All photography by David Rosales
It’s hallowed ground until the ownership in the ledger changes.
The geographic coordinates where Michael Jordan hit a foul line jumper at the horn to beat the Cavs is now a bird sanctuary. Soon the coordinates where Mike Bibby hit his defining shot as a Sacramento King will become a hospital. The locations of historic events will be reduced to memory and archival footage. The places in which they happened are physically gone forever. Memory is the only sacred vessel.
Arco Arena closed in April of 2016. I was at the last game. It felt like attending an eight-year wake. When I moved to Sacramento in 2008 the Kings were in decline. It never stopped. (And still hasn’t.) In the summer of 2016, the seats of Arco were removed and given to locals seeking totems to backyards and dens. After that, Arco was dormant. The franchise let it sit. If you lived in Natomas or were on your way to/from the airport, you could see it from the I-5. Recently the Sacramento Kings held a ‘Goodbye, Arco’ event ahead of the demolition. The franchise shared ghost stories about a secret ‘clown cave’ and gave away memorabilia. Soon, it will be gone… again; permanently.
There’s a planned obsolescence to arenas when it comes to professional sports. Capitalism has to erase history. We will never have a Colosseum in this country. History is an obstacle in America.
When the public has no ownership of ‘place,’ it will feel the swift force of change. The resources for memory will be bulldozed. On a fundamental level of survival we require ‘place’ as a beacon that protects our orientation. Think about those who never use cardinal points when giving directions. Turn right at such-n-such store. When a city changes too fast, people become confused and get lost while walking a block that is mere steps outside their home. Place and memory are like Stockton and Malone. It was here that blank happened over some-odd years ago. As long as it is intact, the memory remains bonded as though it were yesterday.
What happens when place and memory sever?
We become a lost people. Our disorientation is preyed upon. We lose connection. We forget what’s sacred. That’s when we’re most vulnerable to accept relocation as the new structure to pledge allegiance. As though, sacred spaces do not need to be earned. The owner class rushes us to these spaces with intention.
Some loss might illuminate false places.
The Kings’ new home, the Golden 1 Center, was built on a demolished open-air mall. Built on a shuttered Hard Rock Cafe. Built on a razed Japantown. Built on the state-sanctioned genocide of the Nisenan, Maidu, Miwok, and Me-Wuk. A reminder: here, in America, history is an obstacle.
But for those who dispute and instead commune with history, how do we stay connected?
The game is on the court. The game decides what is sacred. Remember that. There will never be another Arco in Sacramento. The game decided that. Only memory can protect history. Which is not to say that memory is to be guarded. Memory needs play. Play is what bonds memory to the game. Play is how we discover, invent, or even restore sacred spaces.
The coordinates where Mike Bibby hit ‘the shot’ will become a place you can’t visit without a pre-existing medical condition. The shot is in your mind now. The shot moves with you. It’s up to you to see it move forward. Memory is a crisp pass between the defenders to the future. History is not an obstacle. It’s a teammate.
