Lawrence.com

If the longest-running indoor soccer team fell off the face of the earth, would it make a sound?

This is not a sports column; it's a eulogy. You see, I've lost a childhood friend � a companion I've almost lost many times before, but who has always managed to make a comeback from death thus far. But I don't think there's any coming back this time. The Wichita Wings indoor soccer team, the oldest continuously running soccer franchise in North America at 22 years, unceremoniously ceased operations Saturday.

There was no good-bye wave to the fans, no final lap around the Kansas Coliseum to slap everyone high-fives after the game. Pieces of Astroturf were not distributed among longtime fans. All that happened was a secretary showing up at the Wings office in downtown Wichita and discovering her key no longer fit the door.

In its 22-year existence, the Wings never won a single championship. They also never paid any of their players very much money. But they brought one boy a hell of a lot of enjoyment.

Growing up in the Orange Army

The first time I convinced my father to take me to a Wings game, I was 9 years old. The game was decent, the Wings emerged victorious, and we had a good time. Two weeks later we decided to go to another game and see how the team was doing. That game was a little more exciting. After a back-and-forth contest, the Wings won on a final second shot. As the teams walked off the field, a brawl ensued behind the goal. It splashed back out onto the field. And then a number of the Orange Army � what they called the fans back then � actually jumped from the stands, either as peacekeepers or warmongers, into the fray.

My dad and I, a safe distance away from the chaos yet close enough to see every punch, looked at each other and smiled. He, my mother and I would own season tickets ever since.

I remember the time my old college roommate and I went into hostile territory to see the Wings play in Kansas City, and we got into our second fight with Kansas City Attack fans as the national anthem started. I remember the time Chico Borja spit on the referee, but we loved him anyway. I remember the time Brad Smith chased some guy all over the field just to punch him.

I remember the goalie that used to bring a stuffed parrot and place it in the net behind him for good luck. I remember Captain Kick, the fat guy who used to run around the Kansas Coliseum wearing a bright orange soccer ball. I remember Bud-Man, the dude with a dumb-looking mustache who wore a Superman-like costume with the Budweiser logo and would toss frisbee upon frisbee, each adorned with the Budweiser logo, into the crowd. (I went to every game for how many years, and that jerk never tossed me a single frisbee.) Most vividly, I remember when Dale Ervine handed me the game ball for a souvenir after he scored a goal right alongside the boards where I was sitting.

A wing and a prayer

I also remember how the crowds slowly diminished as I got older. I recall how just about every season while I was in junior high, we had to go downtown to take part in "Save the Wings" rallies. Every year they were about to go out of business, and every year we were there to lend our support. Sadly, the "Save the Wings" campaign summer after summer is all that most Wichitans remember about the Wings, and it's the reason why most people learned to hate them.

The Wings had reportedly lost $2.5 million dollars in the last three years. You can't blame the team owners, Randy and Shirley Johnson, for closing shop. If I were independently wealthy, I would gladly lose money on a professional sports franchise every year, but the Johnsons are business people. They don't share those quixotic memories with me.

The city of Wichita is maybe just not a sports town. The Wings averaged 3,604 fans a game these past three seasons, the worst average attendance in the team's history. I remember in the mid-1980s when that place used to sell out, and upwards of 9,000 people were at every game.

While many Americans may not have accepted soccer yet, they have to know that their kids are playing soccer. And their kids think it's cool, so why not take them to a game and see people who do it for a living? It never happened in Wichita though. The stands were almost as empty as a Kansas City Knights basketball game on a Tuesday evening.

Broken wings

The Wings, they never made Wichita care. It seemed they always had a chip on their shoulder. They had this attitude that if people were too stubborn to come out and watch them, then screw those people, they'll go on without their support. Too bad that those people eventually turned into most of Wichita. And the payoff someone like me got, who stayed loyal year after year, was watching pizza-eating contests as halftime entertainment. Back in the '80s we had the Budweiser daredevils and the Famous Chicken. The craziest thing we saw recently was the guy who blew big soap bubbles and looked like Santa Claus.

To add insult to injury, an article came out in the Wichita Eagle stating that the city would be better off without the soccer franchise. After all, if the Wings aren't occupying the Kansas Coliseum on a Friday night, that opens up room for another young country concert or an even larger gun-and-knife show.

Sometimes, I really don't miss living in Wichita.

So it is to you, Wichita Wings, that I bid farewell. You've been a dear friend. I've honestly rooted for you harder than any other team, even more vigorously than the Jayhawks basketball team. My only regret is that I fell in love with a sporting event that was low-budget and couldn't survive.

No, I take that back. The fact that it was low-budget was why it was so much fun. The players were humble, my family could afford tickets and we all were there � players and families � because we loved indoor soccer. The Wings may be gone, but I'll always consider myself a proud member of the Orange Army.