Spreading Good Jeer : Oft-Costumed ‘Matamaniacs’ Mercilessly Heckle Cal State Northridge Foes

Their proudest moment? That’s a tough call.

It might have been when they earned prominent mention in a basketball team’s scouting report.

Or when Gary Adams, UCLA’s baseball coach, blamed a defeat on them.

Or when Harold Merritt, Northern Arizona’s basketball coach, said they were among the reasons his team would never again play at the Cal State Northridge gymnasium.

Or when Sara Mallett, left fielder for the Nevada Las Vegas softball team, succinctly and dramatically asked them to refrain from chirping in her ear.

Truth be told, there are many more possibilities.

Rating the highlights of the roving band of Northridge athletes-turned-hecklers is like trying to rank Michael Jordan’s dunks or Madonna’s outrageous outfits.

They have painted their faces, donned wigs and pranced around in funky polyester disco clothes. They have charged through the aisles of the Northridge gymnasium, ranting, raving and energizing the apathetic. They have break-danced their way through the routines of Matador cheerleaders.

Opponents have scowled at them, cried at them, screamed at them and gestured toward them--sometimes obscenely.

They are the Matamaniacs, creators of Matamania. And darn proud of it.

Opposing coaches have called them troublemakers. A Northridge coach describes them as “spirit-filled guys having a good time.”

Which is it? “Both, definitely,” said Coley Kyman, a ringleader of the group of about two dozen Matamaniacs.

Kyman, an All-American middle blocker in volleyball and a backup quarterback in football, was among a group of men’s volleyball players who unintentionally founded the Matamaniacs three years ago.

The losers of a friendly softball game between the Matador volleyball and men’s basketball teams were required to paint their faces and cheer for the winners at a home game of the winners’ choice. Suggested attire: the craziest costume possible.

“This all started because we lost in the bottom of the ninth,” Kyman said. “We didn’t really want to do it, but we lost the bet. We had to.”

The basketball players chose their final home game of the 1989-90 season, a contest against California Collegiate Athletic Assn. champion Bakersfield, a team that advanced to the NCAA Division II final four.

When the volleyball team pranced into Matador Gym that night, the crowd cheered and a mediocre basketball team was transformed. Northridge won in overtime, 96-88, and a tradition was born.

“It was wild,” said Chris McGee, who along with Kyman and Matt Unger is considered a leader among maniacs. “We had so much fun. We were like, ‘This could be the start of something.’ ”

It was. The maniacs, who now encompass athletes representing most of the school’s sports teams, claim the men’s basketball team has a record of 18-2 with them in costume. This by a team that has posted an overall record of 29-54 the past three years.

“Of course, the credit goes to the basketball team,” Kyman said. “But 18-2? You’ve got to think we at least have something to do with that.”

Although they rarely dress up for anything but basketball games, the Matamaniacs are regulars at other Northridge sporting events.

“I think they’re trying to figure out a way to introduce heckling to women’s tennis,” said John Price, coach of the Matador volleyball team.

Baseball is Kyman’s personal favorite because it is played outdoors, in a quiet setting--”so you can hear everything we say”--and he can station himself low in the bleachers between home plate and first base, adjacent to--and within whispering distance--of the visiting team’s dugout.

Besides, he adds, “People expect heckling in baseball. It’s part of the game.”

Expected or not, there have been several occasions when Kyman’s barbs have struck an angry chord.

“A couple of guys have wanted to fight me,” he said. “This one time, when I was by myself, I was on this pitcher. I was in his dish the whole day and after he gave up about five runs and they took him out, he came straight over to the gate and tried to come out and get me. It was funny.”

Price recalls another time when the father of one of Kyman’s targets spoke up.

“Coley was all over this pitcher, just mercilessly,” Price said, “and all of a sudden the kid’s father, who is sitting right behind him, leans over and says, ‘Hey, I’d appreciate it if you’d shut up. That’s my son you’re talking about.’ It got real quiet. I think people might have been expecting Coley to apologize or something.”

Instead, Kyman looked at the man, glanced back over his shoulder at the pitcher, then turned back to the man and blurted, “He’s weeeak!”

