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An Englishman Abroad: One man and his NBA experience

It was with excitement and trepidation, I must admit, that I left the dreaming spires of Oxford for the bright lights of London, all in the name of being a dedicated sports fan. This is not an uncommon occurrence for me, as I often return to the capital for football or rugby matches.

However, this time my destination was neither Wembley, nor Twickenham but rather the O2 Arena, a venue more often associated with One Direction tours than elite sporting fixtures, but tonight that cavernous arena was transformed into an All American basketball stadium with all the requisite bells and whistles. The English sporting fan experience is fairly standardised: a few quick pints before the match, and polite applause at various point of interest. Then at half time it’s time for another pint accompanied by a pie or sausage roll. Fans watch the second half with the same polite attention as they did the first half. Afterwards everyone trudges off home content with a win, loss or draw, secure in the knowledge they’ll all be back a week later to perform this ritual once more.

As I was soon to discover this is rather different for Americans. It seems that just having sport as entertainment isn’t enough.

Upon entering the O2 I therefore found myself in what I can only describe as a mix between a nightclub and a sports stadium. There was the court below me, the benches for the players, water, towels, officials – everything one would expect to see. More unexpected was the strobe lighting which fl ashed from every available nook and cranny, all whilst DJ ‘D Strong’ played some banging club remixes that wouldn’t be out of place upstairs in Bridge on a Thursday.

I relaxed as the players emerged, thinking that the game was about to get underway, but how wrong I was. What occurred next was a mixture of incredible showmanship and corny patriotism that made me a little bit sick in my mouth. All the players lined up and the DJ stopped playing so the announcer could ask everyone to “stand up and remove their caps for the national anthems”, which this Englishman did with more than an ounce of scepticism. As the anthems were sung, huge fl ags were unfurled from the ceiling and a montage of American and British military action was shown so we could ‘honour the troops’. A booming voice announced the starting line-ups, with each player running out and performing a unique ritualistic handshake comprising of shoulder-bumps and hi-fives with their teammates. All the while, smoke billowed and mascots breakdanced in the middle of the court.

Eventually it seemed that the organisers had run out of ideas of how to waste more time, resources and sponsors’ money and finally the action got underway. It is clear to any spectator that basketball as a sport is fast-paced and exciting, with lots of athleticism, tactical movement and precise accuracy. But it also typifi es the short attention span of the majority of the American public. Not content with a patient build- up of play, the teams are expected to shoot within 24 seconds, accompanied of course with a background cacophony of pop remixes.

The frequent time-outs and breaks at the end of each quarter bring with them no respite.It seems that Americans cannot fathom having nothing to entertain them whilst the players take a rest. Accordingly, they are satiated with a mix of scantily-clad female dancers and the ‘Kiss Cam’, which forces selected couples to engage in PDA whilst their faces are projected onto a giant jumbotron. American celebrity culture permeated this event, which in my opinion degraded the gravitas owed to a sporting occasion. The players on court who deserved the most coverage and attention were often left sidelined as the crowd focused on the jumbotron as it picked out a Z-list audience of celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay, footballers such as Robert Pirès and Didier Drogba and popstar Fleur East.

The game itself was as close as it gets and at the end of the four quarters the score was a nailbiting 96-96. However, I had forgotten that the American mindset isn’t programmed to fathom a draw. It it implausible for them not have a winner and a loser. Thus, it seems, the show must go on until one side can be crowned superior. So we endured another five minutes of thumping bass and competitive sport until eventually the Toronto Raptors emerged victorious.

I left the O2 exhausted and enthralled, yet somewhat dizzy and with a headache. Whether that was a case of bright lights, loud music and consistently hearing American accents for two and a half hours I’m unsure. Or maybe it was simply because I didn’t have the money to buy a £5 bottle of water. Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I won’t. All I know is that this was the maddest sports match I have ever been to.

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