WASHINGTON — As the University of Maryland and University of Virginia basketball teams gathered by their benches late in the first half Sunday, a few middle-aged men in Room 0427 — the “Video Scoreboard Control Room" — tried to inject some mid-afternoon romance into a basketball gymnasium.
“Salute the Troops, then Kiss Cam," Scott Youngblood, Maryland’s game-day director for 10 years, called into his headset. “Start looking for people."
Kiss Cams have been a game-day scoreboard staple at college and professional arenas for decades. They can provide cheap laughs, as when two players from a visiting team are shown together. They can provide oohs and ahhs when grandparents smooch.
There are occasional marriage proposals and occasional exaggerated gropes.
Mostly, though, there are camera operators and directors and nervous couples trying to create five seconds of lovin’ in front of thousands of sports fans in about the least-romantic setting imaginable.
“It’s not scripted. That’s what kind of makes it great," said Carrie Blankenship, an assistant athletics director of marketing at Maryland. “It’s raw — love and humor all at the same time. You never know what you get."
You might get Maryland junior Kelsey Franey, who was sitting next to a male friend on Sunday at Comcast Center in College Park, Md. The friend — who declined to provide his name — is dating someone else. He and Franey stared at each other as they realized that more than 16,000 people were watching them in anticipation.
“Oh no, oh no, not me," Franey later recalled thinking. “It’s very stressful. ... He really likes (his girlfriend), so he didn’t want to upset her."
The man kissed her on the cheek and rolled his eyes. Franey smiled and blushed. “For probably about 20 minutes afterwards, I was like, ‘Did that really just happen?’" she later said. Her friend cursed in disbelief when approached by a reporter and asked not to be quoted.
Or you might get Alexander Jonesi, a sophomore Maryland super fan whose colorful accessories often land him on the video board mid-cheer. This time, though, he was supposed to kiss Melissa Capurro. She dates one of his friends; his own girlfriend was sitting on his other side.
Jonesi and Capurro leaned away from each other, as far as humans can lean, toddlers fleeing a nurse’s needle, seeking refuge outside the frame. There was no kiss.
“That awkward moment when you’re on the kiss cam with someone other than your boyfriend," Capurro later wrote on Twitter.
In the NBA, the Washington Wizards still use a Kiss Cam about every other game, prompted by a sponsorship deal with the D.C. Lottery. Kate Layman, the team’s director of game operations, said sponsors love the 75-second segment because fans are “literally staring at the video board the entire time."
“It’s like live television. You’re not quite sure what’s coming next," she said. “You have couples that surprise you, an older couple in their 70s and they’re just making out all of a sudden."
Betty and Tom Lugenbeel aren’t in their 70s and they didn’t make out, but they sure like to kiss. She’s 64, he’s 68; they celebrated their 34th anniversary this month. Generations of Lugenbeels have been coming to Maryland basketball games, ever since Bud Millikan led the program in the 1950s and ’60s, but Betty and Tom had never been on a Kiss Cam before Sunday.
“I’m like, ‘Why don’t they ever pick us?’ and then they did," said Betty, who was the first to notice their moment and hastily patted Tom on the arm to get his attention.
“C’mon, guy," someone muttered in the control room.
After their kiss, Betty leaned her head on Tom’s shoulder and grinned.
“You could almost feel people smiling," video operations coordinator Ed Clark said.
Outed by the cam
“Anybody?" Youngblood called out from the control room. “Two more. Ready 1. Dissolve 1."
Camera 1 meant Scott Norton, who had been trolling the student section closest to the floor. Now he found an attractive pair of young professionals not wearing Maryland colors. They appeared on the video scoreboard and almost winced. He whispered in her ear, then shrugged helplessly at Norton’s camera.
Turns out they were co-workers. They’d been dating for a week. No one at the office knew.
“We were just trying to have a nice Sunday," she later joked. “It’s like, ‘How did the Kiss Cam know?’"