Gone country - for a few days, anyway

Nashville cats, play clean as country water

Nashville cats, play wild as mountain dew

Nashville cats, been playin’ since they’s babies

Nashville cats, get work before they’re two ...

That song by The Lovin’ Spoonful has been dancing in my head ever since I learned our (almost) annual NCAA basketball trip was going to be to Nashville in 2018.

I like going to new cities, seeing different parts of the country, doing things a little outside the box.

And for someone raised on rock ‘n roll, last week’s trip, which included watching first- and second-round tourney games at the Bridgestone Arena in downtown Nashville, was definitely going to be outside the box.

That meant listening to a lot of country music, visiting country music shrines and other hangouts, and sampling the local fare.

When I was young and smart aleck-y (as opposed to being old and smart aleck-y now), one night my dad mentioned there was a country music awards show on TV that night.

“They give awards for that (stuff)?” I replied.

ALAS, THEY do.

But this trip was for embracing culture, not ridiculing it.

I think the last (only?) time I heard country music in a bar was in the mid-1990s in Anaconda, Mont. Other than that, my knowledge of country music was pretty much limited to episodes of “Hee Haw,” as well as listening to country music in the car when dad had control of the radio.

But there we were last week at the Ryman Auditorium, the original Grand Ole Opry House before the current (and larger) Grand Ole Opry was built in 1974, settling in for an evening of country classics.

With most of the 2,362 church-pew seats (minus the kneelers) filled, Larry Gatlin opened the show with Larry Gatlin and The Gatlin Brothers’ 1983 hit “Houston” (“Houuuuuuuuuuuston. Houston means I’m one day closer to you ... ”)

All right. I’ve heard of that one. This night might not be that strange after all.

That was followed by a succession of artists, performing two or three songs in a set, all of which were entertaining.

None of which were familiar.

I was hoping Barbi Benton would make an appearance.

Finally a song by Sylvia, now 61, rung a bell — “Nobody” (“Your noooobody called again ... ”), which came out in 1982, when she was 25. It — and she — sounded great. And even better, I remembered that song — as a “crossover” when those kinds of tunes also played on AM rock stations.

(Note to the younger crowd — yes, there used to be AM rock stations.)

But that was about it for recognizable songs. The fact I did not know beforehand that Tracy Lawrence was a guy should tell you all you need to know about my knowledge/interest in country music.

Still, an entertaining evening, mostly thanks to Larry Gatlin, who when not singing, channeled his inner Bill Engvall as the show’s host.

THERE WAS no shortage of places where you could check out the history of country music — the Country Music Hall of Fame, the Musicians Hall of Fame, the Nashville Music City Center, as well as museums featuring the works of Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline.

The “hub” of downtown is a four-block stretch of Broadway, featurning mostly honky tonks, with budding musicians playing four-hour shifts, living off tips, hoping to get noticed. Music blared from late morning to late in the evening, different genres of country music in different honky tonks. That was the go-to spot in downtown Nashville — sample one honky tonk, then pop into the one next door. No cover — but tips and drink orders gladly accepted.

Mixed in are some other things, such as the Ernest Tubb Record Shop (where you could buy Eagles CDs), Jimmy Buffett’s Margaritaville, a tasty barbecue joint, as well as a spot that was a former western boot store, but now serves up a killer fried bologna sandwich.

(I remember growing up, we used to make fried bologna sandwiches for lunch, when mom and dad were off at work. I knew we should have gotten the patent!)

OTHER THOUGHTS on Nashville ...

- The folks in Nashville were more than friendly. I got a “thanks, baby” after purchasing a Mountain Dew, and it was like that through the whole stay there. Strangers said “hi,” “excuse me” and “thank you,” and people went out of their way to help you.

At Bridgestone Arena, we must have been sitting under an air conditioning vent, because as the games went on, we got colder ... and colder. This freeze-out was mentioned to the worker at the top of the section on Friday. Not only was she sympathetic, she provided hand warmers for the ladies to use. And then she came down to our seats later to show the proper way to use them. And then on Sunday, she checked back to see how they were working.

I like to think we’re a friendly bunch in North Idaho, but the hospitality down there — from workers and even just people you ran into on the street — was over the top. You almost felt like you had to apologize for not being quite as friendly and cheerful as they were.

- But apparently, that friendliness did not apply to pedestrian crossings. Despite posted signs saying it was a STATE LAW to stop for pedestrians, we watched drivers of three cars zoom by at top speed at one crossing, one right after the other, without even thinking of slowing down.

- One of the twin guards for Nevada likes to kick his legs out sideways when he takes a jump shot. I’m wondering which camp he learned that at. You could almost slide a horse under him when he shoots.

- I missed the first part of the second half of the Xavier-Florida State game because I wore my Eagles T-shirt from their concert in Spokane in 2015. Somebody on the concourse saw it and chatted me up. He called them the FEAGLES, as is Fake Eagles, because Glenn Frey had the audacity to die a couple of years ago, leaving his son, Deacon, and Vince Gill to sing his stuff on the current tour, which stopped in Nashville for a pair of shows this weekend, and is returning to Spokane in May.

My initial reaction was to tell him to ... but then I channeled my newfound southern hospitality, and we had a nice chat after that.

Meanwhile, Florida State was cutting into Xavier’s lead ...

- Now that I think back on our trip, I don’t remember seeing any actual cats in Nashville.

But I guess I actually did.

Mark Nelke is sports editor of The Press. He can be reached at 664-8176, Ext. 2019, or via email at mnelke@cdapress.com. Follow him on Twitter@CdAPressSports.