Attendance Trends
March 27, 2015
Media across the US have been reporting the decline in attendance at intercollegiate football and basketball games. “It’s a national epidemic,” according to a Charleston (SC) Post & Courier column this month.
This should surprise no one. And it’s the latest proof that it is possible to get too much of a good thing. And when it comes to college football and basketball games, there is far too much indeed –
- A few too many football games during the regular season, far too many of those games televised, and an absurd number of postseason bowl games of zero significance.
- About two times too many basketball games during the regular season, far too many televised, and too often with absurd starting times and post-midnight conclusions.
The over-exposure of the college product began to suck the life out of high school football and basketball attendance two decades ago. And as the higher profile college programs have done more and more to promote their events, lower profile college programs have paid the price. Higher profile programs are now gnawing on each other’s bones.
All of this makes life tougher for us at the interscholastic level; but at the MHSAA, we’re not merely whining – we’re working to increase the attendance and enhance the spectators’ experience. A staff task force has been generating ideas, and the Representative Council has been generous with encouragement and support to implement changes in the MHSAA tournament atmosphere.
Perhaps we can pick up a few of those fans who have defected from the high price of college tickets and the slow pace of their televised games.
In An Instant
August 4, 2015
The icebergs that enter the harbors along Newfoundland’s north shore started to form thousands of years ago. They broke from ice flows 10 times their size and then got caught in a current that carried them on a 1,000-mile, two-year journey to “Iceberg Alley.” Some of them drift into harbors and, with seven-eighths of their mass below the surface, they get grounded. Eventually they break apart and disappear.
My wife and I “discovered” one of these grounded ‘bergs near the shore of cozy little Coffee Cove. After a 15-minute hike, we got closer to this sparkling monster than third base is to home plate. We each snapped dozens of pictures.
Just as we were turning to begin our hike back to “civilization,” we heard what we thought was a loud gunshot. But what actually occurred was a portion of the iceberg breaking off and falling into the water.
What we had taken pictures of moments earlier no longer existed as it had at that time. In an instant, the iceberg had changed, without respect for the thousands of years in the making and the hundreds of miles of traveling.
A few days after we returned to Michigan, Rich Tompkins died, apparently healthy, just after waterskiing. Death came without respect for the miles Rich had traveled to serve student-athletes and coaches, and without regard to all the victories his teams had earned and MHSAA championships they had won.
I last saw Rich on Valentine’s Day at the first-ever Fremont High School Hall of Fame induction banquet where Rich and many of his athletes were honored. The pictures taken that night are of people and circumstances that can never be reassembled.
We need to more fully appreciate the miracle of such moments. They can be gone in an instant.