CEBL Championship Weekend: The Final

On the Canadian Elite Basketball League’s first-ever Championship Sunday, the host Saskatchewan Rattlers met the Hamilton Honey Badgers at the SaskTel Centre in Saskatoon. It would be yet another chapter in the annals of classic Hamilton/Saskatchewan sports matchups, alongside the 1989 and 2013 Grey Cup games. Would this be another Saskatchewan victory over a hapless Hamilton side?

The pregame posed other questions as well. For instance, why was Rattlers’ guard Michael Linklater limbering up with the team in full uniform? Had he not, after all, just retired from professional basketball the previous day? Apparently, the pull of the championship game was too strong for Mr. Linklater to resist, and here he was back among his teammates. He looked dialled in during the warmup, poised to write a dramatic final chapter to what had already been an inspiring season.

Less inspiring were the Edmonton fans who had returned for day two. In particular, a boisterous, haggard trio of Edmontonian males in full Stingers’ regalia plunked themselves down in the fourth row. They made it clear early on that they had realigned their allegiances. Now they were cheering for the Hamilton Honey Badgers. In the pregame, venerable Rattlers’ mascot Ssswish spotted them and moseyed over for some good-natured joshing. He staked his hands on his hips and wagged a finger at the Edmontonians. The Edmontonians responded with a hail of imprecations, repeatedly directing the anthropomorphic snake to “suck it!” with reference to their genitalia. A vital question presents itself here: who is more pitiable? The person dressed as an anthropomorphic snake who is trying to provide wholesome entertainment, or the paunchy Albertan longhairs imploring said snake-costumed person to forcibly fellate them? One abiding truth springs eternal: it is the Albertans who are deplorable.

Hype-man Gregor assumed his accustomed dominion over the microphone and started with a survey. When he asked the crowd who was cheering for the Rattlers, he got a robust response from the home supporters. When he asked who was cheering for the Honey Badgers, he got some feral braying from the three guys from Edmonton. Some of the Hamilton players noticed and smiled sheepishly over at the Albertans. Had it not been for these dishevelled Edmontonians, the Honey Badgers would have been entirely without supporters. Even the scattered Niagara fans from the previous day seemed to be siding with the Rattlers.

Also back for the final was the female ref who had made semi-final #2 all her own the previous day. Mercifully, she seemed to have been placed in a subordinate position to the head referee. Would she still manage to make the championship game all about her?

Some particularly percussive pyro issued from the baskets, sending a sharp peal through the arena. It was clear that tipoff was approaching. Dignitaries made their way to centre court—a high-ranking chief of the Saskatchewan First Nations followed by premiere Scott Moe, who huffed and chuffed his way out, bringing up the rear. The ceremonial tip happened with little ceremony, and then the real tip commenced. The CEBL final was underway.

The finalists take their positions (with Venom Girls slithering in-between)

The Rattlers went for the razzle-dazzle immediately, with Shaq Keith putting up an alley-oop for Big Chad Posthumus. Posthumus went with the relatively conservative lay-up finish, and the Rattlers led 2-0. Three minutes in, however, Hamilton had a 7-6 lead. Perhaps they were aided by the three bedraggled Edmontonians. As the home crowd silenced itself while the Rattlers shot free throws, the Edmontonians took the opportunity to shout potentially distracting wisecracks. Perhaps the term “wisecracks” is a bit generous, because the comments they made weren’t exactly witty barbs. Early on, the doughy, bespectacled Edmontonian with the longest hair among his peers screamed “I’m gonna boo you louder this time!” for the second of two foul shots. It was the cleverest comment he would make all day.

Early action from the CEBL championship game

Hamilton had their fair share of ball-control early on, but to the Rattlers’ good fortune, the Ontarian side was shooting terribly. The score was 12-7 Rattlers at 4:14 of the first. However, fouls were racking up for Saskatchewan standouts Shaquille Keith and Marlon Johnson. The Hamiltonians did decently at the charity stripe, and took a 23-21 lead into the second quarter.

In the early going of the second, the Rattlers managed to pull within a point. Then the Honey Badgers’ cave-mannish forward Murphy Burnatowski dropped down a three, and Hamilton led by two scores, 30-26. This occasioned unruly cheers from the actual Neanderthals—that is, the Edmontonians—in the crowd.

The ensuing TV timeout saw the perfunctory promotional shot, for which Gregor trotted out a squab, generic fan. Gregor then announced that the half-court shot, which had been replaced with a more manageable free-throw due to futile fan efforts early in the season, was making its return. The squab fan gathered himself and then let loose his mightiest shot. It didn’t even make it to the cylinder beneath the hoop. Promptly, the Edmontonians began to chant “One more shot! One more shot!” That allowance, however, was not made for the squab Saskatchewanese fan.

The Rattlers came out of the TV timeout on a mission. Negus Webster Chan drained two big three-point attempts, giving the Rattlers the lead and prompting Hamilton bench boss Chantal Vallee to call a timeout. The Rattlers faithful was going wild, and the upper-middle class trash seated at the baseline were leading the charge. In fact, the PA announcer had to issue a second warning about use of profanity in-game.

When play resumed, the Rattlers tightened their grip on the contest. Shane Osayande put down a big jam, stoking the crowd. Negus followed up by tickling the twine with another three, and the home squad took a solid 42-34 lead.

Still, the Stingers-cum-Badgers fans wouldn’t back down. When the Rattlers’ Ryan Ejim drew a foul and stepped up to the line, they persisted with their heckling. “Your dentist says you don’t floss enough!” screamed the bespectacled longhair. Perhaps there is some wit in this comment that your correspondent has failed to grasp.

More impactful was the substitution announced in the final minutes of the second quarter. Michael Linklater had stepped up to center-court, and was announced into the game. He had indeed come out of retirement after just one day. He received another standing ovation. Given the twenty-four hour whirlwind drama of his retirement and return, one thing seems quite clear: Linklater is not shy about having the spotlight cast upon him. Your correspondent does not, however, say this to Linklater’s discredit. Truth be told, the Linklater story is that of a man finally getting the platform he deserves. Moreover, he is using that platform to do good: in the abstract, he is an inspiration for First Nation youth; more tangibly, he is spearheading efforts to develop basketball courts in underprivileged communities. So yes, he should seek the spotlight, and he should bask in it. Honestly, we could do much worse in terms of athletic role-models.

