There is a show taking place at Philips Arena during every Atlanta Hawks game.
Oh yes, the main attractions are watching Jeff Teague weave through defenders for a layup or – at least until the third quarter of Friday’s game – Kyle Korver go airborne for threeeeeee.
But in a game punctuated with stops, there is never a hint of silence from the moment the arena doors open two hours before game time until the last fan has straggled out of the building.
And that has almost nothing to do with basketball.
It’s a full-speed extravaganza at every game, pulled together with head-spinning coordination by a crew of about 40 people – producers, announcers, musicians, cheerleaders, dancers, Harry the Hawk, fan engagement specialists, video designers and a Chick-fil-A cow or two – juggling hundreds of moving parts.
Many of them arrive around 8 or 9 a.m. on game days and are still lingering courtside long after players and fans have cleared the arena, sometimes gathering for a quick post-game assessment.
On Friday afternoon before the Hawks battled the Cleveland Cavaliers, Erin Blecha, director of fan experience for the Atlanta Hawks, guided me through the process of coordinating and producing the activities (contests, giveaways) and live entertainment that attendees experience.
“It’s reality TV,” she said with a smile. “You never know what is going to happen.”
During the game, David Schindler, vice president of production and creative services, provided me with a headset to listen to him call the cues – with nary a swear word, but a few moments of exasperation – for every song, video, promo, live shot and blimp appearance.
And video production manager Rob Calia invited me to scrunch into the control room trailer set up in the loading dock area of the arena (a temporary situation as they convert the in-house control room to HD-ready) to watch him call camera shots with the speed and dexterity of American Pharoah.
It was an ugly, soul-sapping game, but the show had to go on.
Seconds after the final buzzer sounded, the remaining crowd sighed at the scoreboard - Hawks 82, Cavs 94 - and filtered out to the strains of Bruce Springsteen’s “Born in the U.S.A.”
Among the arena production team, “good job tonight” handshakes and melancholy looks were exchanged. They’re already prepared for a Game 5 and 7 –snapshots of game entertainment are created at least two weeks in advance – but after a pair of losses at home, realized the reality of these hard-won playoffs as the Hawks headed to Cleveland.
But Mike King, the in-game host of the Hawks clad in a snazzy red and white suit for the occasion, refused to slip into despondency.
“If I know anything about being around this organization for a decade…we won’t get swept,” he said resolutely.
The Philips Arena team is undoubtedly hoping King’s prophecy comes true and the Hawks win their Tuesday night tilt against the Cavs so they can run through this routine at least one more time before November.
1:30 p.m.
The staff lays red Hawks T-shirts across the backs of every seat in the arena, as well as the suites. The fan “gift” at this game will show well on TV and serve as a thank you to the Hawks faithful. It takes about an hour for several team members to distribute the swag.
4 p.m.
The Atlanta Hawks cheerleaders are scattered around the court in the semi-darkened arena so they can work out their marks on the floor and run through their routines. About two dozen lithe bodies stretch, chat and repeat movements that need smoothing. Only a few eagle eyes in the audience would notice if a foot were out of step, but these ladies are aiming for perfection.
4:45 p.m.
In a small alcove located in the thinning air above the suite level and seemingly a few feet under the ceiling, Andre Hickman positions himself between two large monitors in The Matrix Room. The genial Hickman is a visual effects designer and the guy who makes sure those wicked cool court projections that have signaled the start of Hawks games this season are perfectly aligned.
This is his third season with the Hawks and on this day, he arrived just before 8 a.m. He likes to reboot the systems in the morning to make sure there are no hiccups and finish up last-minute graphics for a game.
Atlanta is one of three NBA teams – Cleveland and the L.A. Clippers are the others – to own the projectors that blast the retina-searing graphics and it’s an investment they take seriously.
(FYI, there are eight projectors – two in each corner – that cost about $100,000 each. It’s a good thing the bulbs last about 600 hours, because each one is $1,000.)
During the playoffs, Hickman will test the court projectors about 4 ½ hours before a game; the 30-minute process of aligning crisscrossing matrix lines would make any mere mortal’s eyes blur, but it’s second nature to Hickman.
