively state reality, but I think I prefer the daft tidiness of "Saved by the Bell." Zach drove drunk, and Jessie got hooked on greenies, but it was portrayed as almost funny. Then again, I don't know how one would work a humor angle on a drunk high school girl being raped at a party.
We had California Burger delivered via DoorDash, which was more like Door Crawl. My daughter showed me the progress on her phone. It went in circles like Windows loading. Eventually, we went outside to look for the guy. We found him wandering around on the sidewalk in front of the hotel. He was at his wit's end, sweating, and grateful to be rescued. The food was quite good, though my daughter's shake was melted.
For the evening's entertainment, we swapped movies. I agreed to watch Scream 5, and afterward we'd watch Smokey and the Bandit. Scream 5 is a slasher flick, popular at my daughter's sleepovers. In it, Courteney Cox and Neve Campbell battle time, poor lifestyle choices, and something called Ghostface using their wits and a Rolodex full of plastic surgeons. As for the nightcap, my daughter made it all the way through. I don't think she'll seek out an encore, and I warned her against the sequels.
Thursday was a good day. Despite the early start, the girls came out strong and played well most of the day, racing out to a 3-0 start. The girls had a late lunch together at the Yardhouse. I had to get back to the hotel to meet the Walmart delivery man who was bringing reinforcements that I couldn't haul over from Kroger.
Lucas Oil Stadium is an impressive structure. While it doesn't hold the nostalgia the TWA Dome does for me, Lucas Oil Stadium is newer, nicer, and larger. It's also outfitted with lots of luxury boxes and suites. Though my daughter likely thought nothing of it, I thought it was a cool feeling to be on the field of an NFL stadium.
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| Sloane on the big stage. |
My wife arrived Friday morning mid-match, and it was like Jack Nicholson taking his courtside seat at a Lakers game. My wife is very popular with the other moms. I spent much of the first two days letting people know when she would be arriving.
Again, after a good start, things fell apart rather abruptly. Still, at the end of Friday's matches, we still had a shot at the gold bracket. At the time, we had no idea what a challenge was lying in wait.
The DoorDash du jour was Potbelly Sandwich Works. At the tempting of the ad copy, I tried it with hot peppers.
"I hope you packed the Beano," my wife chirped.
Saturday was an eventful day. Sloane's coach, who had two teams in the tournament (different ages), had a scheduling conflict. Unfortunately, he deferred to his other team. Without his guidance, our girls couldn't do anything right. We had a competent assistant, but she'd only been working with the team for a few weeks. The rapport just wasn't there.
Set up for gold that morning, they were plummeted to bronze after a couple of three-set heartbreaking losses. The last match was particularly annoying. Seemingly out of nowhere, it was determined we were short a court, so several young men, evidently paid in event merch, built a court next to ours. The tossing of the large floor panels sounded like rifle fire, offering a Tel-Aviv vibe to the surroundings. There was confusion, disappointment, sadness. The entire season encapsulated.
It was also Celebrity Day. College coaches were all over. I spotted David Hunt, Texas assistant, Kevin Hambly, Stanford head coach, and Wisconsin's Kelly Sheffield. Former Longhorn Jenna Wenaas was coaching a club team.
Doing some detective work, my wife learned where Vince Vaughn was. Vince is a dedicated volleyball dad and is kind of like the Bigfoot of Nationals. Sightings have been reported, but I'd never seen him with my own eyes. Until Saturday. He was leaving the court after a match when my wife got his attention and asked for a photo. He graciously agreed and was super nice about it. I love his work--Swingers is an easy top ten for me--but the fact that he's committed to his daughter's volleyball career makes him extra special to me.
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| Indy, baby! |
After a team pizza party in the hotel lobby, Sloane needed a break from volleyball. We found cheap tickets for the Indiana Fever basketball game that evening. The Fever is the most covered mediocre team outside the Dallas Cowboys, and most of it revolves around Caitlin Clark.