At halftime, the Rattlers led 48-41. The fans shouted their approval as the buzzer sounded. They could feel that something special was not out of the realm of possibility. But there was also an infinitesimal, intestinal angst. Most resident Saskatchewanese, after all, have a deep and abiding relationship with disappointment.  

The halftime entertainment was yet another DJ. Your correspondent didn’t catch the DJ’s name and is deeply regretting it. This gentleman, who rocked a glittery jacket and a Mohawk haircut, may have actually been the best DJ of the season. He possessed neither the glad-to-be-here desperation of Rattlers’ regular DJ Charly Hustle, nor the too-cool-for-school insouciance of Raptors’ DJ 4 Korners. He had a certain intangible quality that seemed lacking or altogether absent in the various halftime acts that appeared throughout the season. Maybe it was the fact that he was actually an entertainer. He had lots of energy, but not too much. He knew how to get a sufficient rise out of the crowd. For instance, early on in his set, he dropped down out of view behind the turntables, raised his legs in the air, and began to applaud with his shoes. This brought smiles to the faces of fans of all ages. He also knew what to play. He started with “We Will Rock You,” and had even some septuagenarians singing along (your correspondent refers here to his seatmate/pater familias).

This really roused certain pockets of the crowd. Some milfs from Edmonton, for instance, were particularly inspired. They accumulated at the baseline, and began dancing without restraint. Even Hammer, the Hamilton mascot who had been conspicuously reserved during both the semi-final and final, got into the act. He scooted over to the little party at the baseline and got in the middle of the milfs, dancing unreservedly. Apparently, he’d shed all his earlier inhibitions. He wound up stealing the show.

A Badger among Cougars

When the lights came up and play resumed, the SaskTel Centre thrummed with an even more palpable excitement. Could there be another championship banner hanging from the rafters?

The consideration, of course, was premature. Hamilton made a 9-2 run to start the third quarter and tied up the score three minutes in. The Honey Badgers were hungry, none more so than their standout Ricky Tarrant Jr. He won an epic battle for the ball with multiple Rattlers, and converted the victory into an important bucket to keep the score even.

It took an errant elbow to the face of Triple D, Demetrius Denzel-Dyson, to stop the Badgers’ charge. In the aftermath, Negus netted a three to make it 57-52. On the sidelines, Coach Vallee complained vehemently to the female ref, and this occasioned a long pause in play. Vallee’s grievances must have sunken in, for on the ensuing Hamilton possession, a soft foul was called on Shane Osayande. The home crowd initiated a chant of “ref, you suck!”

The big man Osayande could not be held back, however. He reclaimed the ball in due course and then jammed it home, drawing a foul as well. He put the free throw through the hoop to make it 62-53. Now the hometown horde was feeling it even more pronouncedly.

Michael Linklater came back in the game with 4:20 remaining. He promptly took the ball and made an arcing, acrobatic layup. The crowd went buck wild. Soon after, Linklater drew a foul. It was now 68-56 with 2:38 left in the third. The crowd was getting giddy. Hamilton called another timeout to regroup.

When play resumed, Hamilton pushed closer. For the Rattlers, Linklater acted as steward of the offense, leading it up court. The crowd loved it. Linklater, however, didn’t seem especially keen on distributing the ball. On at least one occasion, he drove to the hoop precipitously and was rebuffed by the Hamilton D. It seemed as if Linklater might have been getting caught up in the increasingly Rudy-esque spirit of the moment.

This allowed Hamilton to get back within range. Burnatowski drew a foul and converted his shots, narrowing the deficit to just 7, the score now 70-63. When the Rattlers got free throws of their own, the Edmontonian fans were ready to play verbal defense from afar. “Your driving skills need improvement!” shouted the grubby greaser with glasses. This prompted an exchange of puzzled glances and shrugs between your correspondent and a young woman seated in his row. Again, being Albertan is more about pure animal force than it is about wit.

The home side went into the fourth up by double digits, 73-63. The atmosphere was solemn. Things looked good, yes, but there were so many developments—so many disappointments—that could still take place. One of those potentialities was an epic Rattlers’ meltdown.

Hamilton managed to trim the lead to 8 with about four minutes gone. At this point, Negus Webster Chan pulled up for a three. As he let loose the jumper, he might as well have been plunging the dagger. If this went in, it was game over. The ball kissed off the rim, and then skittered into the meaty palms of Shane Osayande. Osayande slammed it home with a massive, authoritative dunk to make it 81-71. The crowd went into a blissful conniption. It was cut short, however, by the irrepressible Ricky Tarrant Jr., who raced back up court and put down a prompt two.

On the sidelines, Hammer was really holding his position, dancing generically in a very limited radius behind his team’s bench. It was if he was atoning for his outburst of nebulously sexual enthusiasm vis-à-vis the Edmontonian milfs at halftime. It was also as if he was getting an early whiff of impending defeat. It was sad to watch.

On the court, the Rattlers’ Captain Campbell put down a three to make it 87-76. The home fans stood with every basket. The potentialities were narrowing now. A pair of Mounties processed the trophy to the “commissioner’s suite.” The teams answered each other basket for basket, and the margin of difference didn’t change. In the final minute, it was 94-83 for the home side. If the outcome wasn’t obvious Shaquille Keith made it so. In a timeout, he strolled out to centre-court facing the hard-camera side of the crowd, and began stoking the locals, flexing and peacocking. The home fans loved it. Hamilton inbounded the ball but didn’t push the issue. They let the clock wind down before attempting a final, meaningless three as the buzzer sounded. It didn’t go.

The Rattlers congregate at centre-court in triumph

The ball bounded away into oblivion, and the Rattlers raced out onto the court. The Venom Girls sashayed out with pom-poms roiling. The lower bowl undulated with tendril-like limbs reaching skyward in rapture. Ruddy joy swept through players and fans and Venom Girls as if carried by a sirocco not of earth. That several thousand people can publicly congregate in unabashed joy, even fleetingly, in a post-Trump, post-Democracy world is a small marvel unto itself.

The Rattlers quavered collectively at centre-court for a while, and then one man emerged above it all. It was Michael Linklater, hoisted onto the shoulders of his teammates. He punched a fist out in the air, and the crowd punctuated the gesture with a wholehearted cheer. The DJ played DJ Khaled et al.’s “All I Do is Win.” Shaquille Keith started to get low, low, low at centre court. Championship hats were distributed to the Rattlers’ players. The Rattlers made a slow migration toward the commissioner’s suite. They stopped underneath the basket, grinning, embracing, and slapping high-fives. The big man Chad Posthumus hung off the rim in the NCAA March Madness tradition, grinning babyishly beneath his championship cap.

