A DJ, two MCs, a 16-member female dance troupe with six erotically charged wardrobe changes, a constant stream of eerily mature child performers, and more flashing lights and sound effects than Fourth of July at Disneyland.
This is no 21st century cabaret; it’s just another NBA basketball game, where bizarre happens.
From my vantage point near the ceiling, the cavernous Staples Center was spread before me in all its synthetic glory.
Denied access to any of its nether sections by a vast army of unrelenting, purple-shirted event staff, I watched the Golden State Warriors crush a hapless Los Angeles Clippers team from my place in section 328 ““ the cheap seats.
What made all these ostentatious entertainment devices so strange was that no one really seemed willing to enjoy them.
You may have seen this same arena on TV before, glowing from the presence of A-list celebrities in yellow Lakers gear and one of Craig Sager’s ridiculously colored sports coats.
But this was a Clippers game ladies and gents, and a Saturday matinee at that.
Only a few more than half the seats were filled, and with the current state of Clipper Nation what it is (they are 1-8), most of those chairs weren’t filled with joyous, excited people.
It was during a time-out, as three 7-year-old girls danced on center court while an oddly sexual song blared out over the sound system, that I started to wonder where we had all gotten lost.
At what point did this league trade its athletic contests for amusement park-like experiences?
If you’ve been to any NBA arena in the last 15 years, you know it ain’t no Pauley Pavilion.
The deafening noise made by a student section next to the court is usually substituted by a loud artificial clapping sound joined with a thousand neon signs screaming at you to “make some noise.”
These gadgets are supposed to get the crowd into the game, but somehow I feel like the fans are too smart for all that.
So, what’s the alternative?
As I looked around me at the various groups gathered in the upper deck of this monstrous building, I realized that not everyone around me was slumped in their chair indifferently, thinking about how their Clipper team could possibly be doing worse than the economy.
Those pesky Warriors fans were everywhere.
Although not the majority, they were certainly the most vocal fans in the arena and they were dressed in their famous “WE BELIEVE” T-shirts, throwback Jason Richardson jerseys, and even Baron Davis No. 5’s with the word “traitor” written on a piece of masking tape stuck to the back.
365 miles from Oakland, the camaraderie was 10-fold between fans of the visiting team, exchanging enthusiastic high-fives and fist bumps from complete strangers even before the game had started.
In the last few years, the Warriors’ own Oracle Arena has made a surprisingly quick transformation from just a road-trip stop between Portland and Los Angeles to a place where even the best teams’ performances on the court are actually affected by fan involvement.
This is not to say that Oracle doesn’t use the same fancy tricks to try to get customers to the game ““ a couple seasons ago I saw a grown man climb out of a small glass box onto the court at halftime ““ but those are not the things that awarded the stadium its new moniker as one of the toughest arenas to play in the country, no matter the quality of the current squad.
The home-court difference cannot be blasted through speakers or performed at halftime. It is an authentic connection between the people in the seats and the people on the court, a feeling of pride in the organization that runs through everyone.
When even the fans show up to the game looking to make an impact on its outcome, you have something very special.
Yet despite all of this manufactured hoopla, one bright spot gave hope to the Staples Center atmosphere.
At various points during the game, when it seemed like the Clippers could really use a rally (which was often), a season ticket-holder nicknamed Clipper Darrell, decked out in his self-made blue-and-red suit, stood up in the aisle and started a cheer at the top of his lungs.
Sure it’s ridiculous, but people responded to it because it’s real.
If only the Clippers could have a stadium filled with this guy’s enthusiasm, then maybe, just maybe, they might win some games.
If you plan to make a Trojan miss a free throw from your seat at Pauley Pavilion this season, e-mail Smukler at esmukler@media.ucla.edu.