What does the inner sanctum of the NBA, the men’s locker room, really hold? I’d often wonder, as a daughter relegated to the Wive’s Lounge.

I’m unsure how old I was when I asked Mom, “Why aren’t we allowed to go into the Locker Room?”

Mom said, “You don’t want to go in there. What do you want to see, a bunch of sweaty old men?”

I wanted to see what the reporters were doing in there. All kinds of fantastic stories came out of that locker room. No one quoted us in the Wive’s Lounge.

Mom would see I was bored, and she’d say, “You can go out and wait for him to take you home if you’d like.”

So, I stood against the wall across from the Locker Room with the security guards and others who secretly wondered about the world in there. With the door wide open, you couldn’t see past the swarm of microphones, cameras with lights directed at Dad, and all the reporters who hammered him with questions. No one could stump him or make him flub up or stutter. He knew just what to say to them.

When Dad had enough, he’d spot me and say, “My daughter’s here. I have to go.” Then, when the reporters had just one more question, Dad would be firm and laugh simultaneously, like they were all friends, “Haven’t you had enough?”

Someone in the crowd would make one more attempt: “Come on, Billy. We’re just doing our job.”

And that’s when he’d turn all business: “No comment.”

Finally, when we got inside the car, I had Dad all to myself.

Dad would hand me the final stat sheet, replay what happened during the game, and ask my thoughts. He’d talk about stats if the story warranted it, sometimes asking me to confirm one (though he always knew it by heart). 

If the game didn’t end well, I’d give more insight, as Dad would be pensive, reflecting on past games and piecing it together with more history and backstory.

We recreated the game in those car rides home, whether win or lose.

Then Dad quit coaching, and the reporters switched topics and wrote about Dad starting up a new NBA franchise—in Miami, of all places- while I headed off to UNC-Chapel Hill, Carolina.

The new franchise would have much to live up to–no one could come close to the Sixers (not in my story).

The Miami Heat became a franchise when Miami was still reeling from the Miami Vice, and stargazing meant Don Johnson was in town. If you had mentioned basketball in Miami, I would have laughed (actually, I think I did).

My Dad and his grade school friend decided to start the franchise, caring far less about the glimmer of celebrity and more about the pure, unadulterated love for the game. And Miami was just the place.

We debated heatedly (pun intended) about team names and mascots. Everyone loved the name Miami Heat except me. I was older and not eager to trade in my Sixer’s knights in shining armor for another team.

“And you want to call the mascot Burnie?” I said in disbelief. “You think people will go for that?”

Dad pointed out all the symbolism–not that he was typically into that kind of thing. Miami is hot. The ball is on fire, and Burnie is burning. Get it?

I still didn’t, but that’s okay; the fans voted, and the Heat was born.

I only attended a few games in Miami—not nearly as many chances to have that car ride home with Dad. In the few chances we got, I told stories about the entertainment value of a basketball game.

Dad loved my newfound interest and encouraged me to share my opinion with the General Manager (his grade school friend, remember?)

Good thing he was such a close family friend, or I would not have been able to get away with writing the letter I did.

I found the draft of the letter I sent by luck or misfortune.

I would have gladly not shared this letter and left my discussions with Dad purely up to your imagination, but why do that when we can have so much more fun with this?

Here’s what young, impassioned me had to say. Grammarly saved me from making the same grammatical errors twice, so we developed this user-reader version, not for my own sake but for yours.

Dear GM,

I am a very concerned Miami Heat fan. After only attending three Miami Heat games, I have a few complaints regarding the music and the scoreboard, which I feel must be addressed. These elements of a basketball home game are crucial. I have merit in what I say due to approximately fifteen years as a basketball spectator (mainly in Philadelphia and Los Angeles).

How many games did I go to in Los Angeles–maybe one? But right, let old me talk.

More than anything else, a basketball game is the glitz and glamour–it’s Hollywood. Why else is the Lakers Forum the in-place-to-be-seen in Los Angeles? The answer lies mainly in the simple fact that the games are so much fun! The Miami Arena should be (and can be) the same type of fun.