Chad Posthumus hangs off the rim while the victory sinks in

Once the Rattlers’ had reached the commissioner’s suite, there came the obligatory speeches from league luminaries. Greg Jockims was given a rare opportunity to speak and, standing akimbo, offered that “good people win championships.” Now, that may not always be true—your correspondent is reminded, for instance, of the 1989 Oakland Athletics—but, at that moment in the SaskTel Centre, it seemed to be a certainty. Seeing the well-earned smiles of Marlon, Negus, Linklater, Shaq, and Campbell, you had to at least entertain the belief that good things sometimes do happen to good people.

The Rattlers raise the CEBL Championship

The trophy was handed over to Alex Campbell and confetti was all at once expectorated into the sky. The crowd cheered at full throat. The DJ spun “We are the Champions.” Your correspondent joined in at the chorus, assuming that everyone in attendance would be doing the same. Your correspondent was completely wrong, as he found himself the only one singing. Most attendees were working their way closer to the team at court level. It is, of course, human nature to gravitate toward the winners.

And by that measure, no one seemed more human than the Edmontonians. They had shimmied down onto the court, getting within selfie range of the trophy. The story of their weekend had a fundamentally human trajectory: they had started by cheering enthusiastically for the Edmonton Stingers. When the Stingers lost, they switched their allegiances so as to countervail the home Saskatchewan side, cheering for the opposing Hamilton squad out of spite. And then when Hamilton lost and there was only one team left standing, that being their despised Rattlers, they wanted nothing else but to be near the champion. In the span of just two days, they went from zealots to haters and then ended up as submissives with respect to the conquerors. Maybe these Albertans aren’t Neanderthals after all. Maybe, in their pure pathos, they are the most resoundingly human of all of us.

Soon enough, the Rattlers carried their prize to the dressing room. Fans lingered giddily on the court. One of the trashy upper middle class guys, quintessentially true to form, got a picture of himself flanked by all the Venom Girls at centre-court. Other people, for whatever reason, were lining up for photos with the heavyset super-fan in the green hockey mask. It was fascinating to see how, after the championship has been won and the spoils have gone to the victor, everyone sort of drifts quickly back into their own cheery solipsism. It becomes all about personal positionality again—about pictures, postures, and private glories. But even to have been given that exultant thrill—that communitas—of being able to howl triumphantly and harmoniously with the pack, even just a few minutes, is a privilege. For that fleeting privilege alone, we must thank the Saskatchewan Rattlers enduringly.

CODA:

Perhaps what is most satisfying about the Saskatchewan Rattlers’ 2019 championship season is its distinct narrative arc. The Rattlers started the campaign as a winning unit that shot out the lights. Then they devolved into a hapless mix of ham-and-eggers that went on a lengthy losing streak. By the end of the season, however, they were able to reclaim their early magic. They seemed to have matured in the process, as well, and in the end found themselves with the CEBL trophy. When the team lost Bruce Massey, their offensive lynchpin, in midseason, the situation looked bleak. Roster patch-overs like Ali Haidar and Gentry Thomas just couldn’t fill the Massey-shaped hole. Nor could they make a bucket. But perhaps the primordial Rattlers like Alex Campbell and Marlon Johnson realized at some point that they didn’t need Massey to succeed. In fact, they may have come to know that they were better off without Massey and his more-than-occasional histrionics. Despite the turnover in personnel, the core Rattlers evidently realized that they could win with what they had left.

But there were so many other narrative arcs that emerged from the Rattlers’ 2019 season. There was, of course, the arrival of Michael Linklater. Maybe he didn’t score a lot of points, but he won too many little battles to count. He won a bigger battle, too, establishing a platform for himself as an indigenous athlete. His on-court career may be ending, but his days as a role model for youth—indigenous or otherwise—are really just picking up steam. Almost as importantly, 2019 was the story of Linklater going out a champion. Linklater got his fair share of newsprint ink this season, but just as captivating were the other Rattler-related nano-narratives. There was, for instance, Marlon Johnson singlehandedly making the Rattlers into Saskatoon’s newest home team when he roused a theretofore tepid opening night crowd with one fourth-quarter tomahawk dunk way back in May. Moreover, there was the story of Saskatchewan getting to enjoy not one but two basketball championships over the course of a couple months—not just the Rattlers but, before that, the Raptors. Perhaps a lesser known fact is that this is the second pro basketball championship in Saskatoon’s history. Indeed, the Saskatoon Slam won the first and only championship from the first iteration of Canada’s NBL back in 1993. Edmonton may putatively be the “City of the Champions,” but in the context of minor league basketball, Saskatoon just might be able to stake a legitimate claim to that title.

Your correspondent would like to close this blog by offering some apologies and concessions. The first of these would be dropping the “your correspondent” shtick. With that out of the way, I would like to apologize to any of the fans and players that I may have fat-shamed throughout the season. Personally, I want to live in a world where all body types are admissible, because honestly, constantly staring at toned abs and glutes quickly grows even more tiresome than it is humbling. I also want to apologize, if applicable, for any instances where I slut-shamed or otherwise disparaged the Venom Girls, even subtly. Even though I think the whole cheerleader thing is a bit of a sports anachronism, these young women clearly put a massive amount of effort into their routines and related promotional endeavors. Even when these routines received lukewarm receptions from the viewing public, the Venom Girls’ smiles never faded. Sure, the smiles looked a bit painted-on, but even maintaining feigned happiness is better than most of us are capable of in our dreary, day-to-day lives. I should also apologize for any mockery or outright scorn I directed at mascot Ssswish or Hype-man Gregor. Sure, some—nay, most—of the promotional vignettes they participated in were asinine, but these two did yeoman’s work with what they were given to work with throughout the season, and for that they deserve kudos.  I will not, however, apologize for my ongoing queer reading of Ssswish and (eventually) Gregor as well. This was strictly an intellectual exercise and never intended as “queer-shaming.” Honestly, this queer reading was a bit of red herring. One of the fundamental strengths of mascots is that they are ultimately and paradoxically both pansexual and asexual at the same time, just another one of the many dichotomies these inherently liminal beings possess the power to collapse.

