The Jumbotron as metaphor for a deteriorating civic life in Kansas and far beyond

I was born in Kansas but lived in Boston for many years. When the Red Sox were in town, I’d take my kids to Fenway Park early so we could watch batting practice. There’s no sound quite as sweet as a baseball bat whacking a ball.

It was like the song “Take Me Out to the Ballgame“: “Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack, I don’t care if I never get back.”

The same holds for watching the Celtics play in the Old Boston Garden. We would stand near the court and listen to the good-natured banter among the players as they warmed up.

One of the great joys of attending these games were the people we’d meet in the stands. Old-timers would recall colorful stories about watching Ted Williams play or remember the matchup between Bill Russell and Wilt Chamberlain, who played college basketball at the University of Kansas. Kansas fans most likely have similar memories of the days of Len Dawson and George Brett.

There was no such thing as a stranger, and people talked animatedly among one another. Attending a game was a sharing of common humanity.

But then the Jumbotron came along, a cursed abomination. Along with the big screen came loud music. From the moment we entered the ballpark or the basketball court, we were bombarded with nonstop noise and relentless video clips.

The Jumbotron effectively ended conversation among the fans. In pro sports today, except when the game is underway, constant noise prevails. In many baseball parks, the organist even plays between pitches from the mound. Timeouts and between innings are crowded with silly races, contests and people in ridiculous costumes.

Many years later, I attended a Denver Nuggets basketball game. I left after the first quarter.

I wrote a letter to the team owner, commenting about what I’ve described above. In return, I received a letter from a guy whose job title was director of fan experience.

Then it dawned on me. No longer is the game enough. Fans now must have an “experience.”

At the Nuggets game, during timeouts and halftime, most fans sat motionless, gazing into their phones. They looked sad and lonely. They weren’t talking about previous games, seasons, or players. It was a place without history or memory.

I realize times change. With the rise of 24-7 sports coverage, people gather to watch games, drink beer and have a good time. Extravagant tailgating goes on among football fans before games that build friendships between people who have never met before.

But I believe the loss in human contact that once was part and parcel of professional sporting events is a metaphor for the increasing noise in other aspects of daily life. Retail stores play constant music, and restaurants have multiple TVs. Worst of all, people out to eat are likely to be looking into their phones, the saddest of all being parents and young children alike.

All this extraneous noise and distraction deprives (yea, robs) citizens of informed conversations about anything Kansas Reflector or other news outlets publish.

Extraneous noise dulls us, dehumanizes us. If we could reduce the noise in public life and get away from the notion that people, especially children, must be constantly entertained, we would come to know and understand one another better, and improve the quality of civic life in this great state in which we live.

Mike Durall is a freelance writer, the author of 10 books and a weekly columnist for the Salina 311 newspaper. Through its opinion section, Kansas Reflector works to amplify the voices of people who are affected by public policies or excluded from public debate. Find information, including how to submit your own commentary, here.