Cultural Identity And Hockey

Last night I went to the Dallas Stars vs Detroit Red Wings game in Detroit. A life-long, some might say “hardcore,” Dallas Stars fan, I prepared myself before the game for the trash talk I would no doubt endure. My arsenal of clever rebuttals firmly in mind, most along the lines of “what happened in 1999?” (the year Dallas won the Stanley Cup), I went to “The Joe” in my full Stars attire. While I did receive a few “asshole” comments, the fact that the Stars were leading for over ¾ of the game made dealing with the trash talk a breeze. I would just make one gesture in the direction of the scoreboard and leave Red Wings fans tongue-tied. What I was unprepared for, however, were the large differences between professional hockey games in Dallas and Detroit, specifically in terms of their production value.

The phrase “everything’s bigger in Texas” definitely applies here. For pregame introductions, Stars players skate through artificial fog and a giant star-shaped cut out while the official team song (by Dallas-bred metalheads Pantera) reverberates through the arena and various green and white laser lights float through the stands. In Detroit, the players simply skated onto the ice to the soothing, monotone voice of the game announcer (seriously, this guy sounded like he should be on NPR) and the top 40 hit du jour. I guess I just expected more of a show from a place that calls itself “Hockeytown.”

But when I stopped to think about this discrepancy in production value of sporting events, it is very reflective of the difference in regional cultural identities between Texas and Michigan. In Texas, surface appeal is crucial (large generality, yes, but mostly accurate). Keeping with the sports theme, Texan sports fans are some of the most fickle, fair weather fans in the history of Earth. I used to go to Stars games in the early-90s when the team had a losing record and less than half the seats were full. During the Stars’ heyday in the late-90’s, getting tickets was near impossible. Now, the team is moderately good, and tickets are moderately hard to get. Being a supporter of a winning team, while undoubtedly more appealing nationwide, is much more important than sticking with a team through thick and thin because of the instant appeal of supporting a winner. In Detroit, on the other hand, a man who had held Red Wings season tickets for 25 years was introduced as the season ticket holder of the game, and the people around me acted like it was no big deal. Such devotion to anything is extremely rare in a Texas culture centered on flash. And I must admit that, after going to a game without the flash, I definitely miss it.