“Coley doesn’t back down,” Price said.

But, occasionally, he gets trumped.

On one occasion, when an opposing pitcher failed to pick off a Northridge runner, Kyman barked one of his favorite lines: “I’ve seen better moves than that in the back seat of my car!”

When an opposing fan retorted, “Too bad you were still in the front seat,” Kyman led the laughter.

“When you heckle, if someone comes back with a good one, you have no choice, as a fellow heckler, but to applaud,” he said.

However, it is rare that the maniacs lose a war of words.

“They’re the best I’ve ever heard,” said Mike Sims, catcher on the Northridge baseball team. “And it’s hard not to hear them because they’re so loud and they’re sitting so close to the field.”

Adams, UCLA’s baseball coach, said the maniacs were so vociferous that it drove his team to distraction during a March 16 game against Northridge at UCLA’s Jackie Robinson Field.

Northridge won, 4-3, and Bruin baseball players were so incensed that three weeks later a group attended a volleyball match between the schools at Pauley Pavilion. The UCLA baseball players sat behind the Northridge bench, even following the Matadors when they switched sides between games.

The incident was a big disappointment to the maniacs, but for an unusual reason.

“They just weren’t that good,” Kyman said. “I mean, if you’re going to show up and heckle . . . heckle. Don’t say something lame. They embarrassed themselves.”

Unger, the volleyball team’s setter, said unusual names or personal traits make for the best material.

Heavy players are called “Snack Shack,” or asked, “Hey, you on a meal plan over there?” Thin players are offered “keys to the weight room” and given directions. A short player digging in at the plate might be greeted with the question, “Who left the helmet in the batter’s box?”

“They don’t get vulgar,” Price said. “Believe it or not, they have standards. They keep it pretty clean. That’s the only thing I’ve said to them, ‘Just don’t offend Ma and Pa sitting next to you.’ ”

Most players attempt to tune out hecklers, Unger said. “That’s the best thing you can do,” he said.

And the worst? “Any reaction at all,” Unger said. “When you react, when you say something back, you’re just asking for more.”

This spring alone, two opposing softball players have been brought to tears. “Girls don’t handle heckling very well,” Unger said.

Mallett, the Las Vegas outfielder, was a victim of geography. As left fielder, she was only a short distance from the maniacs, who position themselves down the third base line at softball games.

From that perch, Mallett’s misplay became obvious. On a drive hit over her head, she failed to retreat quickly enough and the ball flew inches over the fence for a home run. “She knew she should have had it, but nobody else did,” Price said. “Nobody but those guys, because they were at the right angle to see it.”

Soon, all other spectators knew too. The maniacs lampooned Mallett’s first name with a custom rendition of the popular song “Sara”--something about “homers brewing in her eyes.”

Then they started pleading, “Come on, Sara. We’re not asking too much. Just a little effort, Sara. That’s all we’re asking, just a . . . “

Tears welling in her eyes, Mallett responded by flinging her glove to the ground and screaming, “Would you shut the (expletive) up!”

The maniacs saluted Mallett’s performance with a standing ovation. Then they started on her again.

Finally, an umpire approached the group. “We’re not saying anything rude,” Kyman said. “We were just ragging. Is there a problem with that?”

Because there was not, all the umpire could do was ask the group to “not rub it in.”

“So they started ragging the umpire,” Price said.

Gary Torgeson, Northridge’s softball coach, said he considers the maniacs’ antics part of the Matadors’ “home-field advantage.”

“One thing I’ve always said is that we’re too nice at home,” Torgeson said. “I say if they can get in somebody’s head, good for them. You don’t need to be vulgar, but these guys aren’t. I think we’re learning what spirit is all about.”

Beth Calcante, who patrols left field for Northridge, said the maniacs can be helpful. Once, she pulled back what would have been a home run because the group let her know where the fence was so she could stop and jump. “Sometimes they’ve told me what base to throw it to,” Calcante said.

During one game in which she hit two home runs, Calcante even reported hearing a marriage proposal. “They’re great,” she said. “When I get a hit and they just go wild it makes me want to get right back up there and hit again.”