Finally, I’d like to apologize for the instances in which I referred to the CEBL as “minor-league” or “bush-league” basketball. The CEBL may be small and regional, but it was driven by ambitions that are admirably big. Commissioner Mike Morreale should be proud of what he and his team have accomplished in year one. These motivating ambitions should continue to grow. I sincerely hope there is a next year for the CEBL, even though this first one will be hard to top.

CEBL Championship Weekend: Semi-Final #2

The Saskatchewan Rattlers’ rousing victory in the first game of the CEBL’s semi-final Saturday set in motion an intense five to seven minutes of unrestrained local joy. This, however, came with consequences—the burst of sheer elation took all the air out of the SaskTel Centre. Once the euphoria had died out, the subsequent semi-final featuring two away teams was played in a somewhat funereal atmosphere. The hometown Rattlers were still dispersing on the tail end of their victory celebration when the Hamilton Honey Badgers and Niagara River Lions took to the court for their warmups. The Rattlers had to hurry off, and so too did the local fans.

The game commenced in front of just a smattering of fans—perhaps five or six in Niagara blue and neon green, two or three in Hamilton black and yellow. The paucity of Honey Badgers fans was compensated for by the few local fans that stayed; the Saskatchewanese allegiances were squarely with the Hamilton side. This alignment was obvious, as the hometown Rattlers were zero of four against Niagara in the regular season. As if anticipating this development, the Venom Girls came out rebranded in basic black with yellowish trim. They did some perfunctory pregame sashaying and got a golf clap for their efforts. Also competing for the attention of the crowd were the Hamilton and Niagara mascots, “Hammer” and “Dunkin”, respectively. These two were a study in contrast, as the former was a squat, plush badger, and the latter was a jacked, grey-skinned lion, the fabric of his costume puffed-out to look like steroidal sinew.

Hammer and Dunkin

The Honey Badgers and the River Lions kept it close early on. The underdog Badgers took an early lead thanks to the efforts of Demetrius Denzel-Dyson (hereafter Triple D), a man blessed with a trio of bankable, alliterative names. The Lions, however, would not be so easily tamed, and managed to even the score at 18-18 midway through the first quarter. At this point, the Rattlers players made their way back out into the arena in their street clothes—shorts, sandals, and tube-socks to a man. They sat down in some of the unsold front-row seats at courtside. The 6’10 Marlon Johnson plunked down right in front of a small, blond girl-child in denim overalls. The little girl was crestfallen, and only regained a viable vantage point when she was lifted onto the shoulders of an elderly matriarch. Marlon eventually clued into what was happening and made a half-turn around, grinning sheepishly.

Girl-child stands on chair to see over Marlon Johnson

The on-court product was far less innocent, as the game was getting decidedly unbridled—chippy, even. The score was 34-34 after one quarter, and the teams were trying to take any advantage they could to pull ahead. The Hamilton side was particularly rowdy, and yet frequently expressed grievances vis-à-vis the referee’s calls, which they felt were going against them at an inordinate clip. Niagara wasn’t exactly pleased with the officiating either. After a foul call, Niagara’s Dorian Pinson called “bullshit.” The word echoed loud and clear throughout the mortuary-like SaskTel Centre, in which virtually all on-court chatter was plainly audible. Hearing this, the female ref got up in Pinson’s face, advising him to put up and shut up.

At this point, Shaquille Keith, soul of the Saskatchewan Rattlers, strode out to courtside to sit with his teammates. He was clad in a black and white t-shirt patterned with Mickey Mouse’s smiling face. Soon after, Rattlers’ forward Jelane Pryce ambled out. He made a point of stopping to shake hands with the trashy upper middle class rowdies seated at the baseline who had cheered so stridently against Edmonton in the previous game.

While the home team glad-handed with its fans on the sidelines, the two away teams on the court were at the throats of their opponents, not to mention their own teammates. As a case in point, Pinson got up into the face of Niagara’s bona fide star, Guillaume Payette Boucard, criticizing some aspect of his play in plaintive tones.

When in-game host Gregor inaugurated Flex Cam, it almost seemed like a necessary stress-relief for all onlookers. Naturally, the brawny Dunkin luxuriated in this promotional vignette, as could be expected. But conspicuously absent was Hammer. Dunkin had also been close by Gregor’s side for “Air Guitar Cam” earlier on in the first quarter, while Hammer was nowhere to be found. All told, the Hamilton spokes-badger appeared shy and reserved, the diametric opposite of the brazen and invasive deportment one expects of a mascot.

Apparently, all the grievances within and between the teams and the refs evened out. Hamilton and Niagara were only a hair’s breadth apart at halftime, with Niagara leading 55-54.

For this, the less alluring of the two semi-finals, the halftime show was a male/female hip-hop duo billed as being from Saskatoon and Regina. The mic levels were just brutal, and the pair capered coolly while contributing verbally to the colossal wall of sound. Fascinatingly, the few lines that your correspondent could make out were admirably old school, worthy of the most mean-spirited west coast gangsta rap. The lyrics concerned drug deals and tawdry sexual liaisons, suggesting there is a thoroughly thugged-out side of city life in Saskatchewan that is not often documented. Numbly, a few dozen attendees watched and listened. When the combo concluded with their Saskatchewanese ghetto poetics, a couple people applauded.

When play resumed in the second half, the referees really made the game theirs. Virtually every sequence saw a questionable call made against one team or the other. Together, the female ref was like a copy-editor who wanted to correct every single grammatical solecism she saw. At the shrillest grammatical pitch, you can find something off in virtually any given multiclausal sentence ever written. But if you cry foul with respect to every grammatical grey area, you will never appreciate (or make allowances for) the deeper semantic rhythms and resonances of a composition in its totality. The same goes for sports—to flag everything even resembling a transgression is to eliminate the deeper grammar of the game itself.

The dissatisfaction hit its tipping point when an onrushing Hamiltonian was called for a charge on a play where the Niagara defender didn't seem to have position. Incensed to the point of truculent laughter, Hamilton’s troglodytic forward Murphy Burnatowski threw up both his hands and made the finger-rubbing gesture universally indicating matters monetary. The thesis of this hand gesture would seem to be one of conspiracy, namely that the fix was in to put the first-place River Lions in the final. Though such conspiracy theories are probably imagined, what was very real and palpable was the discontent among players and fans. Sympathetic boos rained down on the refs, and not just from the tiny Hamilton contingent in the stands.

