Arena Football Pounds Traditional Football with a Steel Chair
There is a distinct “gun show-meets comic book convention” vibe to attending an Arkansas Diamonds arena football game. There’s a surprising amount of Spiderman-themed apparel intermixed with a potpourri of purely American aesthetics – a polyester-blend of Yellowstone, Crosstrek, steam punk, and Costco. An older man walks by wearing a baseball jersey bearing the #2 – and the name “Amendment” between the shoulder blades. It’s possible that I’m the only man who arrived to the Hot Springs Convention Center tonight in a Subaru Crosstrek.
The Diamonds are hosting the Hound Dogs of Memphis, who are welcomed by the Diamonds faithful like heels at a professional wrestling match. The Hound Dogs revel in the role of villain, trading good natured barbs with the more vocal in attendance. My brother, Rex Steel, buys me a steel bottle of Bud Lite, and we make our way to our seats, situated at the 25-yard line, which is prime real estate. An Arena League playing surface is but 50 yards. There’s no punting, no kick offs. A player heaves the ball from the end zone to an opposing player stationed in the opposite end zone, where he unwisely elects to run the ball forward despite the obvious medical opinion to would advise otherwise.
The Hound Dogs and Diamonds are comprised largely of former college players. (Later, I learn that former A-State defensive star Ethan Hassler is on the Memphis roster, and he delivered a Pick Six for the Hound Dogs.) The game is very much something like football, featuring a chain crew (dressed like groupies) to measure distances and a three-man officiating crew to keep the peace. The action is seven-on-seven, and holding is allowed except when it isn’t. Players routinely crash into the plywood wall bordering the playing surface (a barely padded carpet). At least twice, a player was launched into the stands and left to the mercy of fans.
The fans are as goodnatured as they come. They heckle without rancor. The lady stationed behind me spends the evening dispensing two succinct commands: “GET HIM!” and “GO!” Seated below, a young, surprisingly cold sober Diamonds fan with an endless menu of amusing insults draws grins from the Hound Dogs. “YOU’RE OUR BEST PLAYER, NUMBER NINE!” Number Nine can only shake his head and chuckle. “DON’T BOTHER LOOKING FOR THE BALL, ZERO! THEY’RE NOT PASSING TO YOU!” Zero shrugs.
Defense is present tonight, but it’s not particularly effective unless an interception is involved. Offense is 90% go deep. The action is spurred on by a TV Evangelical named Rich who grunt-screams encouragement into a spittle-splattered microphone. Occasionally, he reminds us that PRESSURE MAKES DIAMONDS! At halftime, the crowd is treated to a dance number from The Gems, who are the Diamonds’ small but energetic cheerleading squad. The fans offer genuine applause for the effort. Suddenly, the audience is attacked by a barrage of enormous beach balls, delighting the young and concussing the elderly. My father nearly loses his head.
For three quarters, the score doesn’t really register. But in the waning moments, the Hound Dogs are up by five and the lady behind me demands that the offense “GO!” The Diamonds oblige, finding the end zone with less than two minutes left. DID WE LEAVE TOO MUCH TIME FOR THE HOUND DOGS? It seems so. Memphis in choo-chooing across the carpet, entering the Bud Lite Red Zone like the Visagoths entering Rome. However, all anxiety is assuaged when the Diamonds pick off the Hound Dogs QB one final time to seal the victory. When the final buzzer sounds, a mob of shirtless fans storm the carpet.
The Diamonds visit Memphis next week for the rematch, and I probably won’t go, but if I did, it would be well worth my time.
PHOTOS: just me and an iPhone