Sports Films for the Holiday Season

Binge-watching films and television shows – particularly in the Netflix age – has become an integral part of the holiday season.  After all, there are so few times in our calendars to pause, to reflect, and to the spend entire days lounging around the house (at least, when it is socially acceptable to do so!)  For me, at least, I like to balance my viewing between holiday classics, super-mega-silly blockbuster extravaganzas, and deeper, more serious films and documentaries – some of which involve something about sports.  There are many “classic” sports films and documentaries – stuff we probably all know and have seen many times.  However, there are some films that are a little more obscure, or may not have garnered a wide audience. With that in mind, here are a few suggestions of, perhaps, some lesser known sports films and documentaries that you may wish to fit in to your holiday binge-watching calendar.

Joyeux Noel – It would be difficult to call this a “sports film” per se – though, sports plays a central role in the story.  Similarly, it is probably the one film on this list that could be properly called a “Christmas Movie.”  In any event, this is my one “must watch every year at Christmas time” film.  The film is a fictionalized account of a real moment – The Christmas Truce of 1914.  The truce – which has become perhaps the most well-known aspect of the First World War – most famously included football matches and exchanges of gifts between enemy troops, though it also provided an opportunity to bury the soldiers left in No Man’s Land.  Joyeux Noel is deeply sentimental and very moving (the moment when a German solider sings “O Come All Ye Faithful” reduces me to a blubbering mess every time).  Given the First War centenary this year – as well as the many commemorations of the Christmas Truce – it is a poignant and timely reminder of our humanity.

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Fire in Babylon – I remember reading that the best time to think about baseball is during the winter.  Perhaps it is the same with cricket.  This documentary looks at arguably the greatest team ever assembled in any sport – the West Indies cricket test match team of the 1970s and 1980s.  Even if you don’t know your bowler from your wicket, this excellent documentary delves into the myriad of issues that faced this team – from colonialism and racism to the globalization of cricket leagues and labour – while also making for an absolutely engrossing story.  I have watched this documentary innumerable times and find something new each and every time.  It also made me want to build a time machine to go back and watch Viv Richards play. Wonderful stuff!

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Senna – I know absolutely nothing about auto racing and, though the name Ayrton Senna rang a bell, I knew nothing about him when I watched this absolutely engrossing documentary.  The way this documentary is constructed – the visuals, the sound, the lack of an audio commentary – allows the viewer to really get a sense of this man’s life…and, (*spoiler alert*) is tragic death.  By the end of this film, I was in tears.

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The Damned United – I adore this film.  Again, I knew nothing about Brian Clough and his time at Leeds United when I watched this film, but the wonderful performance by Michael Sheen is very funny, and often moving.  There are many sports movies about believing in one’s self in the face of overwhelming adversity, though few are as entertaining at The Damned United.

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Chariots of Fire – Although hardly an unknown film (it did win the Academy Award for Best Picture in 1981 after all, and features perhaps one of the most iconic opening scenes and scores in cinema history), it seems a film that has been largely forgotten over the past three decades.  Though it is flawed at points, and much of the soundtrack seems lifted from Blade Runner, the story of two British athletes at the 1924 Olympics who run for more than just glory remains compelling, and certainly ticks the “epic, period drama” box for holiday viewing.

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Silly Little Game – ESPN’s 30 for 30 documentary series features some wonderful films.  Silly Little Game – a quirky, and often funny film about the beginnings of Rotisserie Baseball (the precursor to fantasy baseball) – is an often overlooked entry into this series.  The documentary is, admittedly, a bit unusual – there are some ways in which it was filmed that, I’ll admit, worked for me but might not be for everyone – but really gets to the heart of why grown men and women get so passionate about fantasy sports.

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Happy Viewing!

Heritage and the Empty Stadium

There was an interesting blog post written by Dave Cournoyer at his site daveberta.ca recently about the future of Rexall Place in Edmonton, Canada.  For the initiated, Rexall Place (as it is currently named) was opened in the mid 1970s and, though it has hosted numerous concerts, performances, and sporting events in its 40 year history, it is most famous for being the long-time home of the Edmonton Oilers of the National Hockey League (NHL).  In particular, the arena housed the Oilers during their “Glory Years” in the 1980s and early 1990s when, led by hockey superstars Wayne Gretzky, Mark Messier, Paul Coffey, and others, the team won five Stanley Cup championships in seven seasons.  The arena, arguably, has significant heritage value, in large part because of the Edmonton Oilers, though perhaps to a lesser extent because of aspects such as its architectural value, it role in other sporting events such as the annual Canadian Finals Rodeo, and its historical connection to the Northlands fair grounds.

