Come On You Preds

Personal circumstances have currently taken me, already an Exile, a jump further to the other side of the Atlantic, specifically Nashville Tennessee. Say Nashville and the first thing you probably think of is country music and cowboy hats. A stereotypical image that Nashville is keen to shed, judging by the cowboy hat store you pass on arrival at the airport, and the revolving guitars (sorry, GIT-arrs) in the baggage hall.

Nashville is less well known for sport, at least in the UK. However come the spring it gains a new MLS franchise and already has an NFL outfit (of which more maybe anon) and an NHL club that dates back even further. To 1998, which in AFC Diamonds terms makes it worthy of a preservation order.

So being at present I’m even less qualified than usual to comment on matters relating to our beloved Poppies, I need to get my sporting kicks where I can and that began with my first experiences of ice hockey via the Nashville Predators.

The Predators (Preds to everyone but a tourist like me) play at the Bridgestone Arena in downtown Nashville. This seats 17,000 and is usually mostly full, despite the 41 game home season. Ticket prices range from the astronomical to around $25 if bought from returns on the day before. Needless to say it took me at least one game to figure that one out. Inside, after being scanned and body searched you are met with a continuous ring of catering concessions and Preds merch on three levels, so by the time you reach the upper tier (by escalator, obviously) the unwary punter could be a couple of hundred bucks lighter and about 20lb heavier. The whole thing is geared to milking cash.

Once inside the bowl the first thing that hits you is the giant four sided video screen suspended above the rink. This acts as a virtual cheerleader as the minutes count down to the start. Eventually after a huge amount of build up the teams emerge. You vaguely know from a pub quiz answer that in ice hockey it’s 6 a side. So how come there are at least 15 out there?  Soon all will be revealed. The game starts. It’s 5 a side football on fast forward. Exhausting to watch. Presumably to play too, because every few minutes there’s a rotation of outfield players – five come off, five go on. Only the goalie remains in place. The subbing seems to be unconnected to the state of the game. Also apparently by numbers, the big screens pump up the crowd. GET LOUD. The noise goes up. NOISE METER. A comedy decibel counter heads north. CAN YOU HEAR US ON THE BOX?  Sorry that was just me.

When Nashville score it’s fun but also a bit choreographed. The big screens cut to a guy in a T shirt wearing a cowboy hat swinging an inflatable catfish (I think he’s a modern country star but my knowledge ends with Kenny Rogers). The crowd yell YOU SUCK at the opposition goalie, and to really rub it in IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT.  Family friendly goalkeeper baiting. Somehow, to British ears being slapped with comments that carry less sting than a school report doesn’t quite cut it. MUST TRY HARDER?

But having seen a couple of games the initial whirl is less bewildering. You start to see it less as ping pong, more of a calculated pattern, which of course any game is.  Plus in my second crack at it I may have witnessed the latest ever equaliser (not that they call it that). With Nashville leading 3-2, the Vegas Golden Knights (don’t ask) levelled with 0.3 seconds left on the clock. And of course won on the golden goal in overtime. There was a tiny cheer from the dozen or so away fans whilst the home supporters just got up and left, like a film had ended. To be fair, the big screen wasn’t saying GET BOOING, but it felt like another cultural disconnect. I was amused though by the local version of 606 on the drive home.  On comes a Vegas fan and of course he has to begin, like they all do, by stating his credentials as a long time supporter. "I've been a fan for 15 years". There was a pause back in the studio.  "Buddy, you were only formed 2 years ago..."