Best Disappearing Act 2024 | Arizona Coyotes | Fun & Games | Phoenix
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In April, the Coyotes released mockups of a new arena they hoped to build in Phoenix. Within days, news leaked that the team was moving to Salt Lake City. After years of unsuccessfully looking for someone to build them a new facility — and after one season playing in the 5,000-seat Mullett Arena at Arizona State University — the team's 27-year history in the Valley was over. The news broke with just one home game left on the schedule, turning the team's season finale into a wake. Then, in a flash of smoke, the team was gone. A disappearing act needs a good reappearance to complete the trick, but a half-hearted attempt to revive the Coyotes by owner Alex Meruelo failed in June when a land deal in Phoenix fell through.

With about a week's notice, Todd Walsh had to summarize the nearly three-decade existence of a beloved Arizona sports franchise and the last 27 years of his own sports broadcasting career. The Arizona Coyotes had just wrapped up their final game of the season. Days earlier, they'd announced the team would move to Salt Lake City. Walsh had covered the team on the air since it came to the Valley in 1996, and over five poignant minutes on the postgame show, he bid an emotional and professional farewell to a franchise that was leaving a dedicated fanbase, a local media contingent and him behind. "Hockey gave me a personal and professional purpose," Walsh said, sharing how the game and its people buoyed him after the death of each of his parents. With admirable poise and without a single verbal pause, Walsh helped fans through their grief just like hockey had helped him through his. "A good story lasts forever," he told them. "However, sometimes the ending just isn't what you want it to be."

The Valley's sports mascots leave a lot to be desired. Big Red, the Arizona Cardinals' mascot, is one of two anthropomorphic cardinals in major professional sports. Howler the Coyote has moved to a farm upstate. The Suns' Gorilla is famous but nonsensical, and the Diamondbacks having a bobcat mascot makes sense only if you know the tortured explanation for it. (Chase Field was originally named Bank One Ballpark – or B.O.B. for bobcat. Again, the team is named after a snake.) But Sparky is wholly original. Sure, there may be a few other devil mascots out there, but there's only one Sun Devil. He has more history than most of his counterparts in town, and he's certainly unique. And there's no mistaking what team he represents — something the Valley's other mascots would have a hard time claiming.

We're No. 1? It's been a while since the Sun Devils won anything in a major sport — no offense to the men's swimming and diving team, which won an NCAA title this year — but ASU landed atop a dubious leaderboard this year. In April, the NCAA penalized the Sun Devils for illegal recruiting during the pandemic under former football coach Herm Edwards. As a result, ASU is now tied with Southern Methodist University for the most major infractions (10) in NCAA history. The obvious solution: Go for 11. Bring back a poorly disguised James Harden on the basketball court. Start a sign-stealing scheme on the baseball diamond. Give every student-athlete a sports betting app, $500 and no supervision. It's time to make history.

It should have been a celebratory moment. Spring training had sprung, and the Diamondbacks were coming off a surprise trip to the World Series. They'd just executed an exciting offseason, spending tens of millions of dollars to bolster a young and exciting team that had just brought postseason baseball back to the Valley. Then Diamondbacks managing partner Ken Kendrick stepped in front of a bunch of microphones and issued a veiled threat to move the team. "We may run out of time in Phoenix," Kendrick warned, raising the specter of relocating the team out of state. There are cities across the country, he explained, that "would certainly be very happy, you know, with, frankly, a successful, existing franchise." Arizona Republic columnist Phil Boas called it Kendrick channeling "his inner mob boss." In a rarity when it comes to Boas' work, he was right.

As the Coyotes played a final, emotional game in the Valley in April, the man responsible for their impending exit was nowhere to be found. Alex Meruelo's ownership of the Coyotes lasted less than five years, a span that saw the team abandon their home at Gila River Arena in Glendale and then strike out multiple times at finding a shiny new home. As fans, players and media members bid a tearful farewell as the Coyotes took the ice in Arizona for one last time, Meruelo didn't show. He was too busy finalizing a billion-dollar deal to sell and relocate the team, he told a local sports radio station. If you're going to rip a team away on short notice, at least be there at the end to take your medicine.

Aspiring golfers of all ages can learn valuable basics here in a relaxed, non-intimidating, indoor atmosphere. This isn't a putt-putt party: The 18 smooth, well-constructed holes offer a range of easy to difficult, and a laser dot changes the tee-off spot each time so you can play repeatedly. Pros are on hand to help with form and strokes, too. Best of all, it features the jovial Bar19 boasting friendly servers, above-average bar food and decent pours — but don't go overboard if you want to stay on your game (trust us). Happy hour from 4 to 6 p.m. Monday through Thursday includes $2 off draft beer, glasses of wine and well drinks, along with specials on sliders, tacos and wings. If you get the swing of it and want a more social outing, Putting World hosts Glow in the Dark "putt parties" on certain nights and welcomes group events.

If you haven't been paying attention in the last decade or so, esports have really taken off nationwide. Sure, there's always going to be a place for tried-and-true games such as baseball and football, but esports have become a thing because they offer the same pillars (teamwork and competition) but in a way that's more welcoming and inclusive. The city of Phoenix has even got in on the trend, as its parks and recreation department holds programs, classes and even tournament play for young and old alike. Not that esports needs this kind of validation, but a city getting involved is a really important way to make the sport a proper part of actual community-building efforts as well as to lend the various resources needed to sustain it long term. Video games are ultimately just meaningless fun, but in that space there are still opportunities to stoke the twin flames of friendship and competition. Plus, if no one has to sit in 110-degree stadiums, then that seems like a win-win all around.

Years ago, laser tag was a big trend — and an easy way to plan a night out for large groups. The spirit's the same even as the technology has clearly changed, thanks to places like Velocity VR. Velocity offers a chance for up to eight players to immerse in any number of far-flung experiences, from battling hordes of the undead to fighting robots in deep space. If you're an old laser tag pro, or if you spent any amount of time playing paintball, the experience should prove familiar enough even as Velocity takes it up a notch for something that's altogether more physically and mentally engaging. There are other amenities for rounding out the evening out, including food and drinks as well as more traditional games such as go-karting and axe-throwing. But it's really the VR gameplay that demands your attention, as it's that perfect balance of slight novelty and genuine excitement that makes this a rather compelling new aspect of local nightlife. It ain't the drinking and dancing of yore, but it'll get you those weekly steps and also serve as a reminder of the power of a great gaming culture. Plus, there's something slightly more acceptable about rocking VR goggles in a crowd setting.

The Valley has no shortage of attractions for kids. But only one features three air-conditioned stories of wholesome, hands-on activities sure to help young children burn off all their excess energy. The Children's Museum of Phoenix features a play kitchen and a play grocery store. There's a multilevel metal treehouse called The Climber. There are reading nooks, a craft room and regular special exhibits. Crucially for parents, there are ample places to sit while the little ones run wild. Even more crucially, membership isn't unreasonable — $205 a year for a family of four. If you can successfully exit through the gift shop without buying a few toys, there's no better bang for a parent's buck.

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