Here I come to one of my points. What is fun, exciting, and thrilling about a time-out when you play inappropriate music? “Inappropriate music” has no words, beat, or inspiration. Similarly, “appropriate music” would draw the crowd into the euphoria of the moment.

Music is vital to the “production” of fun and cues the crowd to cheer. Sometimes, the crowd wants to cheer when they yell, “Heat, Heat, Heat,” but other times, they remain inhibited and need assistance. For these moments, it would be perfect if the band played chords, and the scoreboard displayed the words for the crowd to yell, “defense, defense,” or “charge.”

Entertainment at a basketball game wasn’t a novelty back then, at least not at a Sixers or Lakers game, but I was on a roll with this whole music thing.

I have only briefly mentioned how music can affect the crowd’s fun, but what about the results it has on the other team? With great music, the crowd can pump up the players. This chain reaction is the key to the expression — the “home-court advantage.” It would be hypocritical to think we might not be taking advantage of this home-court advantage.

Yes, I gave him a lecture on establishing a home-court advantage–even Grammarly warned me not to use the word hypocritical; it sounds too negative. But what did I care about grammar and negativity back then?

For example, sometimes the crowd forgets that the Heat even made a great play before time-out. It loses its momentum, and so does the Heat. Losing all drive, the Heat falls behind and calls another time-out. This time-out should not have dull music that gets the crowd more depressed but upbeat, fun music. Enlivening music peps up the crowd so that they can act as a “pep rally” in the sense that they get so pepped up that they rally the team on!

I’m afraid it gets worse.

I understand that what I have mentioned might pose some problems; for example, the Miami Heat dancers have specific times to perform. Could it be possible to approach the situation differently? The Miami Heat dancers could be spontaneous and act in the moment rather than always knowing beforehand when they have to perform any given routine. Can’t a communication system evolve where the dancers, music coordinators, announcers, and scoreboard operators work together?

It’s a good thing there were no blogs back then.

The Miami Heat may never reach everyone’s aspirations if you don’t consider the fans. The game will take a negative turn if the crowd’s support and loyalty aren’t audible.

With the beginning of the new year, please let the attitude pervade that the Miami Heat is a theatrical production that can only receive a standing ovation (audience participation) if the props (the scoreboard, etc.) and the entertainment (music and dancers) are all part of the same performance.

Thank you for your attention.

Best of luck always, Stephanie Cunningham

Through all the secondhand embarrassment coming back to me, there’s a lot to amuse us with this letter–not to mention the irony that then basketball was more game and less entertainment, and now it’s more entertainment and less game.

But I didn’t share this letter to get into a debate, though it could have gone that way if my Dad’s friend didn’t know me better.

I share it to honor the tradition of those car ride chats—far from the inner sanctum of the Locker Room when I had Dad all to myself. He’d talk about the game he loved, and I’d share my opinion.

And, though I wouldn’t change my locker room moments with Dad for locker room moments in the actual locker room, reality has always been far stranger than fiction for me, and I’ll keep it that way.

As the story goes, I did have my actual locker room moment, and it wasn’t with the Sixers. Yup. How’d you guess? It was at the Miami Heat arena at the opening night party. And though no players were standing in front of their lockers surrounded by reporters, I took it all in.

After the tour of the state-of-the-art showers and exceptionally tall countertops, I lingered as long as I could without being noticed. All I needed was a moment to stand in that locker room.

I could feel the daughter standing outside, waiting for her Dad to come out after the game. She’d wonder what it was like to be here, and I’d come out and say, “Don’t worry; you didn’t miss anything. Just a bunch of sweaty old men and one heck of a story.”

But when you grow up, and all these moments are behind you, whether you write a letter of complaint or a blog post of musings, the glitz, glamour, entertainment, the reporters, and even basketball itself will take a backseat to those locker room moments you and your Dad created in the car ride home. And one day, far into your future, you will forever cherish them in the inner sanctum of your heart.