From a individual view, Rexall Place has significant personal heritage value to me.  For decades, it was the place I went to see hockey games with my family.  In fact, I actually witnessed two of the Oilers Stanley Cup championships – in 1984 and 1988 – from our family’s season tickets in Section K, Row 14.  A number of years ago, while completing my doctorate at the University of Alberta, I got to play hockey on the “hallowed ice” of Rexall Place – which was exciting and thrilling and wonderful, even to a grown man.  Rexall Place was also where I went to concerts with friends, saw wrestling cards as a teenager, and had my father take me to an occasional monster truck show.  Simply put, the arena was part of the landscape of my growing up and living in Edmonton, and I suspect it has become an integral part of many Edmontonians’ personal heritage narratives over the past forty years.

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In 2016, the Edmonton Oilers will be leaving Rexall Place and moving to a brand new downtown arena. Cournoyer’s blog post explores some thoughts and issues associated with what happens to Rexall Place after the Oilers move.  As Cournoyer points out, there hasn’t been much thought about this issue, and argues that local residents have not been consulted as to the arena’s future or how the arena might be used after the Oilers leave.

I would add that, part of the consultation about the future of Rexall Place ought to address and assess it’s heritage value, in particular whether the arena’s heritage ought to be recognized and how this heritage recognition would take place.

Empty stadiums and arenas, particularly those with a clear heritage value, pose some very interesting challenges.  I argued, in my recent paper “Sport, heritage, and Tourism” in the Journal of Heritage Tourism that, perhaps what makes sport heritage unique is its link to a sense of perpetual play and performance:

…sport heritage appears to be a very distinct form of heritage, perhaps because of its broad dissemination and consumption, though perhaps more because of its corporal nature.  We have to continue to play sport, or support those who play, in order to create future sport heritage. The fact that sport heritage often does not fossilize, that it must continue to be made and remade through play and performance, is perhaps what gives it a distinctive place in the heritage and heritage tourism landscape.”

What this may mean for empty stadiums, in fact, is that they are essentially dead landscapes; that perhaps the heritage isn’t in the building itself but the relationship between the building/landscape, the spectators, and the game/performance.  Without games being played – in essence, generating new heritage – the buildings themselves may have limited heritage value.

Recognizing the heritage value of empty stadiums and arenas has taken different forms, with different levels of success.  In situ preservation is probably the least feasible option. Leaving aside ancient sporting monuments, such as the Colosseum in Rome, preservation for preservation’s sake would appear unlikely for any stadium.  There are places like Rickwood Field – the oldest baseball stadium in the United States – in Birmingham, Alabama which does not have a core tenant and is probably the best example of preservation for preservation’s sake.  That said, the stadium hosts dozens of events each year, from college baseball games and tournaments to memorabilia shows, so it is hardly a “mothballed” stadium.

Adaptive reuse of heritage stadiums and arenas is a popular option.  Both the Montreal Forum and Maple Leaf Gardens have incorporated numerous heritage elements of the old arenas into new retail, real estate, and education spaces.  However, adaptive reuse is not always an option.  Tiger Stadium in Detroit was slated for a real estate redevelopment that would have incorporated the old stadium in the development, but plans fell through and the stadium was demolished.  Frequently, the old stadium sat adjacent to the new stadium, so some form of heritage markers were often used to denote where the previous stadium was after demolition. The “old” Yankee Stadium in New York is now a park next to new Yankee Stadium, and Fulton County Stadium is parking for the new Turner Field in Atlanta, with both examples denoting important markers from the old stadium in the new space (e.g.: location of home plate, etc.)  Sometimes, artefacts from the old building are incorporated into the new building.  The scoreboard from the old Omni Coliseum in Atlanta is situated in the foyer of the new Phillips Arena, for example.

Of course, many old arenas simply continue on without their core tenants, or perhaps find a different – and often lower tier – sports tenant.  The Pacific Coliseum in Vancouver, once the home of the NHL’s Vancouver Canucks, continues as a concert venue, a site for the 2010 Olympic Winter Games, and is the home of the Vancouver Giants of the Western Hockey League (WHL), a junior developmental hockey league.  As such, how the venue’s heritage is preserved or recognized may change as well.