Kyman said the Matamaniacs are at least partially responsible for strong rapport among the school’s athletic teams.

“Other athletes see us there rooting for them and it makes them want to come out and support you,” Kyman said. “I have good friends on just about every team here.”

At men’s volleyball matches, members from almost every other Northridge team can be seen together, returning favors. However, they usually wear regular clothes.

For the Matamaniacs, getting made up for indoor events has become part of their persona. “People ask why we dress up, but actually I love it,” Kyman said. “I like wearing my disco clothes.”

On at least one occasion, the maniacs on the volleyball team took their act on the road, rooting for a team other than their own.

Two years ago, while in Muncie, Ind., to play in a tournament at Ball State, the volleyball team attended a baseball game between Ball State and Eastern Michigan.

The Northridge players decided to adopt Ball State, the home team. What ensued still tickles Price.

“The guys from Eastern Michigan acted like they’d never heard baseball ragging before,” he said. “They had the biggest rabbit ears of any team I’ve ever seen.”

And the Ball State crowd loved every minute. “Coley was in heaven,” Price said. “All of the old lines he can’t use anymore around here were new to that crowd. They were rolling with every line.”

When it was time to leave, the Northridge players received a rousing ovation and invitations to return the following day.

Two years ago, Northridge played host to Northern Arizona. Josh Oppenheimer, once a standout at Notre Dame High, played guard for the Lumberjacks.

McGee, who played high school basketball at Crespi, Notre Dame’s rival, had the Matamaniacs lying in wait. Oppenheimer rarely made a move that was not greeted by some sort of jeer or taunt.

Finally, he snapped. Late in the game, Oppenheimer flashed a We’re No. 1 sign to the maniacs using the middle finger of his right hand. Soon after, he was pulled from the game and did not return.

A few days later, after Northern Arizona returned home, the school announced that Oppenheimer had been suspended from the team. Later, he quit.

“I don’t know if we had anything to do with that or not,” Kyman said. “But we’ll take credit for it.”

Most opposing players take the salvos without breaking stride. The maniacs seem particularly fond of Lucious Harris, Cal State Long Beach’s star guard and a former Cleveland High player, who kept a running conversation with them throughout a basketball game.

“We’d be on him and he’d look over at us and talk right back,” Unger said. “He’d say, ‘You know I’m going to be dunking on you next time down. . . .’ He was having fun with us.”

After the game, several maniacs approached Harris and shook his hand. “The good ones take heckling as a compliment,” McGee said. “They’re usually pretty cool about it. To us, it’s all in fun.”

Even the parents of players who get heckled occasionally are forgiving. Kyman became friendly with the father of a UC Riverside baseball player he had razzed.

“We used to play them a lot, and whenever I saw him he’d ask how the volleyball team was doing and wish me well,” Kyman said.

The topper, however, occurred as Kyman and McGee were walking through the Northridge Fashion Center a short time ago. They were stopped by a middle-aged woman who approached Kyman, saying that she knew him.

“You remember three years ago? You were heckling my son,” the woman said.

Her son played left field for the Riverside baseball team.

“I said, ‘You mean Hanger?’ ” Kyman said. “Yes, Hanger (a nickname) is my son,” she said.

With that, the woman repeated some of her least-favorite heckles, now laughing about them. “We haven’t played Riverside in anything in three years,” Kyman said. “It’s nice to know that people who heckle have such an impact.”

The only concern now: Will their tradition continue?

Kyman is in his senior season as a volleyball player, and although he still has one season of football eligibility remaining, he might leave school if he makes the U.S. national team in volleyball. Unger also is in his final volleyball season. McGee retains one year of eligibility.

“Sometimes we worry about the future, whether this will continue,” McGee said one day while watching Northridge play Chapman in a baseball game.

As he talked, a Chapman player named Buster stepped to the plate and one of McGee’s teammates, a freshman, attempted to heckle him.

“Hey Buster. Are those Buster Browns you’re wearing?”

McGee groaned. “That’s what I’m talking about,” he said. “But he’s young. He’ll learn.”