And the Crowd Went Wild

And the Crowd Went Wild

Sunny remembered those cheers. To this day they ring in her ears.

She was twenty-seven then. 1977. It was Friday night at the New Orleans Superdome and thanks to the generosity of their bosses at the television station, Sunny and Joanna had seats in the third row of the stands.

The New Orleans Jazz was playing that night, and they finally had their big chance to see Pete Maravich in action. Pistol Pete Maravich was in his prime, a super-talented basketball player, a super star really, and the ladies also thought that Pete was very cute. With his Beatle haircut, 6-foot five-inch frame and floppy gray socks, the ladies found him adorable. They had become two swooning, girly girl groupies.

However, the story that’s being told here will not be we-were-there-when a legend played basketball in the New Orleans Superdome and how his greatness will be remembered for many years to come.

No. This story is about a magical coincidence on an extraordinary evening, a surprising occurrence that first sprang to life in the stands of a sports arena.

As they anticipated the big night, Joanna and Sunny wondered, what do we know about Pete Maravich? (other than his ability to make their temperatures rise as twenty-something girly girls). They’d heard stories about Pete’s dad, a former ball player who became a basketball coach at several universities mainly in the South. Petar “Press” Maravich, they learned, had a close father-son relationship with Pete that greatly motivated his son toward fame and achievement in the sport of basketball. For love of the game, Pete, we are told, practiced obsessively.

Sunny was a big sports fan, but these facts held little interest for her friend. Joanna seemed to be mainly interested in Italian cooking and trying out different power outfits that made her feel confident. Joanna was highly motivated and determined to become a successful businesswoman.

Joanna was petite with dark brown hair and eyes of the same color. Also, she was pretty and sexy. Her last name was of French origin, but the family claimed to be Italian. Low-key Italian, Joanna told everyone. No dancing on the tables her friends were all assured. She was having an on-going affair with a famous jazz musician who shall not be named here out of respect and to avoid any potential legal tussles. Said musician had a wife who was French and petite, Joanna told Sunny, so it seems he had a type.

Sunny was a blue jean baby. Bell bottoms of course. Her days of granny gowns had passed. She was tall and curvy with butt-cheek length blond hair. Sunny was a hippie chick.

Sunny’s biggest passion in life was making art, specifically painting, and studying Eastern Wisdom paths. She was planning to achieve enlightenment. She was not interested in getting married and having a family. It was the 1970s and she was interested in backpacking in Europe, going to museums, and meeting a few international gentlemen. She was young, a free spirit looking for adventure, and she planned to stay open to all the beautiful possibilities that life could and would offer her.

Somebody told Sunny that she reminded him of Mary Tyler Moore or maybe Shirley McClaine or Julie Christie or Tuesday Weld. Sunny liked that comparison because she had wanted to adopt the attitude of Tuesday Weld’s character, Thalia Menninger, from The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis. All the boys on that show were crazy about Thalia. Thalia knew it yet she couldn’t be bothered. No ma’am, like Thalia, there would be no encumbering relationships for Sunny just yet. Love would come in its time.

So, what did these two ladies have in common? Charm, allure, sexual magnetism. After all, they lived in New Orléans, home of the Jazz Fest, and they both loved meeting new gents and going out for live music. And New Orleans was the place to be. Sunny’s preference was going to the small clubs in Uptown. She lived in the neighborhood, and it thrilled her that she could just stroll down the street at 10pm and drop in at The Maple Leaf or Jimmy’s and groove to the Neville Brothers or the Funky Meters or James Booker playing piano live and in person. And Tipitina’s was just a streetcar ride away.

Joanna’s taste was different, of course. She and her cousin Michelle spent many nights at the 4141 Discotheque on St. Charles Avenue. One night Joanna convinced Sunny to go out dancing with her at 4141. They would attract a large crowd of admirers, Joanna promised her, so Sunny was game. Later Joanna told friends that she and Sunny held court until after midnight when all the junior executives went home.

On this particular winter evening the atmosphere in the Superdome was charged. Dixie beer flowed freely. Buzzing, babbling, and humming sounds were in the air. You were in a building with people who love the game of basketball so there’s an energetic and fun vibe. It can be loud and bright, and you will find people jumping up and down in the stands. It could be called controlled chaos. However, you wouldn’t have to worry about raining beer bottles, broken noses, crying children or graffitied stadium seats. Southern folks are generally well mannered. But it was the 1970s so Vietnam flashbacks were always a possibility.

Basketball is a fast-paced game requiring athletic agility, strategy, and teamwork. It’s a sport that’s exciting to watch and that evening the ladies were ready for Pete and the New Orleans Jazz to dazzle them. And so was the crowd in the stadium.