Representative shot of one team regrouping, other team complaining to the ref

Indeed, the game was being deconstructed by the referees, and the Honey Badgers, the River Lions, and the crowd all cried foul in unison. On more than one occasion, the three officials had to huddle together to discuss calls. Eventually, the DJ even put in his two cents by playing the Jeopardy! theme as one such tete-a-tete (-a-tete) went on painfully long. In solidarity, a screaming fan hollered “Let the boys play!” It was not clear who said screamer was cheering for, but the sentiment seemed to please all in attendance. It didn’t seem to shake the officials, as Hamilton’s Xavier Rathan-Mayes was soon after assessed a technical. Upon seeing this, someone else in the crowd yelled “Let ‘em play ref!” but this time it was more of a shriek.

Eventually, Hamilton actually had a foul called in their favor. Triple D went to the line for the Honey Badgers, and as he shot, his former teammate Shaquille Keith heckled him good-naturedly from the sidelines. Triple D shot a comeback over Shaq’s way, and the two laughed about it in that way that competitive men do. We’ll laugh now, that laugh says, but I’ll be coming for you soon.

For all their foul trouble, Hamilton was managing to keep pace. Niagara wasn’t necessarily prevailing in their role as favorite, though they were getting some good breaks beyond the shrill officiating. For instance, when Barbadian forward Kregg Jones broke in alone and missed an easy lay-in, the ball bounced out and fortuitously landed in the hands of Lions’ guard and resident soul-singer (look it up) Ryan Anderson beyond the arc. He put up a J and netted it for three. At the end of the quarter, Niagara still held their tenuous one point lead.

Early on in the fourth, the ostensible scales of justice started to tip against Niagara. The River Lions’ big man Sam Muldrow swatted away a Hamilton lay-up in what looked to be a textbook rejection. The female ref, however, called a foul on Muldrow, his fourth of the afternoon. Muldrow protested vehemently and got slapped with a technical. In the CEBL, five fouls make for an ejection. Ergo, Muldrow’s day was over. This was met with discontentment in the stands and on the Niagara bench.

But the River Lions’ pride didn’t get swept away. They actually started to separate from Hamilton. It started to look as if Niagara would meet Saskatchewan in the final, seeing if they could make it five wins in a row against the Rattlers.

“Fan of the Game” honours were bestowed upon a boy-child who had covered himself in unused CBC Sports towels. Gregor referred to him as “Towel Boy.”

After four-plus hours of basketball, other fans were also exploring similar surrealist or Dadaist approaches to keep things interesting. In one instance, with Niagara at the charity stripe, a female—likely one among the disgruntled Edmontonians—broke the silence with some keening screams. For the ensuing shot, a male—presumably her mate—began barking like a dog. Apparently, after four hours in relative civilization, the Albertans were reverting to their semi-feral state.

Meanwhile, Hamilton was recapturing some lost ground. After the Honey Badgers’ sparkplug Ricky Tarrant Jr. drained an exhilarating three, he beat his chest with his fist and screamed “’bout fuckin’ time!” All in all, there was a lot of screaming in the SaskTel Centre, both on and off the court. On the next possession, Tarrant Jr. drained another three. As he sprinted back to his own end, he slapped hands with Shaquille Keith at courtside.

Hamilton found itself in the lead with about a minute to go. Still, the team was anything but even-keeled. In fact, at this crucial juncture in the semi-final, they fell prey to the same kind of in-fighting that had plagued Niagara in the first half. Case in point: with less than a minute remaining, Sampson Carter and Triple D got into an intensive shouting match at centre-court. They were nose-to-nose, jabbing each other in the chest and spraying spittle as they shouted over one another. Finally, they pulled themselves apart, slapping each other with a violent low-five that was more sublimated rage than it was an earnest attempt to make amends.

Leading 104-102 with 34.8 remaining, the Honey Badgers’ uninhibited aggression got the best of them. Niagara’s Trae Bell-Haynes drew a foul, and went to the foul-line with a chance to knot up the score. As the fates would have it, Bell-Haynes missed both shots. Carter rushed for the rebound and claimed it over a tripped up River Lion. It looked as if the Badgers were out of the woods, but then Carter was—of course—called for a foul on account of the fallen opponent. There was no justice for the Honey Badgers. The only consolation was that four stadium affiliates wiped down the floor to prevent further trip-ups.

The River Lions went to the line again, but only sank one. Hamilton had the ball and the one point lead. All they needed to do was kill the clock and they would find themselves in the finals—

But they went out of bounds.

And so, Niagara got the ball back with plenty of time to stake out a quality shot. The River Lions inbounded the ball and got it to Anderson—an American, and hence a safe bet in a do-or-die situation. Anderson put up the shot and missed. Demetrius Denzel-Dyson wrestled for the rebound and it looked like the game was now Hamilton’s for sure—

But Triple D couldn’t take full possession. Cue the jump ball. But not before wiping down the key yet again.

Niagara won the jump ball and got possession again. With time waning and the season on the line, they sent the ball out to their best player Boucard. With shades of Steph Curry in the dying seconds of game six of the NBA Finals, Boucard put up a three ball as time expired.

It bounded off the rim and into the hands of a Hamiltonian. The buzzer sounded and the Honey Badgers poured off the bench and onto the court. All the River Lions slouched in unison. The underdogs had carried the day, and they were all smiling rabidly.

Losing a good game should offer little consolation for the Niagara River Lions. With a regular season record of fifteen wins and five losses, they finished first convincingly. Their reward for their efforts was playing a single-knockout road game in a prairie town 2300 kilometres away from their home base. They lost by one point, and with it lost their shot at the championship as well. It did not matter how many times they beat the host team during the season. They would not get a chance to make it five in a row in the Championship game.

As for the Honey Badgers, they were now presented with a chance to play the underdog again, this time against the host squad. They would go into Sunday with every intention of doing a major rewrite on the Saskatchewan Rattlers’ storybook ending.

CEBL Championship Weekend: Semi Final #1

In the middle of some of the most archetypal piebald prairie on planet earth sits a massive concrete loaf girded in aquamarine glass. This is the SaskTel Centre, Saskatchewan’s hockey rink par excellence. Over the course of August 24th and 25th, 2019, however, it transformed into Canada’s basketball Mecca, as it played hosted to the first-ever Canadian Elite Basketball League (CEBL) Championship Weekend. For the occasion, the Niagara River Lions, Edmonton Stingers, Hamilton Honey Badgers, and host Saskatchewan Rattlers—Canada’s Final Four—converged on the city of Saskatoon for a single-knockout tournament to crown the inaugural CEBL champion.

