I attended a Bowdoin men's hockey game last December with an old friend whose son is a Bowdoin student. Great hockey, great arena. But the deafening musical assault—which relentlessly attacks and overwhelms the ear of every attendee during every single possible break in the action (even for 20 seconds, while the players quickly "set up" for a face-off)—is extraordinary. But not just extraordinary, disorienting. We almost always had to yell at each other if we wanted to speak—and we were sitting right next to each other.

I might humbly suggest there is some need for change.

I used to go to many hockey games back in the Sid Watson '70s era, back when perhaps the most eagerly anticipated (and, needless to say, entertaining) "break in the action" involved then-Bowdoin President Roger Howell, a fervent fan of all Bowdoin sports.

Howell, according to some accounts, hosted some very lively pregame gatherings at his house, which then moved en masse over to the game at the old arena. After the end of the second period, you would inevitably suddenly see Roger (fueled with sufficient party enthusiasm) emerge down there on the ice: broad toothy smile on a distant ruddy face, wool sweater and paunch under herringbone sport coat, proceed to gingerly tip-toe trot (in his brogans!) all the way around the entire perimeter of the ice, thrusting his fist repeatedly in the air as the crowd rose to its feet, madly cheering, as he passed.

Like it or not, this was Bowdoin, in all its homegrown glory.

My point is not that I know for certain that President Barry Mills needs to throw more effervescent pregame parties (though maybe he does). It's partially that college hockey (and other) games are, on their own, great shows that just don't need the same kind of fill-every-minute distractions required, for example, when one hosts a birthday party attended exclusively by 4-year-olds.

When compared to some other teams, Bowdoin hockey's reliance on this "carnival-staging" approach is nonetheless incomplete.

For example, I attended a Duke basketball game last November, and Duke basketball has recently been overrun with an even stronger (but similar) move toward a carnival, rock-concert approach. And, as the Duke student newspaper reported this past week, students, paradoxically, just aren't showing up for the games the way they used to.

But here's the point of my musings on this topic: the carnival approach to staging an athletic event is not just unnecessary, but also may act as a counterproductive crowd-repellant.

I've attended so many great sporting events and now, looking back, I can see that they really are sui generis (unique in their characteristics) in that they are, essentially, tools for conviviality: a chance to talk and cheer with friends, or to get to know new acquaintances.

Or, as an adult, a chance to have the kind of discussions, between time-outs, periods or even during the action, that you later realize "moved things ahead" with your offspring, business associate or even spouse—perhaps precisely because it was just such a casual and disjointed exchange.

Now I recognize that if you show this letter to any current Bowdoin undergrad, her first reaction might very well be "what is a brogan?"

But I might also venture to guess that some—perhaps even many—might admit that they have felt similar, but vague unease that the relentless blare of very loud music strangles the game experience.

For 200 years now, Bowdoin has been the nexus of our thinking elite in the state. Give this some thought.

Bill Wilson is a Bowdoin sports fan and a resident of Portland, Maine.