5:30 p.m.
A couple of other visual effects staff members pull up in front of their monitors in the Matrix Room. About three hours before any game, they start loading the computers with players’ stats, fan birthdays to be acknowledged on video screens during the game, and the starting lineup, if available.
“Sometimes we have it 30 minutes before the game, sometimes 30 seconds,” Hickman said.
The Twitter feed that has become a popular sideshow this season – fans are asked to tag photos of themselves for possible inclusion on a video board – requires purging and monitoring, and this is when it begins.
6 p.m.
The indefatigable Blecha fetches me to join her and Calia upstairs in the back of the arena for a quick dinner. The media and crew is fed at every game; this night offered a mini-buffet of shrimp and grits, squash and zucchini, grilled chicken, Cleveland brats (ha ha) and an assortment of cookies and brownies.
6:25 p.m.
As we hustle through the venue to get to the 6:30 p.m. production meeting, loud music is noticeably blaring through the concourse.
It’s five minutes before doors open to the public and this ritual, followed by a horn blast at the two-minute mark, is meant to hype up the concession workers as they prepare for the onslaught of fans eager to start swilling beer.
6:30 p.m.
In a small, dank room – the control room inside Philips Arena – Schindler, a bearded fellow with a pleasant yet no-nonsense demeanor, begins the production meeting. A couple of dozen staffers drape themselves on chairs, desks and the floor.
On this night, Schindler is the producer on the floor, which means he’ll sit next to announcer Ryan Cameron and dictate directions to the production team via headset.
He starts by praising everyone for their execution during the Hawks’ first home playoff game in the Eastern Conference Finals two nights prior and delves into the 19-page script for this game.
The script designates literally, every second, of entertainment –the live shot from the Hawks Shop during the first time out; the appearance of Harry the Hawk center court when the second time out of the second quarter is called; the return of the Beale Street Flippers during halftime; the rolling of the Kiss Cam after the second time out of the third quarter; and an open slot in the fourth in case a rally video needs to be played (it does).
Schindler asks how to pronounce the name of the national anthem singer (Kay Dene) and then queries the room: “Who here has downloaded the new Hawks app? If you haven’t, DO IT!”
It's 6:45 when the meeting breaks. Sir Foster, the Hawks' nationally recognized organist, doles out hugs to some of his co-workers, while King and co-in-game-host Shamea, huddle to discuss their roles for the night.
7 p.m.
Calia escorts me to the production truck, where he and three comrades will operate during the game.
He usually situates himself 20 minutes before tip-off – he’s been doing this since 1999, used to run the Thrashers games as well and sometimes handles production duties for certain concerts, so he’s pretty much in a mind meld with his duties.
A screen the size of an average-person’s LED TV illustrates nine camera feeds. A control console is illuminated with buttons that Calia’s fingers dance across like Derek Hough during the game.
“When the team is winning, everything looks better, sounds better,” Calia said. “People want to come here to be entertained. We can’t control what happens on the court, but we can enhance it.”
7:30 p.m.
Cameron is seated at his announcer’s table, a spot he slides into about 90 minutes before tipoff. A few feet away, Korver sprints around the arc, tossing in 3s with the ease of the All-Star form that deserted him during the playoffs (a couple of hours later, Korver’s right ankle would collide with the body of the Cavaliers’ Matthew Dellavedova and the severe strain he sustained would end his playoffs).
Cameron likes to arrive early to allow himself time to trek to a nosebleed section of the arena, find a couple of fans in the most vertigo-inducing seats and surprise them with the lower-bowl tickets he’s given for every game (during the playoffs, however, Cameron’s tickets have been rapidly claimed by family and friends).
Cameron is also a genuine fan of the team and his premature appearance courtside allows him time to interact with any of the guys practicing.
At halftime, you might see him racing through the crowd.
“If I have to run to the bathroom, I only have about four minutes!” he said with a laugh.
8 p.m.
Blecha heads outside for one of many pre-game laps– which explains her slender frame – to see how the Atlanta Hawks Flight Crew is interacting with supporters streaming toward the arena.
“As a fan, your experience starts when you get to the parking deck,” she said.