In the discussions on the future of Rexall Place, the heritage of the venue should be raised – and, depending on the future use of the building, how the heritage is recognized will be a key issue.  I also think that the heritage of the venue isn’t just the Oilers, but encompasses many different forms – including personal heritages.  I would imagine that the venue will end up in some sort of adaptive reuse project – I simply can’t imagine it being preserved in situ, nor can I see it continue without its core tenant given the population size of Edmonton.  That said, I hope the good citizens of my former hometown consider a broad range of cases in how to use the venue going forward while still recognizing and acknowledging its heritage value.

Health and Sport Heritage

Heritage is used for a variety of contemporary needs and circumstances.  As we know from Critical Heritage Studies, heritage is used in legitimizing and underwriting particular claims from particular groups about who gets to speak for and about the past, and to what end. Heritage is also a major part of education, of identity creation and maintenance, and of nationalism. We also know that heritage is used in tourism development, particularly in building, growing, and diversifying the attraction mix at a particular tourism location or destination.  Similarly, we know that heritage is something tourists seek when on vacation; that many – if not most – leisure tourists encounter heritage at some point during their trip. We also know that heritage is vital in terms of urban planning, that heritage areas and districts can be good for attracting and retaining businesses and people to a city, and that built heritage can provide diverse and interesting architectural styles to communities.

What has been relatively late to come, though is picking up tremendous steam, is linking heritage – and, for our purposes, sport heritage – to health and health care issues.

English Heritage just released a report that suggests that “heritage makes you happy,” noting that participation in heritage – either as a visitor or volunteer – boosts self-esteem, life satisfaction, and general well-being to a greater level than participating in similar leisure and recreational activities.  There are a few interesting things to note about this kind of report.  Obviously, from a critical heritage perspective, there are few more divisive topics than heritage, although encountering heritage can also potentially be a bridge between people and cultures. I think it is interesting as well that English Heritage commissioned this report, as it suggest that heritage must now “do” something beyond a) exist, and b) generate tourism dollars.  However, I am not against commissioning such a report, nor its findings.  If we can demonstrate that heritage, in general, is beneficial to the health of individuals and communities, it may also generate greater public support.  An interesting question is whether the topic of the heritage matters in terms of obtaining these health benefits.  That is to say, does it matter whether one is visiting or volunteering at a house museum, or an art gallery, or a castle? From a sport heritage perspective, representations of the sporting past – particularly in museums and halls of fame – are typically very hands on, reflecting not only the nature of sporting heritage but also because hands-on displays may address particular operational outcomes for the museum.  Perhaps there are health benefits – both in situ and afterwards – from these displays? More than this, however, sport heritage – both to its benefit and detriment – is particularly positive, often inspirational, and generates its fair share of collective cultural moments.  It would be fascinating to test whether sport heritage, in particular, “makes you happy.”

However, sport heritage’s primary use appears to be healthcare, at least at this point in time. Peter King in his Monday Morning Quarterback column, discusses the latest – and largest – addition to the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio, and its not a new wing to house trophies or memorabilia.  Rather, the Hall of Fame will be building an addition called “Legends Landing” – a residential facility for former NFL players, particularly those with medical issues and who can’t afford treatment.  From King’s article:

The concept is one that’s been floating around with some league leaders for some time: a central place for medical and physical assistance for needy players, and housing for former players who need a hand. With the Hall of Fame running more and more educational programs for local schools—and research projects on the history of the game and future health of the game and its players—imagine the benefit of having scores of former players on campus as resource people.

I’m told that the type of facility the Hall wants would cost around $75 million and serve upwards of 500 players a year. With brain trauma and other long-term health issues so prevalent, it’s past time the league’s owners follow Benson’s lead and help fund a facility where, as Benson says, the legends can land.

From a sport heritage perspective, this development offers some interesting pieces.  Firstly, it positions the Hall of Fame as a multi-use facility beyond its touristic/events purpose.  Secondly, it posits the “legends” that live at a facility as a kind-of heritage resource, a kind-of “living sport heritage.”  Finally, and perhaps most importantly, by placing this facility at the Hall of Fame, it somewhat acknowledges that the sport has some negative legacies – including the the long term health impacts of playing a violent sport. It is a very interesting development, one that deserves some investigation.

