THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, September 26, 1996 TAG: 9609260483
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: TOM ROBINSON
LENGTH: 123 lines
They're auctioning off the guts of the Boston Garden on Friday. And while some folks around here wish the innards of Scope would've been hocked and the place demolished years ago, the Norfolk ``landmark'' is approaching its 25th birthday in November.
About time for a good yard sale, don't you think?
If they can pawn off trash barrels and mops in Boston in the holy name of sports memorabilia, they can journey into Scope's bowels - a lovely thought, I know - for some dusty floor boards, Zamboni parts, and red, white and blue basketballs, stick them in a room with crazy price tags and throw open the doors, provided the Psychic Friends aren't conventioneering there that day.
Oh, the historical places we could go if artifacts from Scope's crannies were doused again with the arena's stale, yet artificial, light. Think of the potential wonders (some even exist) at hand. And if the city's lucky enough, it might actually get people to pay money, instead of the other way around, to cart the musty nuggets away.
Nuggets such as:
The original outdoor electric sign board, retired in 1994, with its last message intact - ``O U Ba k tbal, Sat ., Fe . 11 7:3 p.m''
Six blood tablets, two scripts, a fake tooth and compact mirrors with the names ``Hulkster'' and ``Nature Boy'' left from the ``World War 3'' pro rasslin' show.
A box of programs from Scope's dedication ceremony. The cover featured bumpkin characters Daisy Mae and Lil' Abner and would've set Norfolk back 20 years, if that were possible.
The hand-held flip cards Old Dominion's and Houston's athletic directors used proudly when the scoreboard went out during a women's basketball Final Four game on national TV in 1983.
The aforementioned dead scoreboard, of which Scope director Bill Luther said upon its passing, ``The old board was a good board.'' (There's no truth to the story that the newspaper transposed this quote into ``The old broad was a good broad'' and Luther was sued by the National Organization for Women.)
Ten hacksaw blades, aerodynamically perfected for more accurate flipping into the seats.
Annotated calendar pages from the juiciest scheduling squabbles between the Admirals and ODU.
One voodoo doll, well stuck, in the image of ODU athletic director Jim Jarrett, excavated from behind a cinder block in Blake Cullen's old office.
Original pencil drawings of (Kaleido)Scope by Italian designer Pier Luigi Nervi, who actually was a suit-maker but once built a three-car garage on his Amalfi Coast estate. (Drawings feature cryptic notes from Nervi himself, including reminders, loosely translated, to ``no make pants too long'' and ``brown shoes with blue suit, never!'')
Two boxes of authentic rubber checks with Virginia Squires logo.
``Best of John Brophy'' tape of famous hockey coach's most inspiring locker room screeds, recorded by hidden microphone (must be 21 or over to purchase).
Three dozen glazed donuts, petrified, eight rhinestones and one hamper of feminine underthings from Elvis concert, circa 1975.
Rick Barry effigy doll (rope still wrapped around neck).
Fan banner, confiscated in 1973, reading: ``Orange you glad Julius is here?''
Twenty-five ``Twister'' games, dots smudged, from Great Post-Circus Snow-In of 1980.
And perhaps the most precious item - a plaque bearing the immortal words of former Norfolk Mayor Roy B. Martin, whose true summation of the dear, drear place we call Scope, two-thirds of which was funded by federal dollars, is the best yet: ``At the price we got it, I don't think anyone can complain.''
They're auctioning off the guts of the Boston Garden on Friday. And while some folks around here wish the innards of Scope would've been hocked and the place demolished years ago, the Norfolk ``landmark'' is approaching its 25th birthday in November.
About time for a good yard sale, don't you think?
If they can pawn off trash barrels and mops in Boston in the holy name of sports memorabilia, they can journey into Scope's bowels - a lovely thought, I know - for some dusty floor boards, Zamboni parts, and red, white and blue basketballs, stick them in a room with crazy price tags and throw open the doors, provided the Psychic Friends aren't conventioneering there that day.
Oh, the historical places we could go if artifacts from Scope's crannies were doused again with the arena's stale, yet artificial, light. Think of the potential wonders (some even exist) at hand. And if the city's lucky enough, it might actually get people to pay money, instead of the other way around, to cart the musty nuggets away.
Nuggets such as:
The original outdoor electric sign board, retired in 1994, with its last message intact - ``O U Ba k tbal, Sat ., Fe . 11 7:3 p.m''
Six blood tablets, two scripts, a fake tooth and compact mirrors with the names ``Hulkster'' and ``Nature Boy'' left from the ``World War 3'' pro rasslin' show.
A box of programs from Scope's dedication ceremony. The cover featured bumpkin characters Daisy Mae and Lil' Abner and would've set Norfolk back 20 years, if that were possible.
The hand-held flip cards Old Dominion's and Houston's athletic
directors used proudly when the scoreboard went out during a women's basketball Final Four game on national TV in 1983.
The aforementioned dead scoreboard, of which Scope director Bill Luther said upon its passing, ``The old board was a good board.'' (There's no truth to the story that the newspaper transposed this quote into ``The old broad was a good broad'' and Luther was sued by the National Organization for Women.)
Ten hacksaw blades, aerodynamically perfected for more accurate flipping into the seats.
Annotated calendar pages from the juiciest scheduling squabbles between the Admirals and ODU.
One voodoo doll, well stuck, in the image of ODU athletic director Jim Jarrett, excavated from behind a cinder block in Blake Cullen's old office.
Original pencil drawings of (Kaleido)Scope by Italian designer Pier Luigi Nervi, who actually was a suit-maker but once built a three-car garage on his Amalfi Coast estate. (Drawings feature cryptic notes from Nervi himself, including reminders, loosely translated, to ``no make pants too long'' and ``brown shoes with blue suit, never!'')
Two boxes of authentic rubber checks with Virginia Squires logo.
``Best of John Brophy'' tape of famous hockey coach's most inspiring locker room screeds, recorded by hidden microphone (must be 21 or over to purchase).
Three dozen glazed donuts, petrified, eight rhinestones and one hamper of feminine underthings from Elvis concert, circa 1975.
Rick Barry effigy doll (rope still wrapped around neck).
Fan banner, confiscated in 1973, reading: ``Orange you glad Julius is here?''
Twenty-five ``Twister'' games, dots smudged, from Great Post-Circus Snow-In of 1980.
And perhaps the most precious item - a plaque bearing the immortal words of former Norfolk Mayor Roy B. Martin, whose true summation of the dear, drear place we call Scope, two-thirds of which was funded by federal dollars, is the best yet: ``At the price we got it, I don't think anyone can complain.'' ILLUSTRATION: JANET SHAUGHNESSY by CNB