A magical kingdom crumbles: Scenes from the end times in Orlando

“Fan Appreciation Night” is set to start in less than a half-hour and there are only a few dozen bodies filling the seats of Orlando’s Amway Center. Part of it is by design, as arena staff shuffle from row to royal-blue row, making last-minute adjustments that will go largely unnoticed. Part is simply a schedule thrown out of whack; an 8 p.m. tip-off time, an hour later than the norm, prolongs the misery of yet another meaningless game in April. And while the seats eventually fill with people seeking free t-shirts and gift cards to their favorite chain restaurants, the combination of empty seats, booming music and manufactured anticipation is a jarring one.

On the last night of the 2017-18 regular season, this game between Orlando and the Washington Wizards stands in dreary contrast to the other exciting games on the slate. The Wizards are ostensibly playing to cement their seeding in the Eastern Conference playoffs but, with two starters held out of the lineup, how much they really care is debatable. The Magic, who will be missing the postseason for the sixth consecutive year, are playing because they have to.

There’s a palpable last-day-of-school vibe that resonates throughout the arena, without the luxury of popping on a movie while counting down the agonizing seconds until escape is possible. In the Magic locker room, players familiarly go through the motions but are a bit more carefree with a merciful end to the season in sight. There’s lighthearted banter about coordinating what color sleeves players should wear — black, blue or white — but the interest feels feigned. There are shoe colors that must be in perfect coordination with whatever choice is made, while some players don’t wear sleeves at all. With no prevailing voice of leadership, a choice isn’t made, and the discussion simply fizzles as everyone does whatever they want to anyway.

With the game almost set to begin, fans begin trickling toward their seats. Players shoot perfunctorily, eventually introduced while a cleaned version of a Ludacris song blares loudly. Listless ambling is set diametrically to lyrics like, Oh no, the fight’s out. I’mma ’bout to punch yo lights out. The song’s aggressive impulses wane flatly when most everyone seeks an end to a disappointing season at long last. Move, b***h, get out da’ way.

A highlight video of the Magic’s greatest moments plays in the background while fans check their phones or gobble overpriced concessions. Images of last-second shots, pumped fists of exhilaration, thunderous dunks and warm camaraderie are meant to inspire pulse-quickening pride. Still, most of the players engaging in these rousing moments have long retired or, in some cases, wear uniforms not nearly as pinstriped. The video is a reminder that there were once good times in Orlando but, for all the nostalgia it evokes, it might just as well have been filmed in grainy black-and-white.

Perhaps the homage fits more appropriately than it should. The Magic seem to exist in a nebulous space in time. Past successes have been prematurely cut short. The resulting lack of closure lends itself to a perpetual wondering of what might have been. And while the team has actively rebuilt for a brighter future, years of haphazardly assembled rosters have destroyed those efforts. Young players have been quickly given up for an even quicker fix and so the team has lacked a clear identity and direction. Old mistakes restrict the team’s present, thus resetting the rebuilding process and failing to reach a future point of evolution that extends further away with each wasted season.

As for the game itself, it is only interesting inasmuch as it is professional basketball. Aaron Gordon, Orlando’s best player by a wide margin, provides some cursory excitement as he easily scores nine points in just a few minutes of play. Having reminded the fans in attendance as well as the powers-that-be of what he’s capable, he sits and waits for the night’s end. A teenaged girl with a cardboard sign tries vainly to get his attention, and a plea to attend prom goes ignored. It is only a precursor of pitching woo at Gordon, with the start to his free agency looming large in the postseason horizon and nary a corsage in sight.

The contest ends with little thoroughfare. A skirmish breaks out at some point, and a player is sent to an early vacation. There is some back and forth in the score but the Magic prevail while the Wizards hold their position in the standings. A man hit a halfcourt shot during an in-game promotion, and is likely the night’s biggest winner.

Afterwards, Magic head coach Frank Vogel addresses the media. He speaks of a hard-fought defensive effort as a “perfect ending” to a tough season, a foundation of what can be built upon next year. When told that tonight’s victory decreases the odds of Orlando’s upcoming draft selection from third to fifth-best, Vogel explains with great optimism that “we’re going to get a good player, wherever we pick.” He describes his great pride in a team that has stayed positive, made progress and stuck together through adversity.

In less than 12 hours, Vogel would be fired by the Magic. No specific reason was given.

The Wizards’ Jodie Meeks played the 2016-17 season in Orlando and for Vogel. When asked about the Magic’s losing culture, he was quick to point out that the fault certainly didn’t lie with his former coach. He spoke of Vogel’s tireless efforts and bestowed him the complimentary designation of “player’s coach.” Meeks added that Vogel, “a good guy at heart,” has created a positive environment despite the bad luck and the badly assembled rosters. “He does a good job bringing guys together,” says Meeks, “and making it a family-oriented team.”

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The arena empties slowly and a few spectators linger in their seats, perhaps taking it all in until next October when a new team and a new coach begin a journey toward an uncertain destination. Outside, brisk winds pick up as a smattering of fans wait outside a secured garage, hoping to snag an autograph or a picture. Maybe even a prom date, if they’re lucky.

Vogel happens to roll out as I pass by and the fans react far more excitedly than I would have imagined. Just hours away from unemployment, he lowers his window and engages everyone, a broad smile breaking through his stubbled, honest face. After a few minutes, he slowly edges his way toward home, departing the Amway Center as the team’s head coach for the last time, leaving one family behind on his way to another one.

And unlike the Magic, at least it’s clear he’s heading somewhere.

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