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(The new Pro Football Hall of Fame “village” – including the Legends Landing facility.)

Sport heritage and the sporting past are also being used in healthcare, to great fanfare and success, by the Sporting Memories Network in the UK.  The Network was “established to promote and develop the use of sporting memories to improve the well-being of older people and to help tackle dementia, depression and social isolation.” The Network uses something called Reminiscence Therapy, though as strange as it seems, they mention that sport was rarely used in this kind of therapy.  Furthermore, in speaking with some of my Recreational Therapy colleagues, men are often overlooked in Reminiscence Therapy programs, so sport heritage offers a very strong emotional vehicle to serve an underserved group.

I suppose the point is that, perhaps, we in sport heritage have to consider a wider utility for the sporting past.  This is not to suggest that we abandon our critical heritage work, or that there isn’t room for sport heritage in education, tourism development, urban planning, and conservation.  Rather, perhaps we ought to consider more how sport heritage might be employed in tackling broader issues such as health and wellbeing.

Philadelphia

Last weekend, I had the chance to visit Philadelphia for the first time.  The reason for my visit was a brief get-together with my older brother, who lives in Halifax, Nova Scotia.  We don’t get a chance to see each other very often these days, and Philadelphia was a short, non-stop flight for both of us to meet up, have a couple of beers, and watch a sporting event or two.

Before I get to the sport heritage part of the trip, I have to say that Philadelphia is a great city!  I was only there for a few days, mind you, and I was staying at a VRBO in the “old city” about three blocks from the Independence Hall World Heritage Site.  That said, I found it a very walkable city with some some really neat neighbourhoods, great museums (I wish I could have visited more of them), and good food and drink.  The people we met there were “authentic” – as convoluted as that word is.  They didn’t put on airs, I guess, and I imagine had we pissed them off, they’d tell us so.  In general, when we told people we were from out of town, they were glad we visited, gave us a bit of friendly advice (like – if you’re going to an Eagles game, cheer for the Eagles…even if you like the other team), and generally let us be.  Was rather refreshing, actually.

However, one cannot partake in a sports trip to Philadelphia without noticing that city’s sport heritage is very prominent.  Even in the city centre, steps away from Independence Hall and the Liberty Bell, was an advertisement for a recent baseball exhibition at the National Museum of American Jewish History:

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Of course, I wrote recently about the tension that (appears) to exist between the city’s “real” sport heritage and its fictionalized portrayals.  However, one cannot escape that the sporting past plays a huge role in the city’s current identity.

The city has a quasi-“arena district” just outside of the city centre that houses the baseball stadium, football stadium, and hockey/basketball arena, with a kind-of bar/entertainment facility called Xfinity Live.  Now, the arena district is, basically, the three venues, the bar facility, and parking lots.  However, it is the city’s sport heritage that gives the district a sense of place.  Xfinity Live, for example, is on the one-time site of the Spectrum, long-time home of the NHL Flyers and NBA 76ers. Inside the venue, the Spectrum is remembered…in bar form:

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The heyday of the Philadelphia Flyers are also recalled at Xfinity Live (and, also in bar form).  The Flyers were known as the “Broad Street Bullies” during the 1970s, as the team was known for their aggressive style of play, and so fans can now soak-in the nostalgia at a Flyers-themed pub:

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Around Xfinity Live are statues of ex-players, such as 76ers player “Dr. J” – Julius Erving.  Perhaps most interesting was the statue of long-time anthem singer at the Spectrum, Kate Smith:

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Smith’s rendition of God Bless America was a bit of a talisman for Philadelphia teams, particularly the Flyers.  Whenever she sang, the Flyers almost always won.  After she passed away, the Flyers used to show a video of her singing, particularly if they really needed a victory:

We managed to go to a Flyers game and Eagles game during our stay.  The Flyers arena, the Wells Fargo Center, is about 20 years old, so it doesn’t have a lengthy history.  That said, there were a few reminders of the Flyers glorious past, as well as some displays honouring past players – including the late, great Pelle Lindbergh, who was one of the best goaltenders in the NHL in the mid 1980s until he died in a car crash at age 26:

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The Flyers game itself was fantastic, with the home team holding on for a 4-3 victory versus the Colorado Avalanche:

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The Eagles game was played on the day before Veterans Day, so the patriotism was particularly prominent before game time:

