I Wish I was a Little Bit Taller

Continuing my mission to reach a better understanding of the strange land I currently inhabit, last Sunday I went with Tom, aka Politco Wonk, to see my first basketball game.

The Sacramento Kings (formerly the Kansas Royals) play at the Arco arena, which sits in the middle of a stretch of scrubby wasteland earmarked for development in the west of Sacramento. It seats just over 17,000 in two tiers, but for this match against the Utah Jazz it was just over two-thirds full. There are no areas reserved for travelling supporters, because fans rarely travel from their home cities to away games. A round trip from Salt Lake City to Sacramento would be 1,300 miles. Even in cases where fans do travel, such as when the Kings play the Golden State Warriors in Oakland, there is far less rivalry between the fans than you’d see at a footy match.

There was a plethora of busy branded food stalls around the main concourse and one snack bar recessed into each side of the top tier. We had free tickets for the match, so we couldn’t really complain when we found ourselves right up in row T next to the snack bar.

For someone used to footy, the atmosphere of a basketball match is quite alien. The large four-sided scoreboard hanging over the court was playing a live TV show of events. Some geezer from a Sacramento NGO was being interviewed about fundraising for Hurricane Katrina victims, children scored hoops to win free tickets. There were at least three video cameras on the court, and two more in the concourse. It all felt a bit showbiz, and it got steadily stranger.

Before any professional sports match in the USA, even the domestic ones in which both teams are American, the Star Spangled Banner is played and everyone stands up. Apart from me, that is: I’ve never been keen on pointless patriotism of any flavour. Plus, whoever sings the anthem always tries to fit a ridiculous number of notes and gallons of cheap theatricality into the ascending bit that goes “the la-and of the freeeeeeeee!” It hurts my ears, so it does.

I thought that the milling hordes would settle down once the anthem was done and the match started, but I was wrong. Whilst a good portion took their seats and paid attention to the team sheet announcement, there was still a steady trickle to and from the snack bar which did not stop. It’s considered polite to wait until a break in play to walk up and down the aisles obscuring the view for others, but maybe a quarter of those walking past observed the etiquette. Even more annoying are the snack vendors who meander about the stands blocking your view with pink and blue candyfloss. And that’s key to what I found strange about the atmosphere.

It was nowhere near as intense or focused as a football match. Once play started the crowd quietened down – and music started! Every second of the match had musical accompaniment. When the Kings were attacking various pieces of hip-hop inflected muzak bumped and ground. When the Kings were defending always the same plodding tune with ascending minor chords, to which the fans would chant “De-fense! de-fense! de-fense!” Quite why they did this, I have no idea. If anyone can enlighten me in the comments I’d be much obliged. I’m definitely not convinced by the idea of taped music during play. If fans take along their own instruments, or use their voices to make a noise, that’s fine, but piped music is manipulative.

After about four minutes of play a time-out was called. Immediately the court was invaded by dancers, a lion mascot and three video cameras. Every time out featured a similar invasion. The dancers appeared four times, and did an extended routine at half time. The lion mascot clowned about. One time he was launched from bungee ropes into inflatable oversized bowling pins, another time he threw American football passes into the crowd, or shot rolled-up t-shirts from a gun into the top tier. Twice during breaks ThunderStix were dropped from the ceiling into the arms of clamouring fans. At times like this the TV screens would ask people to refrain from strong language or exhort the crowd to “Make Noise” or “Get Loud.” I found it bizarre that the crowd should make most noise when the game wasn’t actually happening. At times it felt as if the warm-up routine got more attention than the game.

One of the best things about a football match is when whole crowd holds its breath and rises to its feet as one in anticipation of a goal. That doesn’t happen at a basketball match, and only partially because the seats are more comfortable. People cheer when their team scores, but because points are chalked up in roughly half of all the attacking moves, celebrations are far more muted. There’s no feeling of collective release when the balls wrinkles the net. The biggest cheers come from turn-overs, when the defending team intercepts a pass and turns defence into attack.

I found the game entertaining. Basketball is all about passing and movement; it flows from end to end, much like a football match would if there was no midfield. A few weeks ago the Kings made a player swap with the Indiana Pacers which brought small forward Ron Artest to the club. He’s a versatile player, but he’s as well known for his exploits off-court as for his play on it. In 2004 he started a brawl between players and fans, which led to 73 game suspension and eventually his move to Sacramento. He’s a big signing for the Kings, and a big draw, but on the day he was not their star player. Team captain and point guard Mike Bibby out-scored all his team mates and was pivotal in most of their attacking moves, which is very impressive for a defensive player. The Kings won the game 96-78.

As it became clear that there was no way back into the game for the Jazz, good numbers of Kings fans started leaving the arena. Why didn’t they stay until the final whistle to celebrate the win? Tom informed me that it is quite normal for fans to leave when they feel the job is done. I told him that the only time you leave a footy match is when your team is three goals down – never when you’re winning! When the match finished the PA triumphantly blasted “Song 2” at us all, but I suspect that even if the Kings had lost the song would have been the same.

I could come to like basketball, but I find the atmosphere utterly bewildering. Maybe given time I’ll come to understand it, but what I will never comprehend is why the Utah team, coming from a state that is predominantly white and Mormon, calls itself the Jazz. Quite apart from naming one, can you even imagine a white Mormon jazz musician?

Best of all is that the match was on Superbowl Sunday. By going to the basketball I effectively absolved myself from sitting in front of three hours of intensely boring American Football. Thank you, Kings! Thank you, Tom!