The first semi-final, scheduled for 1:00 on Saturday the 24th, featured the third-place Rattlers against the second-place Edmonton Stingers. There weren’t many people in the SaskTel Centre as of 12:45. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, which was carrying the game on its online streaming service, had draped “CBC Sports” towels on the backs of the seats that ran parallel with the court. Most of these were still untouched with game time just minutes away. A few fans were scattered throughout the lower bowl on either side of the court. By contrast, the narrow strips of seats angled vis-à-vis the hoop were relatively full. This led your correspondent to tender a preliminary hypothesis: most of the attending Saskatchewanese had opted for the cheap seats rather than committing to the pricier tickets for the whole three game affair. After all, a loss to Edmonton in the first game would eliminate the Rattlers from the tournament. This hypothesis was supported by a crucial case study in fan migration: that is, the heavy-set, hockey-masked Rattlers super-fan was seated in the lower bowl rather than his usual cushy baseline seats.

Your correspondent, by contrast, saw his own seats upgraded. A front-office screw-up left him without his usual cheap, bad-angle tickets, and he was promptly comped 7^th row seats just left of center-court. Presumably, the league was desperate to fill-up the camera-side seats. Now your correspondent was actually near enough to see the players’ faces. This also marked the first time your correspondent saw the Venom Girls up close. Upon watching their introductory twerk, your correspondent quickly realized he has been altogether too harsh on these young women throughout the season.

But the crowd was muted in the preliminary stages. Upon making his entry, Ssswish received only tepid applause. Then venerable old Gregor sauntered out to center-court and asked of Ssswish, “how loud can you get this crowd?” A handful of people cheered, but one snake can only do so much. In fact, the boorish Edmontonians who had made the six hour drive down from the City of Champions seemed as loud as the locals. Soon after, the PA announcer informed the crowd that the opening tip had been delayed until 1:17, for some reason. It was as if the league somehow hoped that more people would, in the meantime, filter in.

And yet even as everyone waited, even in the noiseless, dead-air time, there was a sub-audible buzz—a certain busyness—that permeated the SaskTel Centre.

In the in-between time, the fans in attendance were shown a video package about the CEBL’s inaugural season. It featured the mandatory low-toned voiceover uttering lines to the effect of “they said this league wouldn’t last…” Your correspondent supposes that, in a world of AAFs (the Alliance of American Football, for those of you who blinked while it was in existence this past winter), even making it to the end of season one is achievement enough for a fledgling league. This was followed by a video package specifically dedicated to the CEBL championship trophy. This segued into the actual physical introduction of the grand prize. A cadre of Scotsmen made their way onto the court with bagpipes at full blare. On their glossy heels came a pair of Mounties, who processed the trophy up the “commissioner’s suite.” This was a chichi lounge area mounted behind the south baseline where Mike Morreale, CEBL commissioner, would be found loitering throughout the weekend. Here, too, the trophy would sit.

The CEBL Championship Trophy is processed into the half-empty SaskTel Centre

After all the preliminary ceremonies and theatrics, the Rattlers and Stingers took to the hardwood and the game commenced. The game was even very early on, tied at nines after approximately five minutes of action. At this point, the loutish Edmonton fans started up a “Stingers (bump-bump), Stingers!” chant. This reasonable level of engagement earned a Stingers’ fan the privilege of competing in the promotional vignette held during the first TV timeout. A wiry, etiolated Albertan twenty-something was given the opportunity to shoot basketballs into garbage cans. He missed four of six shots, much to the delight of the home team’s fans. Your correspondent was somewhat preoccupied at this point, however, with a somewhat wistful insight. From this closer vantage point, it struck him that, while the players look so much bigger, the fans look inordinately more enfeebled.

The real game resumed and the Stingers started to establish a paint presence, consistently winning battles therein. Nonetheless, the Rattlers kept it close. They were galvanized by Jelayne Pryce, who put down a big dunk to make it 15-15. They also seemed to be spurred by the efforts of some fans, namely the upper middle-class young men on the baseline. These men were in their mid-twenties, limber-limbed, and handsome. They all looked like they had lucrative jobs in business and/or the health sciences. On account of their confident countenances alone, they all gave indication they would one day be captains of industry. To a man they were fit, and their clothes were admirably contoured. They helped the home side by heckling the opposition vociferously. Their leader was a trim young man in an on-fleek jean-jacket and skinny jeans combo with glasses. He looked like a younger, trendier Stephen Colbert. And this was Colbert in full Bill O’Reilly mode, as this young man was almost constantly screaming and gesticulating at the Stingers players. All the while, his friends giggled handsomely, and the Stingers players pretended not to hear.

The upper-middle class men with their bespectacled leader (standing)

The score was 20-17 for the Stingers after one frame. In between quarters, Rattlers’ local legend Michael Linklater stepped up to the sidelines dressed in khakis and a black polo shirt. The PA announcer made it known that Linklater was announcing his retirement from basketball. This was greeted with a standing ovation, and Linklater raised his arm to wave a thank you to the crowd.

Perhaps the Rattlers would have been better served having Linklater on the court. Certainly, they could have used his dogged defensive skills in the second quarter, as the Stingers pulled ahead by even more. About halfway in, Edmonton led 35-26. An ill-advised pass from the Rattlers’ Shaquille Keith to captain Alex Campbell was claimed by the Stingers and led to a Travis Daniels dunk. The churlish Edmonton fans went wild, and things looked bleak for the home side.

The promotional interruptions provided little solace. Ssswish competed in a dance-off against the Stingers’ mascot, a tiny vespine being that must have been, underneath the costume, either a little person or a child. The backing track was C&C Music Factory’s “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now),” and, to that song’s oft-repeated parenthetical refrain that “everybody dance now,” the waspish mascot proceeded into some hyperactive flossing, of course. His pace was manic, and there seemed to be little Ssswish could do to top him. Alas, Ssswish grabbed a bag of popcorn and dumped it over the tiny bee-creature’s head.