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The game itself was a bit of a laugher, as the Eagles beat the visiting Carolina Panthers 45-21.  While I’m a Panthers fan, I did root for the Eagles – I think I may have only spotted one other Panthers fan, and I imagine he might have received his fair share of abuse during the game.  Eagles fans REALLY love the Eagles:20141110_205158

Great trip, all in all, but it did also got me thinking about a couple of heritage/sport heritage items and issues:

  • Legitimacy and commodification: The city has a remarkable sport heritage – in part, perhaps, because they have a notable and lengthy sport history.  The breadth and depth of the city’s sporting past gave the heritage markers legitimacy and, I suppose, made them more more apt to be commodified (in bar form and otherwise).  In other words, the city’s sport history made its sport heritage more recognizable, gave it greater resonance, and made it easier to sell to a broad-base of fans.
  • Different sports generating more/fewer sport heritage markers: It seemed that, at least to my eye, that the Flyers seem to have cornered the market on sport heritage markers in Philadelphia – or, at least in the arena district.  Despite the presence of the Phillies and Eagles stadiums – and the likelihood that both the baseball and football teams have more support than the hockey team – most of the heritage, from the bars to the displays to the statues, were hockey-based.  Not sure if it is down to ownership of places like Xfinity Live, or if the Flyers have just done a better job of using heritage in marketing, or if fans are just more nostalgic about the Flyers than the Eagles, Phillies, and 76ers.
  • Heritage retail: As far as I know, there hasn’t been much done on heritage retail.  That is to say, either retail stores that sell heritage products (in Philadelphia, Ben Franklin is a commodity), or shopping districts, stores, or eateries that are meant to look “olde timey.”  Philadelphia has heritage retail in spades, and I wonder whether it might be a good case study.
  • Public/private heritage spaces: Not sport heritage, but the Independence Mall area of Philadelphia has a curious blend of public and private run heritage attractions/retail, etc.  That is to say, it is somewhat unclear at times whether a space is public (that is to say, publicly operated through the National Parks Service) or Private (either as a CVB, museum, gift shop, or other heritage attraction).  At times, the aesthetic of the attractions and employees are so similar (and, at times, the spaces are so intermingled) that it is not always clear who runs what, and to what end.

Mementos in the the Digital Age

I love ticket stubs.

I love ticket stubs so much that I have a collage of them in my office.

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(Not sure how many ticket stubs are on the Stub Wall, but I seem to add to a new addition every month or two.  It is also, admittedly, a childish collection…but I don’t care.)

As a kid, I would collect them – not just my tickets from, say, a hockey or football game, but ticket stubs discarded by others at those games as well (I’m sure my parents were thrilled that their son brought home dozens…literally dozens…of ketchup-stained football tickets).  Seems old habits die hard, as I have ticket stubs on my wall, in various scrap books, etc, while also finding that they make wonderful bookmarks (and make for a bit of a wonderful discovery when finding them between the pages again years later).  Ticket stubs were, and still are, a physical, tangible reminder of an event – whether it was the result that was memorable (I had ticket stubs from the two times I saw the Stanley Cup presented in Edmonton…now, sadly, lost or at the bottom of a forgotten box in some storage unit somewhere), or that the game was part of a vacation or while living abroad, or wanting to remember who I went to the game with, or if the ticket was particularly aesthetically pleasing (cricket tickets, in particular, are lovely).  Some bring back great memories, while others (such as a ticket from the last Atlanta Thrashers hockey game) are bittersweet. Nowadays, I don’t save every ticket from every event I attend, but it is more about having a representative sample of different events for my Stub Wall.  Perhaps the only exception are tickets from games when I have taken my son. I have a separate book for those tickets, though I have put a few memorable ticket stubs from father-son games on the Stub Wall:

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(Note the ticket at the top, Greenville Road Warriors v. Gwinett Gladiators.  Not a particularly memorable ECHL minor league hockey game, mind you, but my son chewed on the upper left corner of the ticket throughout the first period.  As a parent, you get sentimental about the silliest things.)

In any event, there has been some discussion – such as this article from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette this past summer – that the paper ticket, and the instant souvenir that comes with it, is rapidly on its way out in sport.  The vast majority of tickets sold now are digital, and it makes sense.  Digital tickets are more convenient, they can be sold or transferred easily, they are somewhat more secure, and they have all-but-eliminated tickets being lost or misplaced.  The question is whether there is still a place for the physical ticket in the digital age.  From the Post-Gazette article:

The ticket stubs are physical representations of memories, of games won and lost, of records set and time spent with friends and family, and like many other objects — photographs, books, compact discs and, yes, even newspapers — they are starting to disappear in the digital age.

