I was at a basketball tournament with my daughter last week in Louiseville, Kentucky at the Kentucky Exposition Center. The event called Run 4 the Roses draws 1,600 teams (9,000 players) and college coaches from across the United States, and 9 countries, including teams from as far away as Australia. They had 84 courts inside the building with games going from 8:00 in the morning to 10:00 at night. The Exposition Center is so large, you cannot fit it in a camera view even when standing from a distance in the parking lot. The first three days are called Run 4 the Roses Classic. The next three days are called Run for the Roses Championship. It was $45 to park for each of the sessions and $85 for a wrist band admission to each tournament. Water was $5 a bottle inside, and tournament hoodies favored by the girls went for $85. Big Money. $20 bought me a scoop of pulled pork on lettuce, a bag of barbecued chips and a gatorade. It was good barbeque.
The only security at the doors were an old man with a limp and an old woman on a motorized wheelchair who asked to see wristbands as you entered. No bag checks. No metal detectors.
Day 4 of the tournaments. There were an estimated 40,000 people in the center spread out over all the 84 courts and concessions. We are playing a game against a team from Canada when the fire alarm goes off. At a tournament earlier in the year in Atlantic City, there was a fire alarm that cleared the convention center for 20 minutes until they let us back in. False alarm. This time when the alarm went off, people were slow to stop the playing. The refs finally stopped our game and they told us we all needed to head out. I walked from the area and into the lobby toward the outside doors. I wondered if maybe this was a tornado warning, but then I thought if it was a tornado or impending bad weather, they probably wouldn’t want us going outside. When I stepped outside, the sky was clear. I stood outside for what seemed like five minutes, then headed back inside when they started letting people back in. False alarm. I was in the lobby passing the clothing concessions wondering if anyone had snagged any of the $85 hoodies or $45 tee-shirts in the commotion. I was just about to enter the courts when it happened. Panic. Sudden screaming. People sprinted toward the doors. Chairs were knocked over. People stumbled. I thought “Shooter.” But I didn’t hear any shots. I walked back outside as people rushed around me. Many ran into a side entrance, where they pressed themselves against a wall. Sirens from multiple directions. A police car skidded to the curb and a female police officer in a vest jumped out and ran toward me with an assault rifle. “Get away from the building!” she shouted.
Someone must have pulled a gun. Maybe a parent angry at a referee or coach. AAU basketball can get out of control. I’ve seen fistfights break out.
I walked along the outskirts of the building looking for my daughter. It wasn’t two minutes before I saw her and her teammates hurrying away from the building across a dirt field where there was construction equipment that they took shelter behind. In the air now there were two helicopters circling. Police cars, ambulances, fire trucks, more arriving with each moment.
I hugged my daughter and told her just because there were so many emergency vehicles didn’t mean anyone had actually been shot. It was a protocol they were following just in case. Some of the girls were crying. I took a picture of all the girls and posted it on the team group chat so parents could see their kids were okay. Some of the girls had left their bags and cell phones at courtside and their parents were trying to call them with no answer.
We waited by the construction equipment. More emergency vehicles arrived, including an incident command bus. The girls were texting with friends on other teams. There was speculation. One rumor was a man arguing with a ref, brandished a gun and then fired it into the ceiling. Another was the shooter who had killed a state trooper that morning in nearby Lexington was holed up in a church, except there weren’t any churches nearby. A news station reported an aggressive person alert had been issued. Later reports said no one was hurt other than a few people who had minor injuries from being trampled.
Within a half hour, a long line of cars left the vast parking lot. We finally heard the official word that the tournament was canceled for the day. As we drove back to our hotel twenty minutes away, police cars were still seen headed toward the center. Back at the hotel, one of the girls showed us a photo from the internet. A shirtless man sat on the pavement, handcuffed behind his back and surrounded by police. The story was he fled with the crowd and taken his shirt off so he wouldn’t be recognized.
That night the police reported there never was a shooter. They said a fire alarm malfunctioned, then a tile fell from the ceiling and landed on a chair causing a loud bang. That led to the panic. Someone at the amusement park on the other side of the parking lot, saw people running out of the center and pulled an alarm there. A couple days later, the mayor had to correct these official reports and say the tile story was incorrect. That had actually happened several years before at another arena.
The tournament sent us all an email saying the center was safe. It has all been a false alarm. To reassure people, the next day they said there would be added security, bag checking and metal detectors. The tournament was back on with an adjustment in the schedule to make up for the missed games.
Some teams and college coaches dropped out, saying the security measures were inadequate for such a large gathering. We showed up the next morning expecting long lines, but the lines went quickly. There were cops at all the doors. Still the bag checks were cursory. The metal detector looked like it was cobbled together with gear from home depot. I was wanded by a guy who looked like he was sweeping me with a pickleball paddle and making beeping sounds himself.
Show Must Go On. Money Money Money Money Money.
The rest of the tournament went off without a hitch. My daughter didn’t want a hoodie.
Next stop was Chicago for the Nike Tournament. 800 teams from all 50 states and over a thousand college coaches. Six games in 4 days. $165 per parent for admission that included a shuttle bus to and from our hotel. Spectators could only come in with clear bags, though one one day my wife walked through with a shopping bag and no one checked it. I walked through the metal detector and set it off but they waved me through anyway. No wanding or pat down.
My daughter’s team won their last game. She hit the final 3 pointer of her AAU career in the last minute. Afterwards we checked out of the hotel, and drove 14 hours back to our home, stopping at a motel in Pennsylvania around midnight for a good night’s rest before continuing on our way for the final 4 hours.
Glad to be safe home.
Cellphone video shows chaos inside Kentucky Expo Center as people thought “active aggressor” was inside venue
Coaches, players question lack of security before calls of active aggressor at Run 4 The Roses tournament
Louisville mayor corrects LMPD statement on false active shooter incident at Expo Center
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Fear of ‘active shooter’ prompts panic at Kentucky youth basketball event
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