Scintillating CEBL semi-final action

In the latter stages of the second, the Rattlers slithered back. A successful three from Negus Webster-Chan cut the score to 46-41 for the visitors, and made pyro spew from behind the basket. The pyro seemed a bit gaudy, especially since the Rattlers were trailing. Indeed, within five was as close as the Rattlers would get before halftime, and Edmonton was up 49-41 at the break.

For halftime entertainment, the lights were dimmed and the Toronto Raptors’ DJ, one 4 Korners, took to the makeshift stage in front of the commissioner’s suite. He was by all indications a hyper-competent DJ, totally outclassing Charly Hustle (with all due respect to Charly Hustle). Be that as it may, the crowd wasn’t really into it. Your correspondent counted approximately one person dancing—an Edmontonian. Perhaps it was the eight-point deficit that had the home fans glued to their seats or else out in the concourse making nervous merchandise purchases. Either way, few wanted to dance. The mood really hearkened back to that of the Rattlers’ season opener back in early May. That is, people were sitting awkwardly, some of them only kind of knowing what they were expected to be doing. As 4 Korners neared his finish, he spun “Apache.” Apparently, he couldn’t resist the racism. Either way, it didn’t get a rise out of the crowd.

The game resumed, and the Rattlers seemed to lock down. So too did the upper middle-class hecklers, and they harassed the Stingers’ players relentlessly. They were especially hard on Jordan Baker, the Stingers’ somewhat unwitting looking captain and native Edmontonian. Perhaps it had some effect, because the Rattlers were able to sustain a surge in the third. With around two minutes left, they had cut the score to 62-56. Soon after, the Stingers’ inked and delinquent forward Grandy Glaze felled Negus Webster-Chan and earned an unsportsmanlike technical for his misdeed. During the ensuing stoppage in play, the Rattlers’ Ryan Ejim started yelling at the hometown towel boy for apparently not wiping down the floor well enough. Soon after, Jordan Baker, perhaps not entirely unfazed from the aggressive upper-middle class heckling, got called for an unbecoming foul, leading to two more Rattlers’ points. The score was 66-60 for Edmonton after three.

In between quarters, two nondescript men played Wheel of Fortune with basketballs. How it worked was that the Venom Girls would reveal letters for every shot the men made. On the whole, these promotional vignettes were proving decidedly more thoughtful on this championship weekend. The marketing team must have been saving all their creativity for the season finale.

The Rattlers kept the gas-pedal matted in the fourth. Within three minutes, the home side had it tied at 68 thanks to a successful Shaquille Keith basket. With the hoop came the harm, and Keith drained the free-throw to put the Rattlers in the lead. Soon after, Gregor awarded the upper middle class trash talker with the glasses the “Fan of the Game” honours. The reasoning Gregor provided for his decision was that the bespectacled beaker had been “all over the other team.” All told, things seemed to be going the way they should have been. Things seemed to bode well for the Rattlers.

The lead went back and forth over the remainder of the game. With less than a minute to go, the Rattlers found themselves up by four, 84-80. They extended this with a successful free-throw, but even the five point lead wasn’t cushion enough. Xavier Moon, the CEBL Player of the Year and all-around Stinger sparkplug, charged up court and drained a three. Now it was 85-83 Rattlers with just a few-seconds differential between the game and shot clocks. The Rattlers had the ball and attempted to milk the clock. Finally, Shaq Keith took the pill to the hoop and, fortuitously, drew a foul with 4.6 seconds left. The ill-mannered Edmontonian fans cried foul, of course. They couldn’t be blamed. Your correspondent suspects the refs were favoring Saskatchewan—and why not? It was the best business decision.

Shaquille Keith stepped to the line with a chance to put the game out of reach. Hush fell over the arena.

He missed the first shot.

The hush fell once again.

He missed the second, too, and the Stingers charged up the court. They had a chance for one last shot to tie—or win—the game. Alas, the Rattlers’ defense wrestled the ball away, securing a steal, and the buzzer sounded. The crowd erupted in jubilation. Their home team would play in the finals on Sunday, and the repulsive Edmontonian fans would be sent home early. Still, those abhorrent Albertans were not entirely hapless—indeed, they could make the sad trip home taking some consolation in the fact that their team, though they had lost, had come up just short in what was a very good game.

And for the Saskatchewanese, Sunday wouldn’t just be salvageable. It would be a chance to watch the home squad making bush-league basketball history.

Nighthawks Shoot Out the Lights in Rattlers' Season Finale

The Saskatchewan Rattlers finished up their 2019 regular season schedule with a 125-115 loss at home to the lowly Guelph Nighthawks. As the inflated score would suggest, the Nighthawks shot out the lights. The Rattlers, however, didn’t look half-bad themselves, keeping pace for most of this offensive showcase.

This final game of the Rattlers’ season was deemed “Fan Appreciation Night.” That said, there was little indication of what this entailed. Well before tip-off, it was announced that there were therapy dogs in the building on the lower concourse, but this seemed only tangentially related to appreciating the fans. Even more tangential was the special guest involved in the opening tip, one of the surviving Humboldt Broncos. Nothing sets a somber mood quite like the words “Humboldt Broncos.”

Connor Wood (centre) led the
Nighthawks' long-range attack

Things livened up after the real opening tip. The Rattlers and the Nighthawks went back and forth early on, trading the lead several times in the opening minutes. As more and more shots went up, however, the Nighthawks established a solid lead. The rims were much friendlier to the Nighthawks, and they got no shortage of fortuitous bounces. In fact, everything they put up seemed to be going in. The pasty Canadian Connor Wood was especially adroit from beyond the arc for the Guelph side, and he picked the Rattlers apart with his three-balls. The Rattlers put up their fair share of points too, but trailed 37-28 after the first quarter.

The promotional fan free-throw between quarters saw the return of the Regular Joe. Sure, NHLer Brayden McNabb had made a shot the previous week to break the streak of futility, but it hardly counted, your correspondent would venture, in the hearts of the common fan. On this night, a man in his middle-age (but not unfit) was given the ball. He lined up his first shot and sank it, and now the streak of average fans missing baskets had been obliterated. He made his second shot, as well, and received from the attendees a well-deserved golf-clap for his efforts.

In the second quarter, everything continued to go down for Guelph. Your correspondent’s methods are entirely qualitative, and so he can only hazard wild guesses when it comes to the quantitative side of the game. But by a rough estimate, 90% of Guelph’s shots went through the hoop. Many of these shots were threes. The Nighthawks lead 51-31 with 5:31 remaining in the half—that is, five whole minutes before halftime. Meanwhile, the Rattlers weren’t generating any surplus of offense. Marlon Johnson persisted in attempting shots from the perimeter, and he consistently missed.

