All this noise makes me want to scream
Maybe I am getting old — I voted for Louis St. Laurent — and cranky, or both.
But who cares? This is the way I feel, and this is my column, so ... ENOUGH LOUD NOISES!
This prehistoric pundit reached a boiling point during the recent Memorial Cup, an event that was largely enjoyable, except for ... LOUD NOISES!
After an eight-game assault upon the eardrums, I had ample cause to wonder why Advil (or a manufacturer of industrial-strength earplugs) wasn’t an official sponsor of the Canadian Hockey League’s championship tournament.
That said, my salvos and grumpiness are not aimed exclusively at the CHL, the Western Hockey League, hockey in general, or any one sport in particular.
At virtually any venue where games people play are showcased for profit, the decibel level is borderline intolerable.
(What did you say?) INTOLERABLE!
(Thank you. Now get on with it!) Uh, anyway, here is what I wrote on Twitter early in the Memorial Cup.
“What is the point of ear-splitting music (?) during stoppages in play in hockey games? Why not allow the crowd to actually get involved and create a buzz of its own? The clatter effectively stifles authentic crowd noise.”
Let the record show that I wholeheartedly agree with my tweet.
Other people objected. One person suggested that, in my dotage, I had adopted the “get off my lawn!” mentality.
Get off my case.
I am absolutely right about this. Just ask me.
Sorry, but I fail to comprehend what is accomplished by having the speakers blare at every opportunity during a sporting event.
The eruptions are too loud and not at all musical. Good luck understanding even one word of the so-called lyrics. Good luck talking to the person next to you in the press box or the stands. Good luck to any fans who hope to create some atmosphere by, you know, cheering or chanting or applauding.
Valiantly, some Swift Current Broncos supporters did attempt to do it the old-fashioned way.
During one Memorial Cup game, a “Go Broncos Go!” chant began shortly after the puck was frozen for a faceoff. For about five seconds, the chant intensified in volume. You could feel the buzz increasing in the building.
But then, as always, someone in a booth decided to play some song by some “artist” who likely cannot read one word of music, and the Broncos’ fans — bless their hearts — were drowned out. The chant quickly died.
This is atmosphere? This is excitement?
Over the years, a comparable scenario has unfolded countless times during Saskatchewan Roughriders home games.
It was especially bad in Section 204 of dear old Taylor Field. We sat beneath the speakers, which was not ideal, but we liked the location.
Many a time, as the crowd was really starting to get into the game, the canned noise would start and the real excitement would stop.
Thankfully, the situation has improved to a degree at Roughriders games. There are times when the crowd is allowed to generate its own momentum.
It would be sheer folly to drown out such a traditionally raucous crowd on a consistent basis, although there are still occasions when a pair of wire-cutters could make things immeasurably better at the new Mosaic Stadium.
Dead air has its benefits. Let the game breathe a little. Let the eardrums recover from the constant barrage.
Alas, the sporting world seems to be going in the other direction. In many places, fans are not trusted to respond with some volume and vigour at suitable times.
Hence the plea to “Make Some Noise!”
(Translation: “On the count of three, please be spontaneous.”)
The message on the scoreboard usually exhorts the crowd to be noisier. There is also an accompanying screamer who urges the fans to get louder.
Some scoreboards are also equipped with a decibel meter, which may or may not be measuring the actual volume as it intensifies.
It says here that the fans are smart enough, and engaged enough, to know when to cheer and chant without all this prompting.
And who knows? Without all the canned music, the spectators might be inclined to “Make Some Noise!” without being ordered to do precisely that.
Sadly, we’ll never find out.