Hockey's a good time, especially for a game that can't count to 4

My son lives in the tropics and had never seen hockey, so when he came to visit I decided to show him what ice looks like.

It was a pleasant evening at the civic center, with lots of action but a lopsided score that did not favor the Augusta Lynx. Still, there were T-shirts tossed into the crowd, games, a scholarship drawing and the thrill of watching the Zamboni smooth the ice over after it had been sliced up by skates.

Oh, and one fistfight between players that tried to fire up the home crowd.

Did I mention the Stanley Cup? Before the game, we went downstairs to a big room where the National Hockey League's silver trophy, a century old and more, loaded with players' names, was on display for fans to see and be photographed with.

Zamboni, blood, Stanley Cup: What else can you ask for? I would never have guessed music.

As we found our seats at one end of the arena, behind the net, Tommy and I discovered that we pretty much had the area to ourselves. We planned to move nearer the glass after play began for a closer view.

Before that could happen, though, we suddenly found ourselves in a sea of high schoolers. A marching band had filled up the seats all around us. The players carried tubas, cymbals and other loud-looking instruments.

From past games, I knew that hockey can be a noisy affair, what with fans screaming, players colliding, the puck pounding the glass, the announcer talking, the buzzer buzzing.

I hadn't counted on being surrounded by a band pumping out team spirit, though. As the section filled up, Tommy and I looked at each other.

What to do?

We didn't have long to wonder, though. A woman tapped me on the shoulder, leaned over and said, "Come with me."

I figured we were in trouble.

The opposite was true. The stranger turned out to be our savior. Sheri was a pleasant and dedicated hockey fan who led us toward the side of the arena, to what would have been, at a football game, the 40-yard line.

She explained to the usher that she was relocating Tommy and me to protect our ears from the music. The usher glanced at the area we had left and nodded in understanding.

"We saw the band come in and noticed the glazed look on your faces," Sheri explained.

Fortunately, nobody had tickets for our new seats, so we watched the game from a great vantage point. Even better, we sat in front of Sheri, her husband and their friends, where we quickly picked up their enthusiasm for hockey. When my sports knowledge failed, I could lean back and ask our hosts the intricacies of the game. ("How come there are only three quarters of play in hockey?")

Our gratitude grew as we looked up and noticed a second high school band seated in the opposite end of the arena. Safe in our catbird seats, surrounded by good folks, we took in a hockey game and a battle of the bands.

Some nearby fans complained that hockey doesn't need a soundtrack. (I learned later the bands were a way to attract spectators during the middle of the week.) I was just glad to be enjoying the music from a distance - when I could hear it.

You see, the bands had competition for our ears. One very vocal fan on the opposite side of the ice relentlessly bellowed out his sentiments about the officiating staff and the visiting players. Our hosts said they call the screamer "Leather Lungs" for his loud and steady output.

I admired his support for the home team but, again, I was content to be on my side of the ice.

If you'd like an eye-opening - and ear-opening - experience, I recommend an evening with the Lynx. Maybe you can explain to me where the fourth quarter went.

Reach Glynn Moore at (706) 823-3419 or glynn.moore@augustachronicle.com.