WE HELD IT TOGEHER until we left the stadium and then all “dignity” was lost. We screamed and yelled and cheered ourselves hoarse. I’m surprised the bus driver didn’t flee in terror at the thought of transporting that teeming mass of sweaty, crazed teen-agedness three hours home.
It seemed like the Crimson Marching Band had finally hit its stride. We made it to state again the next year, where we placed fourth — much to our dismay, if you can believe it. I was part of group of seniors sobbing because we “only” placed fourth. And then Max Mault came upon the tragic scene and gave us a verbal smackdown.
It was basically the Tom Hanks “There’s no crying in baseball” speech. Along with “There are hundreds of bands out there who would love to be in your shoes.” And, essentially, “How did you get to be such spoiled brats on your second-only trip to state?”
Perspective received. And appreciated.
I’M WONDERING if making it to state is now taken for granted for the Crimson Marching Band and our other great local bands. Because it really is a great accomplishment, whether you go every year or for the first time. You are the elite. The top 10. Stop for a moment and savor that.