Only in American: Watch the ball game of your life

I could begin this with the obligatory critique you might expect of any large gathering in the US-of-A. Because, yes, the first thing I'm forced to do is put all my worldly possessions - and myself - through a security X-ray because, yes, America has a massive gun problem.

And, yes, they are slamming hot dogs, and they're guzzling Big Gulp Diet Pepsi like it's actually going to help them lose calories. But readers: this is America: loud and proud, baby - travel every square mile of this beautiful big country and you won't find anywhere as red, white and blue as where I am right now.

Say what you want about America... but this here tonight will change the way you think about live sport. Forget the best game of anything you saw live in Australia; this is better. For this is theatre, ladies and gents, it's the circus with a different kind of an animal... us. The athletes may be the gladiators on their icy colosseum, but we're as much the stars of this show.

I'm at Denver's Ball Stadium, home of the 2022 world champion ice hockey team, the Colorado Avalanches. There's room for 20,000 fans in a soaring indoor stadium stacked across five levels. I'm at the very front row, against the glass. Any time a player's tackled against it, I feel vibrations through my whole body.

I have an expensive ticket, but that doesn't matter. For it's never just the game that's important: it's the crowd (all in team colours), it's the announcers hollering, it's the music blaring, it's the hot dog man, it's the beer lady... it's just being here.

Five-and-a-half minutes in, the Avalanches score a runaway goal and the crowd screams, the announcer goes nuts and a live band plays. Six minutes in, the crowd screams and the announcer goes nuts and a live band plays as Afghan War veteran airman Jon Burrows is announced Honorary Hero of the Game. Seven minutes in the crowd screams and the announcer goes nuts and a live band plays as some bloke in the crowd kisses his wife on the big screen. You get it, right? Everything is celebrated at an American ball game - I expect a cheer and a rendition of Simply Irresistible when I stand at the urinals during the quarter-time break.

But it's not obnoxious. On the contrary, it's intoxicating. This is what we paid for, we could watch this game on TV without braving the cold outside; but no-one's here simply for the game.

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It's 5-1 at the half-time break, the Avalanches are running away with this. But no-one's going anywhere. The organist plays (My Baby Is A) Centrefold, pretty girls in tights sweep the ice, and a guitarist and drummer compete for our screams on Queen's We Will Rock You. The Budweisers are coming thick and fast now. The lights drop out, then they're back on as another live band starts up where the players were with AC/DC's Thunderstruck.

And on it goes... beers, goals (it'll end 7-2), celebrities I don't know, Black Sabbath, hot dogs, cocktails, Led Zeppelin, saxophones, The Eagles, popcorn, ice-cream, Bee Gees, overpriced, oversized Avalanches jerseys that'll need replacing in time for next season when management changes the pattern.

When it's done, and I'm out on the street, bleary from booze, ears ringing, senses flaring like I played myself, I know it'll never feel the same at the MCG. nhl.com/avalanche