I did something last week that I haven’t done in a long, long time. I connected with you, the fan, by going to a game that I wasn’t — technically, at least — covering. I just went — with no notebook, no pen, no computer, no column in mind, no deadline to meet, no nothing.

Just an idea to do what most normal people do — enjoy a sport for that sport’s sake, and for my own. My wife, Lisa, and grandson, Brody, went along. It was, in part, a celebration of Brody’s 13th birthday. We’re big on attempting to give our grandkids gifts that center on experiences rather than material goods. Brody said he liked the notion of going to a game.

A hockey game.

So we went to the Utah Hockey Club’s face-off with the L.A. Kings at the Delta Center.

And it rocked. Until it didn’t.

The building was full, the atmosphere was what I’d seen at not just other UHC games as a part of my job, but other NHL games I’d attended as a young fan — some 50 years ago. That second part transported me way, way, way back to the 1970s when, on more than a few occasions, I went with friends to Philadelphia Flyers games at the old Spectrum. That was when the Flyers first were emerging as an expansion club, one of the newcomers outside the NHL’s “original six,” then turning into a decent team and then a great one, becoming NHL champions. The Broad Street Bullies.

I remember so vividly watching those Flyers teams play — and grow. They slowly formed an outfit that was big, tough, fast and skilled. As they got more talented and tough, Flyers fans got rowdy and raucous, too. At one game, I recall seeing a fan — through the thick din of cigarette smoke in the building — hitting an opposing player in the penalty box over the head with a rubber chicken. No lie. Those fans were beyond passionate. Some of them leaned toward insanity. I also recall a guy sitting next to us who chucked a hot dog onto the ice straight in the middle of the action. I remember that he also had a padlock in his other hand.

That was at a game, if memory serves, against the Chicago Blackhawks.

Yeah, I thought about those teams and those rough-but-appreciative fans on Thursday night, observing Utah fans. Back then, at the earliest stages, the city of Philadelphia was hungry for a winning pro team to get behind. The Phillies had struggled for years, before coming on. The Eagles were less-than-good, before coming on. Same thing with the 76ers. That’s just one of the reasons Philly fans embraced the Flyers.

Well. With the way the Jazz are tanking and losing and not even competing, or trying to compete, that, too, reminded me of Philly back in the day. Hockey brought relief.

Maybe NHL hockey in Utah will bring relief, too. The Hockey Club — c’mon, give these guys a proper name already — does not have a Bobby Clarke or a Bernie Parent on it. It is not as good at Wayne Gretzky’s game as the Kings are. That became evident in this 4-2 loss, a game that was close and/or tied for much of the night, when the Club scrapped and fought, holding its own, until a couple of goals blew the thing open in the latter parts.

The fans were into it, though. One thing sports fans in Utah have always shown is respect for effort — on the court, on the field, on the diamond, on the pitch, and on the ice. UHC certainly gave them that — at least for a while — despite the fact that it has only a long shot at making the playoffs. Still, the ice was level, the skating was quick, the puck was passed, the action was fierce, the game was on.

And people, in one of the last home games of the team’s first season here, really seemed to love it. They cheered loud, their voices ricocheting off the arena’s cinder-block walls, reverberating off the ceiling, off the playing surface, swirling all around.

Nobody hit anybody over the head with a rubber chicken. I saw no hot dogs thrown, no padlocks in hand. But the passion was plain to hear and feel.

I still couldn’t get myself to yell or cheer — the way my wife and grandson and everyone else on hand did — because, after so many years of following proper journalistic press-row protocol, I simply couldn’t go that far.

But I could enjoy and laugh at what was going on around me. And I could have fun. UHC fans did themselves proud. They gave the home team the best they had, given the outcome.

Some critics ridicule fans for the way they get into their teams, the way they throw so much money and time and energy and emotion into their rooting interests. And they do all of that. But the payoff — to a lot of folks, anyway — is worth the investment. Not just from a personal and familial and friendship standpoint, but from a communal one. Having a venue and an event where a community that may agree on some things, but disagree on a whole lot of others — from the political to religious to social to college patronage and more — can come together and spill their guts in unison for the home team — sure, there also were some Kings fans there — is not just entertaining, it’s healthy, it’s encouraging, it’s worthwhile.

For me, 2025 Salt Lake City became early ‘70s Philly on Thursday night. A beautiful transport/transplant in time it was.

Now, we’ll see if the Utah Hockey Club can pull off what the old Flyers did. That’s a lofty expectation, a lofty aspiration, maybe an impossible one. If Utah fans had a good time — despite the loss — at this Kings game, wait until their team successfully makes and moves through the postseason. Stanley Cup-contending Utah teams would blow the roof off the Delta Center. If they ever get to that stage, I swear, the fans here will remember it with fondness a half-century later.