I keep a list. 101 topics, questions, prompts, and curiosities designed to drag me through the wasteland we call the off-season. August needs it. September too. Two months until real basketball, forty days until training camp, and the calendar might as well be laughing at me. So I scroll. Up and down. Looking for inspiration. And wouldn’t you know it? I think I found it.
Buried in there is this gem: What fan behavior is the most annoying at the arena? What pet peeves should be regulated?
Pet peeves. Oh boy. I could do hours on that subject. The guy who treats a freeway on-ramp like a Sunday stroll, merging at 45 mph. The late mergers who slide in at the last possible second, smug, self-righteous, and not self-aware. The fast-lane philosophers who believe five miles under the limit is a noble form of protest. Those who don’t use their eff-boming blinker. Yeah—most of mine come with a steering wheel attached.
But in the arena? It’s not the fans that get me. It’s the damn sound system.
Now, I know some people can’t stand booing. They hear the chorus of boos and cringe, as if it’s a personal attack on sportsmanship itself. Not me. Booing is democracy in action. If we can cheer when they dunk, we can boo when they brick. As long as it isn’t malicious — no obscenities hurled into children’s ears — a good, sharp boo adds texture to the night.
The sound system, though? That’s the enemy. And the irony is? It exists because of us. Or at least, the version of us the organization thinks we are.
I like to believe Suns fans are smart. They understand the ebb and flow, when a run is building, when the defense needs to tighten, when the opponent looks shaky. But ever since the arena facelift, the speakers have been cranked to eleven, dictating every clap, every chant. “De-fense! De-fense!” barked into our ears mid-second quarter while we’re down five. It doesn’t feel like encouragement. It feels like a fighter jet doing a flyover in your living room.
And maybe that’s the point. Maybe the team thinks piped-in noise equals intimidation, that sheer volume can rattle the opposition. But history doesn’t back that up. Manufactured noise doesn’t scare anyone. It only drowns out the game itself.
Contrast that with Tempe, watching the Valley Suns. You hear everything. From the squeak of sneakers to the hollow thump of a rebound. The clean snap of the net. The game breathes. It’s basketball stripped down, pure. No sensory overload, no need to pack earplugs in your pocket like you’re headed to a concert instead of a sporting event.
PHOENIX, AZ - MAY 5: Phoenix Suns fans cheer during Game 3 of the 2023 NBA Playoffs Western Conference Semi-Finals against the Denver Nuggets on May 5, 2023 at Footprint Center in Phoenix, Arizona. NOTE TO USER: User expressly acknowledges and agrees that, by downloading and or using this photograph, user is consenting to the terms and conditions of the Getty Images License Agreement. Mandatory Copyright Notice: Copyright 2023 NBAE (Photo by Kate Frese/NBAE via Getty Images)
PHOENIX, AZ - MAY 5: Phoenix Suns fans cheer during Game 3 of the 2023 NBA Playoffs Western Conference Semi-Finals against the Denver Nuggets on May 5, 2023 at Footprint Center in Phoenix, Arizona. NOTE TO USER: User expressly acknowledges and agrees that, by downloading and or using this photograph, user is consenting to the terms and conditions of the Getty Images License Agreement. Mandatory Copyright Notice: Copyright 2023 NBAE (Photo by Kate Frese/NBAE via Getty Images)
So why do we need it so loud at PHX Arena? Are we not smart enough to figure this out on our own? We’re good fans. We know when to clap, when to boo, when to rise to our feet without a disembodied voice barking orders.
I laugh every time the system tries to play drill sergeant. “Get on your feet, Suns fans!” My wife flat-out refuses. Why? Because nobody tells her what to do. And honestly? She’s right. We’re adults. We’ve paid for the tickets, we’ve lived through the heartbreaks, we’ve celebrated the wins. We don’t need to be treated like children in timeout, waiting for permission to stand up and cheer.
The truth? Manufactured hype feels hollow. Forced energy is no energy at all. The fans make the atmosphere, not the speakers.
Will it ever change? Probably not. The speakers will stay loud, the cues will keep coming. But it’s the off-season, and I need something to complain about. And complaining, oddly enough, makes me feel at home
And while I’m airing grievances, here’s another pet peeve that has nothing to do with the sound system. Let me preface this by reminding you: it’s August, so my mind wanders to weird places.
I don’t mind if someone shows up rocking the opponent’s jersey. Fine. Rockets are in town? Wear your Amen Thompson, your Hakeem throwback, whatever you like. Hell, I don’t even mind when the jersey belongs to another opponent entirely. Suns vs. Rockets and you show up in a Kobe? No issue. A little odd, but not offensive. Same deal if you want to cross sports but keep it in the same city. A Nolan Ryan Astros jersey, a Texans DeAndre Hopkins, whatever. You’ve at least got the geography working in your favor.
But, and this is where my brain locks up, when someone walks in wearing a jersey that has nothing to do with anything on the floor or in the city? That’s where I become confounded. Suns vs. Rockets, and you roll in wearing a Dan Marino Dolphins jersey? What are we doing here? Miami’s not even in the conversation. It’s like showing up to a wedding in a Halloween costume. It doesn’t compute.
I admit it’s eccentric, but it bugs me every time.
What about you? I know you’ve got your own quirks, your own fan irritations. Maybe it’s articles like this. Drop them in the comments. Let’s compare neuroses.
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