Sports franchises are rapidly moving to digital ticketing as a means of gathering data about customers and generating revenue by collecting fees every time a digital ticket is resold, something not possible with hard-copy tickets, but the movement has the unintended consequence of eliminating a cheap memento for fans and a collector’s item for others.

The article goes on to argue that ticket stubs also become mementos when the unexpected occurs, such as a no-hitter in baseball, and that teams have responded by issuing physical tickets retroactively.  However, this suggests that value of a ticket stub is only related to the events on the field.  Of the tickets on the Stub Wall, only a handful of them are there because of a particularly important moment that happened on the pitch/field/ice.  Most are triggers for other memories, and that the outcome of the events are in the background.  For example, I have a ticket from the Fourth Day of an England v. New Zealand test match at Lord’s in 2013.  Yes, I remember that 14 wickets fell that day with England winning the test, but it was more about taking my son to the game and having him charm the people around us, or talking cricket with my mother and father who attended with my wife, son, and I, or the fact that I was watching a test match at Lord’s!  Point is, there is value in these object that go beyond either the result itself or the utilitarian value of allowing one passage through a stadium gate.

As such, I wonder if there might be a market for fans like me who want the physical ticket because of a kind-of anticipatory nostalgia.  I would be willing to pay for, say, a physical ticket for my son’s first sporting event, or a game attended spent on a special occasion with family or friends, or just because I want to add to my collection.  Of course, the question is whether it is worth it for teams to go to such lengths for an seemingly shrinking market, and whether they would be enough of a trade-off from the digital benefits (such as transfer revenue or the customer data) for a memento.  That said, there is something to having a beautiful, perhaps fading ticket stub, and being able to say “I was there.”  The hope is, particularly for collectors/sentimentalists like me, whether this will be possible to do in years to come.

Infamous Sites and the Sport Heritage Visitor

Do we actually know why people visit sport heritage sites?

This seems like a bit of an obvious question, and perhaps one that has been answered (or, at least, assumed) by marketers, managers, and academics alike.  But, I got to thinking about it the other day that, perhaps, as researchers we’ve rather guessed at the reasons why someone might go to a stadium, or hall of fame, or heritage sporting event (though, perhaps the reasons for each are different).  As a colleague mentioned to me this weekend, perhaps sport heritage research needs to come up with a visitor typology (add that topic to an ever-growing list of potential dissertation topics for a future graduate student).  However, one thing I – and others who research this topic – have noticed is that not everyone who visits a sport heritage site is a die-hard, super-keen fan.

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Sean Gammon at the University of Central Lancashire raised the observation in his excellent chapter “‘Sporting’ new attractions? The commodification of the sleeping stadium” that people on, say, a stadium tour aren’t always major supporters – if fans at all:

…stadia tours will often comprise of highly identified fans, who display a degree of veneration towards many of the tour highlights, as well as the less-attached visitors whose interests are far more casual, and ephemeral at best. (p. 125)

In terms of visitors to stadia, and certainly this has been my observation as well, that many people go to them – and perhaps go on a tour, but on many occasions go just to be near the venue.  Or, as Gammon again contends:

…the stadium has grown in importance, from an often aesthetically indifferent utilitarian structure into an iconic symbol of a place, team, sport and/or event. (p.116)

This idea that some sport heritage sites are infamous – that they are famous for being famous – is perhaps an obvious one, though I think it is frequently overlooked in understanding sport heritage.  If we are to understand heritage sport tourism as, in part, a kind of heritage tourism, then it stands to reason that some visitors will go to sport heritage sites simply because they are interesting, or representative of a particular culture, or because they are famous and it is something that “you do” when on vacation.  Indeed, visitors to Rome need not be entrenched in the classical history in order to want to visit Pantheon, just as visitors to Paris need not have a background – or any knowledge, really – in the history of the French monarchy to want to visit Versailles.  Perhaps sport sites will attract more knowledgable visitors, as sport is such a global phenomenon and a knowledge of sport is perhaps easier to acquire than a knowledge of the writings of Marcus Aurelius, but is it that far-fetched to have visitors want to go to Old Trafford without being fans of Manchester United, or Yankee Stadium without being New York Yankees fans, or the museum at Camp Nou without being hardcore Barcelona supporters?  I suppose the other aspect is that, if we have some knowledge that not every sport heritage visitor is necessarily a massive sporting fan, might there be a case for adjusting how a site is interpreted? Could we appeal both to the hardcore fan, who might be looking to venerate and nostalgize, as well as the casual or non-fan who might see the site as representative of a place, or a city, or a culture? Might this transition also provide for broader narratives, where sport is explored both in terms of achievement as well as a social process?  This is also not to place visitors in a binary relationship – sports fans may also desire critical narratives, and non-sports fans could be attracted to the spectacle, drama, and pageantry of the sporting past.  Still, in my experience, there is much work to be done in exploring this aspect of sport heritage, as we probably don’t yet know why people visit these sites and what they are looking to experience.