I remain at a loss to explain the WNBA. After 30 years of little more that tax write-off and laughingstock, the arrival of Caitlin Clark has brought attention to the league. Not believing a rising tide lifts all boats, the league establishment has alternately played down her ability and tried to end her career. Good thing the dudes in the NBA didn't behave this way when Bird and Magic swooped in and got the finals off of tape delay.
Like the old NBA, Indiana went out and got some muscle. Enforcers were once as common as LeBron flopping or players taking load management days off. If anyone got close to your superstar, the enforcer was called on for protection. Enter Sophie Cunningham, the new sheriff and quantifiable smoke show. Enter also an influx of dads willing to take their daughters to Fever games. Guilty.
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| Choose your enforcer. |
We bought tickets for $11 apiece that night, no really knowing what to expect. There were a few butch grannies at the hotel, decked out in Fever gear. A downpour arrived when we were to leave, so we took an Uber over to the spectacular Gainsbridge Fieldhouse.
Clark was inactive that night following the latest attempt on her life in the previous game. We did see her on the bench with her teammates--dressed in a pullover sweatsuit and New Girl glasses.
Though there were moments of the old WNBA--ten women on the floor chasing a loose ball, shots careening off the scoreboard, and missed layups, we were shocked by what we saw. It looked like real, actual basketball. The players passed the ball, moved without it, screened, ran like, plays. It was entertaining.
And yes, there were some more of the aforementioned butch grannies, but by and large the crowd consisted of children, moms and dads. Most had Caitlin Clark shirts or jerseys on.
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| Nothin' like a view from the cheap seats! |
After stomping the opponent in the first set Sunday, the coach called a timeout to bid the girls goodbye. From that point forward, shit show would be a kind description. The team dropped the next two sets, and like that, it was over. No speeches, no farewells, just a nine-hour drive back home.
Random Notes
Michael Bolton’s Software Comes to Fruition
The convention center and the stadium were cash-only venues. The solution? Machines that will put your cash onto debit cards. It is then up to the consumer to spend what they’ve added to the card without going over. That all items carried sales tax made this even more difficult. I wondered how much the house came out ahead each day under this arrangement. It’s in the aggregate. Even if it is just a fraction of a penny, from a much bigger tray, and done a couple million times.
A Major Award
Many are aware that A Christmas Story, though filmed in Cleveland and Toronto, was set in a fictitious version of Hammond, Indiana. Our walk to the venue each morning took us past the Indiana Historical Society, which in one of the upper-floor windows, features a replica leg lamp from the film. This was, of course, lauded as a major award by Ralphie's father, who displayed it proudly in the home.
It occurred to me that I might be up for recognition as well. I've never been moved by Pride Month, but I noticed this past June I read a book about the making of Midnight Cowboy, which contained mini-biographies of author James Leo Herlihy and director John Schlesinger- both homosexual men. I also bought the new David Sedaris book and attended a WNBA game. I may have qualified for my first Ally badge.
Ride Share Observations
Prior to this spring, I'd never taken a Lyft or an Uber. I wouldn't declare myself a pro now, but I am getting the hang of the idea. I can certainly see why traditional cab drivers were opposed. The convenience and efficiency can't be matched. As with taxi cabs, you encounter different personalities and different nationalities. Our driver from the airport to our hotel knew only the phrases, "Code?" and "Thank you!"
Climbing into a ride-share car can be like entering the bedroom of a teenager who's been doing something he shouldn't. Often the nose is assaulted by a bouillabaisse of air-freshening products that don't necessarily complement each other. Clearly, the smell of vehicles is of great importance to these companies. Given the alternative, I'm glad it is.
That's a wrap on Indy and the 25-26 club season. As usual, the best part was watching my daughter grow while doing what she loves. The road trips with her and my wife created a new set of memories that will be cherished for years to come.
Tryouts for next season will be here in a couple of weeks, and school ball is right around the corner. I'll be ready.