Between a dozen and 20 Flight Crew members are staggered around the venue – cheerleaders pose for photos with salivating men, other teammates hoist mini basketball hoops for fans to dunk, guys perch on lifeguard-styled chairs and toss out Hawks swag and answer questions such as, “How do I get to will call?”
It’s a scene of controlled chaos, but it undoubtedly amps the adrenaline of anyone entering the venue.
8:35 p.m.
Five minutes into the game, the Atlanta Hawks cheerleaders rapidly trot through a hallway connecting two sides of the arena. They catch their breath in the tunnel, awaiting their cue to sprint onto the court to perform during the game’s first time out.
8:40 p.m.
Time out is called. Schindler’s voice crackles in a headset to unleash the mini Chick-fil-A cows from the rafters. It’s a fan favorite, these floating baby bovines, that is usually saved until later in the game. But, it’s the playoffs.
Cows float, the cheerleaders hit the court and T-shirts are shot into the crowd by other members of the entertainment crew.
8:45 p.m.
The cheerleaders dash through the hallway again, back to the other side of the arena, to prepare to hand out hundreds of long, squiggly balloons – the ones used to try to distract players as they shoot free throws – to fans seated behind the basket.
As we zip through the hallway, three full-sized Chick-fil-A cows in a line trudge past us and it’s time to wonder when we fell down the rabbit hole.
End of first quarter
Schindler calls for Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” to play during the half court shot (participants are usually Hawks Membership holders, those who have signed up for special ticketing packages).
Sensing the fan game will end quickly, Schindler reminds that, “We have a little time here,” and the DJ segues into House of Pain’s “Jump Around” while Shamea readies her shot off to the side of the court with the Wheel of Cam.
9:15 p.m.
Harry the Hawk hangs in the tunnel clutching a batch of balloons and a birthday cake.
During the second time out of the second quarter, Harry and King head to section 114 for a fan interaction moment that also involves a Cavaliers supporter.
9:30 p.m.
It’s the third time out of the quarter and the Hawks cheerleaders rush the floor to dance to OneRepublic’s “Love Runs Out” as Harry the Hawk shoots more T-shirts into the crowd.
9:35 p.m. Halftime
Schindler calls for lights out. “Let’s do it,” he says, expecting video footage to roll.
It does not.
A few seconds pass and a frustrated Schindler pleads, “C’mon, guys…”
The video begins. It’s doubtful anyone in the crowd noticed the minor delay.
The rest of halftime rolls without a hitch.
10 p.m. Start of third quarter
In the control truck, Calia looks like a pilot at the controls.
“31 take one, dissolve still 1,” he calmly intones into his headset as camera angles flip and change on his monitor.
The Hawks falls into a deep hole, 56-75. Calia sighs.
“Gimme some crowd,” he requests. “Is The Dream still sitting courtside? We might come to you for a celeb shot.”
The cast of “Entourage” is supposed to be in attendance according to the celebrity call sheet distributed before the game, but no one spots them in their assigned seats.
10:10 p.m.
As a video designed to rouse the crowd (“This is OUR home, this is OUR team”) plays, Calia finally reaches over for a sip of water from his clear cup adorned with a Hawks logo.
“I smell a run coming,” he says.
10:20 p.m. End of third quarter
No run has come.
The tumbling Sky Squad takes the floor, briefly energizing the rapidly deflating crowd with their crazy acrobatics and hoop dunking.
10:32 p.m.
A Hawks time out in the fourth quarter brings another appearance by the team cheerleaders, this time dancing to “Uptown Funk” and shooting more T-shirts into the crowd, which has started to thin as the score becomes more lopsided.
10:40 p.m.
Another time out, but this time there is no fan engagement moment, simply music and video replays. A comeback is looking very unlikely.
10:55 p.m.
Buzzer.
Hawks lose.
11 p.m.
A few VIPs such as The Dream and prospective Hawks buyers Antony Ressler and wife Jami Gertz linger to chat and shake hands with other courtside luminaries.
Blecha bolts for a post-game meeting with the production team. Time for the self-assessments…and to conjure an optimistic outlook for Thursday.
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