The atmosphere was electrifying. Passion and love for the game united both players and fans that night and emotions were running high. There was a buzzing energy all around. Anticipation hung thick in the air.

Then the announcer introduced the players from both teams, and entrance music played as they took their places on the court wearing their team numbers on their jerseys. The New Orleans Jazz wore white jerseys that evening, and the Knicks wore navy blue. The Jazz would later adopt the colors of Mardi Gras: purple, gold, and green.

The referee blew the start whistle. From tip-off the players relentlessly sprinted down the court passing the ball swiftly between teammates. Joanna and Sunny kept their eyes on jersey #7, Pete’s jersey. The sound of shoes squeaking on the polished floor could be heard. The sound of the ball swishing through the net was thrilling. The scoreboard leaped forward, and the crowd roared with approval. Our ladies marveled at the slam dunks, fancy dribbling, and acrobatic lay ups of both teams.

The play-by-play voice of the announcer flowed over the loudspeakers during the game that would come to be known as The Night of Pistol Pete. The night he scored 68 points.

“He’s got all kinds of moves.”

“No shot is too long for Maravich.”

“The Knicks are having a tough time defending against Maravich.”

“Pete is playing great ball particularly here at home in the Superdome.”

Players from both teams began jostling for position, elbows were flying, and bodies were colliding in pursuit of victory.

And then it was half-time, and the announcer’s voice came over the loudspeaker.

“Alright folks. One lucky person here tonight will have the opportunity to come down onto the court and take a free throw. If that person makes the basket, they’ll be going to the beaches of Acapulco on a one week all-expenses paid trip for two.”

The sounds of murmuring, sighs, and rumbles could be heard. Joanna, Sunny, and the crowd waited anxiously to hear how they might have a jack pot chance to win this all expenses paid one week trip to sun and sand and sex on the beaches of Mexico.

“Look on page 7 in your programs, folks, at the bottom left on the page. If you have the winning number I’m about to call, you’re the lucky winner!”

Joanna handed Sunny her dixie cup filled with Dixie beer and opened her program to page 7.

“And the lucky number, the announcer paused dramatically to heighten the excitement, is 6711.”

“You have the winning number, Joanna!” Sunny shouted. “Stand up! Stand up!”

Joanna cast a skeptical side eye at her friend. “I’m not going to do that.”

“Well, I will!” Sunny jumped up from her seat on the bench, furiously waving her hands in the air proclaiming that she had the winning number.

The announcer invited the winner to, “Come on down.”

Sunny made her way down from the bleachers and went out onto the floor of the Superdome. She positioned herself for the free throw. She’d played basketball on her church team but hadn’t been especially skilled at the game. Baseball was her game. She’d been known as Slugger in girls-against-the boys recess softball in seventh grade.

Someone handed her the basketball and she took her place on the free throw line. Sunny looked ahead and saw Randy, one of her buddies from the tv station, motioning with hand directions advising her on the best strategies for sinking the ball squarely into the hoop. Maybe he hoped Sunny would take him on the trip with her. They did have a crush on each other.

Sunny closed her eyes and concentrated. She knew from her studies that the creative imagination makes us god-like. So, she visualized seeing the basketball slip effortlessly and elegantly into the basket.

The crowd waited anxiously. Sunny aligned her shot. In her imagination she saw the ball seek the basket almost intuitively. Score!

She focused. Steadying her stance, Sunny launched the ball. It fell just short of making the basket. Just short.

Then something surprising happened. The crowd went wild, cheering boisterously for Sunny! Her free throw sent the crowd into euphoria. Deafening cheers and chants filled the air. Love of the game overflowed to Sunny that night. She later recounted this halcyon moment on many occasions; time, she said, stood still. “It was me alone standing in my personal Universe of Adoration.”

In that heady moment Sunny realized, “So this is how it feels to be a rock star.”

Mick Jagger came to mind. She’d been to a Rolling Stones concert in the Superdome last summer.

The heady feeling stayed with Sunny over the years. She remembered those cheers. They still rang in her ears. She felt very blessed, she said, for that special moment in time when she had the golden opportunity to see gone-too-soon Pistol Pete Maravich score 68 points in The Night of Pistol Pete on that February evening in 1977. Sitting in the stands of the Superdome two girly girl groupies had the honor of witnessing a legend in his prime sharing his joy, his love and devotion, and his passion for the game of basketball with them and his adoring crowd.

Radiant in the afterglow of a magical evening, Sunny walked with the crowd out of the Superdome. To this day, she fondly recalls, a young man in the crowd stopped her, pointed to his friend, and said, “He’s in love with you.”

Set a story in the stands at a major sporting event.

1871 words   Caroline Woodruff   missmagnolia88@gmail.com