PS – I was going to write a post yesterday about an anniversary of sorts. When writing a cheque for my son’s daycare fees, I noticed that the date was October 20.  On that date in 1991, my hockey career (such as it was) abruptly ended, which sent me into a tailspin for a few years.  Perhaps one day I’ll write about this event and what it meant in my life in more detail, but for now I was thrilled to see this story yesterday about the mask of Edmonton Oilers goaltender Ben Scrivens supporting mental health awareness.  Good on ya, Ben!

Saturday Nights and Snow Hockey

One of my strongest and fondest memories of childhood were Saturday nights during the autumn and winter, when I would play hockey against myself (!) in our basement at home while my family would watch Hockey Night in Canada. I would sometimes take a look at the game, particularly when (all too infrequently in those days) the match-up featured my favourite team, the Edmonton Oilers. However, mostly I would be lost in my own world of childhood play, making spectacular shots and unbelievable saves while acting as a player, goalie, referee, PA announcer, and play-by-play broadcaster…simultaneously!  And, while sometimes I would pretend I was Gretzky, or Fuhr, or John Vanbiesbrouck, mostly I would pretend that it was actually me in net or scoring the goal, with some CBC commentator amazed at the play he just witnessed.  Saturday nights were special.  I can’t say that they were formalized or “appointment viewing” or anything like that, more that it was just what we did as a Canadian family – watch Hockey Night and, in my case, pretend that I was part of it.

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I got to thinking about those memories this past weekend when my son, who turns three in a couple of months, and I retreated to my basement at our home here in South Carolina to race his miniature monster trucks and watch (in his words) “snow hockey.”  I have the NHL Game Center app, so we were able to watch any one of 15 (!) games that were available on Saturday night.  We sort of had a game on in the background (I decided on the Ottawa Senators v. Tampa Bay Lightning match-up) as we raced his monster trucks back and forth on the faux-hardwood floor. Sometimes (in keeping with the “snow hockey”) my son would use a small Carolina Hurricanes stick I got him last spring to push his monster trucks around the basement, and sometimes he would be lost in his own play, creating conversations between his monster trucks while I kept one eye on him and the other on the game. We had a blast and, of course, for me was particularly special as I saw a bit of my childhood in him as he played pretend with his toys.

Of course, our Saturday night “snow hockey/monster truck” spectacular wouldn’t have been the same without a high speed internet connection and a choice of of live streaming games available at my fingertips.  Certainly, if I were living in South Carolina even a decade ago, my son and I would have had whichever over-the-air college football game was available in the background, rather than bypassing the local feed altogether and creating our own slice of my Canadian childhood in the rural South.  That said, the fact that the feed we were watching wasn’t Hockey Night in Canada – and that, for the most part, the tradition of Hockey Night in Canada is all but dead – did strike me.  I suppose my childhood Saturday nights were special because an over-the-air national broadcast of a hockey game was still pretty special, and not a routine part of daily viewing.  I guess that’s the curse of on-demand viewing – and while I don’t want this to be a “better in my day” rant, as there are clearly advantages for people like me in non-traditional markets – there is something sad about what’s might be lost through over saturation. On the other hand, I also think that something like hockey, particularly in a country like Canada, ought to be part of the “cultural programming” of a national broadcaster like CBC.  What I fear happens to hockey in Canada is what happened to cricket in England, where a private broadcaster bought the rights and that the sport all but disappears from the public airwaves.  Cricket has yet to recover and has, perhaps, lost a generation of supporters.  I hope hockey doesn’t go the same way when Hockey Night permanently leaves the CBC.

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