What They Worked For

1. Pizza

Afternoon. After school.
After cloudy skies have cleared.
The last band practice before the competition.
The kids gather near the director.

They have worked hard -- many months.
In the sun. In the rain.
In the mornings. In the afternoons.
They listen -- sitting, standing.

Dismissed. Some turn and run. Some walk.
They stream in from the parking lot.
Their mass of hunger arrives at once.

Boxes and boxes of pizzas.
Stacked in insulated packs behind the tables.
Band booster parents handing out slices.
As fast as they can serve, the slices are taken.

In only minutes the pizza is gone.
Only piles and piles of empty boxes remain.
The kids gather in groups.
A silence descends for a while as they eat.

2. Attention

Utter chaos after the food is gone.
Pushing, pulling, laughing, shouting.
Kids running and jumping. Frisbees flying.
A raucous game of four-square.

At the appointed hour, they go inside.
How did they all know it was time?
One by one, the reemerge,
Each partially dressed in maroon and black.

Hat boxes under arms.
Shiny black shoes and unbuttoned coats.
They set their instruments on the ground.
Each of them goes thru their own get-ready routine.

They organize by section.
Saxophones here. Drums there.
Squad leaders do last minute equipment checks.
The clamor is deafening.

Over the speaker: "Band! 1-2!"
"Up!" they all shout in unison.
Standing at attention, arms at their sides.
Instant. Absolute. Silence.

3. In The Parking Lot

It takes six buses and a trailer.
They leave before the sun has set.
By the time they arrive, it is dark.
They assemble in a far corner of the parking lot.

White cones of parking lot lights shine thru the mist.
Other bands in other corners load and unload.
Parents and directors stand aside.
The kids find their own ways to wait.

15 drummers in a circle, practicing riffs on the pavement.
The flag squads run thru their routines:
Magenta and purple and orange and gold.
A boy passes out the sparkling white plumes.

Five bass drums sit lined up on the ground.
Where have those guys gone?
The flutes stand in ranks running, instruments up.
Another section huddles, hands on shoulders.

The percussion pit warms up behind the stadium.
"Ok, from measure 49 -- 1, 2, 3, 4!"
(They have no music with them.)
The marchers line up at the other end of the stadium.

4. The Performance

The time arrives.

The Rebels silently march off the field
To the beat of a single-drum-stick cadence.
The Austin pit rolls out from under the stadium.
A mass of maroon and black lines up across the field.

Under the bright lights on the green field.
"Drum major, are you ready?"
He turns sharply and salutes.
And turns back around.

Arms up. Count off.
The drums. The brass. The woodwinds.
Their formations twist and turn.
The band plays, the dancers dance, the flags stream in the wind.

The lines are straight when they need to be.
The brass shines under the stadium lights.
A crisp turn of heads and instruments.
And it is over.

5. The Results.

This is what they worked so hard for. This is why they came in the mornings. This is why they stayed after school in the beastly heat. This is why the trumpets had to do pushups on the hot asphalt one afternoon.

This is why they memorized their music. This is why they worked so hard on their marching form. This is why when they call the band to attention, the kids snap to attention instantly. For this competition.

Afterwards, the band files into the stadium seats and waits for the results. The other bands have gone, or they are waiting just beyond the fences with their faces peering thru the bars to hear the results. A single block of maroon and black sits patiently and waits. Then...

Hays: Division 1. The Hays band has already left. Their buses and semi-truck trailer rolled away less than an hour ago. The crowd applauds.

Stony Point: Division 1. They are standing just beyond the fences. They scream in celebration. Their cheers spread across the parking lot in a wave of celebration as the full band learns of their results. It is hard to hear the speaker as their celebration grows louder.

Stephen F. Austin: Division 1. And behind me erupts the loudest roar I've ever heard. They all jump to their feet, shouting, screaming, hugging, smiling, waving their instruments in the air, jumping up and down. They cannot contain their glee. The do not need to. This is what they worked so hard for. This is what they hoped beyond hope for. This is why they marched their hearts out.

They could not have done any better than this.

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UIL Class 5A Region 18 Marching Band competition
Round Rock, TX

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