At this point, Titanic Cam attempted to inject some much-needed comic relief during a timeout. The fans seemed on the whole stunned from the away team’s offensive onslaught, and they responded to the diversion with minimal brio. As such, hype-man Gregor and pan-sexual spokes-serpent Ssswish were forced to embrace for the second time this season, retreading their Winslet and DiCaprio routine from two games previous. If your correspondent heard correctly, Gregor uttered the phrase “Take me, Ssswish!” But again, this was hardly a novel development, as the two have long been established as an item. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) Finally, Titanic Cam cut to a heavyset man standing alone in a whole section of empty seats. With arms at full span, he leaned out over the digitally superimposed ship’s prow with apparent earnestness, his eyes closed dreamily against an imagined nautical mist.

When play resumed, Shane Osayande netted a three to cut the score to 53-34. For his efforts, he received a Bronx Cheer, albeit with the characteristic nasal raising of the Saskatchewanese accent. Osayande would earn sincerer cheers just minutes later when he made a valiant steal and then parlayed it into a breakaway slam dunk. Soon after, he came up with a big rejection on defense. Osayande was the lone bright spot on the Rattlers’ side in the second quarter. The Nighthawks were draining shots as if they were taking warmups. Rattlers’ Coach Greg Jockims, he of Al Bundy-esque physiognomy and comportment, sat splay-legged and sullen at the end of the Rattlers’ bench.

Guelph led 75-52 at the half. Put differently, the game was on pace to end 150-104 for the visitors. By this point, the presence of the therapy dogs made a lot more sense.

Halftime involved another exhibition of children’s basketball. It was during this break in action that your correspondent’s seatmate ventured off into the main concourse. He was looking to buy a raffle ticket on the Chevy truck that had been, at one point in the season, parked behind the east basket. He returned with a ticket and a tale to tell. Apparently, the merchant who sold him the ticket made the following promise: “If you win the truck, I’ll deliver it right to your house. And I’ll bring you one of the Venom Girls with it.” It's interesting how the Venom Girls have, by this point in the season, become little more than chattel. Your correspondent should also add at this point that his seatmate is his septuagenarian father.

First half potency notwithstanding, the Nighthawks couldn’t keep it up in the third quarter. The Rattlers started to slither back, spurred by—what else?—a massive Marlon Johnson dunk. This wasn’t the only thing that stirred the crowd. Early in the third, Captain Alex Campbell took what was by all indications a hard foul, but the ref thought the spill had been embellished. “Flop warning to Alex Campbell,” said the PA announcer. This lead to genuine ire among the fans, including one chinless ginger who screamed: “How ‘bout a no call warning to the ref?!”

Flex Cam offered only minimal distraction from the in-game difficulties. DJ Charly Hustle spun “Workin’ for the Weekend” and the camera made its rounds, prompting only half-hearted flexing from ropy mothers and pencil-necked prepubescents. All told, the “Cams” were atypically unobtrusive on Fan Appreciation Night. Maybe that was the true Fan Appreciation: more on-court action, less promotional distraction.

When play resumed, the Rattlers took a bite out of the Nighthawks’ lead. Shane Osayande rejected Connor Wood hard, and on the other end, this led to points. An Alex Campbell three brought the Rattlers within ten. The Nighthawks reclaimed some of their earlier shooting flair and went on a 9-0 run. Remarkably, they hit the three-digit mark in the third, leading 101-82 with 38 seconds remaining. By the time the buzzer sounded, the visitors’ lead was 103-84.

Between the third and fourth, the Venom Girls did their perfunctory dance routine, this time twerking to “Thunderstruck.” One young woman in the crowd danced along, infant daughter in one arm. The young matriarch moved the infant’s hands in synchrony with the Venom Girls’ sinuous gyrations.

The Rattlers were still envenomed in the fourth. To start the final frame, they went on an 11-1 run. This was capped off with another Marlon Johnson jam, which brought the score to 104-95. Adeptly, DJ Charly Hustle spun “Runnin’ Back to Saskatoon.” Minutes later, Maurice Jones—that tiny man—put in an acrobatic lay-up, and the Rattlers found themselves within eight. The fans could apparently feel that a comeback was possible now, and they burbled with excitement. They were sent into a frenzy when Marlon came up with another steal and dunked it home. The score was 109-103. Soon after, Nighthawks’ hotshot scorer Connor Wood fouled out. Now the comeback seemed probable. Another Captain Campbell connection from downtown made it 113-108, and then Maurice Jones picked up two to bring the Rattlers within three. Now the comeback seemed inevitable.

Then Shaquille Keith took a weak foul, for which the Hawks’ Kimbal MacKenzie was allegedly the aggrieved party. The call made the crowd ornery, and a whole course of chinless gingers started into a chant of “Ref, you suck!” The pesky MacKenzie converted the attendant free-throws and the Guelph side found themselves with a six point lead, 118-112. But still the Rattlers wouldn’t back down, and yet another massive monster dunk from Marlon made the score 118-114. This, however, was the Rattler’s last gasp. Answering back for the Nighthawks was Jermel Kennedy, who drained the dagger three, making it 121-114 with less than a minute to go. The only rattle left was that of death. On a night that was ostensibly theirs, many of the local fans filed out early.

When the game finally ended, Captain Campbell took the microphone. Classily, he addressed the fans that remained, apologizing for the loss and offering the predictable thanks for coming out. After Campbell finished, one of the Rattlers’ PR suits commandeered the mic and invited the fans down onto the court for a photo-op. Other CEBL teams had done this in their final home games, most notably the Edmonton Stingers, who had posed for a group photo with their fans. Many of the Rattlers’ faithful hobbled listlessly down to the court, gathering for a massive photo. Missing in the picture, however, were the Saskatchewan Rattlers’ players themselves. They had all got out of dodge, opting for the consolation of a hot shower.

The Rattlers' faithful congregates on the court

Perhaps the fan/player connection is not as strong in Saskatoon as it is in Edmonton. Or perhaps the Rattlers’ players are saving their glad-handing for a bigger stage—the CEBL championship weekend. Perhaps the Saskatchewan fans will get a chance for an even better on-court photo-op, not just with their beloved Rattlers but with the championship trophy, too.