It was a Saturday. It was four o'clock in the afternoon. Most people would wonder why anyone in their right mind would willing be on school grounds on such a day, at such an hour - let alone three hundred anyones. For us, though, we hadn't come there for school, we had come there for one final band practice - at the place that many of us had come to see as a second home since football season started - before we would perform our half-time show in front of a panel of judges who would rate us on everything from marching to music to overall effect. One last practice before our world-renowned Riverview High School Kiltie Band would go out to the Florida Bandmasters Association (FBA) Band Festival and show the judges, the audience, our band directors, and ourselves what we were made of. So one could imagine that we were a little jittery. The air was a tad chill, even at that time of the day, and only a precursor of what it would be like that night. But still, we stood in warm-up arcs around the drum majors' podiums and played and replayed our half-time music, trying to get out the last minor glitches while trying to "save our chops" - as Mr. Spreen, one of our band directors, would say - for when we would need them most: that evening. It was an important, serious rehearsal, to the point that if you weren't a band director, drum major, or section leader, you were expected not to utter the slightest syllable, so that we could do what we had to do and fix what we had to fix without any interruptions or delays. Despite our size and the general talkative nature of our band, the rehearsal went smoothly, quietly, and was essentially one of the best rehearsals we had had thus far in the year. We all had a job, and, for once, we all chose to do it.
After rehearsal was over, we had a little down time to relax, get warm, eat food, and get dressed in our authentic Scottish band uniforms - complete with plaid kilts - before we would have to board the buses for Festival. There was an enormous amount of nervous excitement in the air. Some band members had done this two or three times already, being juniors and seniors. There were the freshmen, who had never done anything of this magnitude before, and thus, it was a new and rather frightening experience for them, not knowing what to expect, hoping and praying that they wouldn't mess up, thinking that if they did, all the judges would know it and give the band horrible ratings - just because of them. And then there were the sophomores - like me - who had only gone through it once, last year. We knew what it was like to be freshmen at Festival. But, we were sophomores now. We'd been with the band for over a year now, and we knew what we had to do, but we couldn't be sure if we'd pull it off. Every member of the band had to depend on about 299 other people to do their jobs that night, and in turn, those 299 people were depending on that one other member as well. We had 42 years of straight Superiors - the highest obtainable rating - to protect, and we all had work together and do our best to bring in that 43rd Superior.
We boarded the buses, and before long, we were on our way to Manatee High School, where Festival was being held. I was on a bus with my best and closest friends, and we talked and joked and made each other laugh, ignoring the anxiousness that many of us were feeling inside and just had a good time, enjoying each others' company. This really eased the mood, and had I not been on that bus with those specific people, friends or not, I don't think I would've done as well later that night, marching on the field and performing for the judges. Someone on the bus had brought a boombox, and we all listened and sang along to the music. Not everyone knew the words, and not everyone sang in key, but none of that mattered - at the moment, there were no differences that set us apart. We were all Kilties, and we were all going to do our best.
We got off the buses and headed toward the football stadium where we would eventually be performing. However, we headed not for the field - being the largest band there, we would also be the last to perform - but for the bleachers, where we would be able to observe some of the smaller bands. It was around seven o'clock, and the air had grown cooler since our practice three hours prior. For once, we were all glad to be wearing our normally stifling uniforms, which consist of a rather thick jacket and a majority of wool - not what most people would prefer to wear in Florida's usual heat, but what we had to wear just about every Friday night for football games. And for once, we didn't complain about not having ice in the cups of water the chaperons were passing out to us for hydration. We watched the first bands perform - some of which had less than a third of the members that we had - and all of them, in my eyes, deserved Superiors. You could tell they had worked hard for this, just as our band had. We had probably worked harder than some of those bands though - we did have three hundred members, after all, and we had had considerably less time to learn and perfect our half-time show than last year - but the judges didn't know that. They rated us based on what they saw, what they heard. We just hoped that what they would see and hear from us would be of a Superior quality.
We got our instruments off the buses and followed our band director Mr. Naumann out to another sports field near the stadium where other bands were practicing, waiting until it was their turn to do their show. Like we had done earlier that day - a time that seemed to have passed a million years ago - we gathered around the drum major podiums in warm-up arcs. We tuned our instruments, and practiced only a few small spots in the music, still "saving our chops" - and, for all of us I think, our body heat as well. Then, Mr. Naumann took the podium and said a few words - he, Mr. Spreen, and Mr. Evans, our percussion director, had made speeches earlier, telling us how proud they were of our progress that we had made this year, and anyone could see that pride in them - and allowed members of the senior class, for whom this would be their last Festival, to step up and say a few things to their fellow bandmates. The seniors spoke of good times they'd had with the band and how being in the band was like having a huge family based on support and love. Their words were genuine and heart-felt - you could see it in their eyes and in their tears.
It was time to head back to the stadium, but this time it wasn't as spectators. We were going to show everyone there what the RHS Kiltie Band was, and what it was made of. Our feet were synchronized with the beat of the drum cadence. The cadence ended, and we were at our spots on the sidelines. "Think 'Show'" is what our directors had told us, and think 'show' is what we did. Our head drum major blew his whistle, and the rest of the band answered with a resounding "ONE! TWO!" as we went to the attention position. We entered the field and played our warm-up piece. "Riverview High School, are you ready to perform your show?" came over the loudspeaker. Were we ready? Yes. We were ready. The drum majors saluted the judges, and with four tempo-marking whistle blows, we began our first song. We hit the pictures, we played the right notes, all of the things that we had worked on since the school year began. First song - done. Second number - nailed it. Third piece - wonderful. Finale - simply gorgeous. We had finished our show. We marched off the field to the cadence we entered on, and we stood in the end zone to await our ratings.
After the judges took a moment to compile the ratings, the drum majors from all of the bands who had performed that night were asked to come forward to the sideline. The judges began announcing the ratings for the bands in the order that they had performed that night. We sat in the end zone, listening to the ratings, clapping and cheering for every band - including our rival, the Sarasota High School band - not just out of courtesy, but out of respect. We knew that all of those bands had worked hard, just as we had, for this moment. We heard overall ratings of Excellents and Superiors, and then the first band to get a straight Superior. And then a few others. As it came closer to when we would hear our own ratings, there was a myriad of emotions in the air - anxiousness, nervousness, worry, fear, excitement, hope. It was our turn now, and the entire band went dead silent. It wasn't just the cold air that made people shiver at that moment. The ratings came: Musical Performance: Superior - one increment of tension had dissipated, but it's still only the first rating. Next, Musical Effect: Superior - that's two... Marching and Maneuvering: Superior - could our hearts be beating any faster? General Effect: Superior - we're so close, we're so close... Percussion: Superior - we can't hold our breaths any longer, and Auxiliary: if it wasn't Superior, we didn't know. The band never heard the rating, but it made no difference. We had gotten straight Superiors. We knew it. We had done it. We had made our 43rd Superior rating. There was yelling, there was cheering, there was applause, there was hugging, there was crying, and there was the one of the proudest moments in our lives. We were Superior. As we walked and ran and cheered our way back to the buses, we were Superior. It was cold outside, but we were Superior. We clambered onto the buses, and I'm not sure who started it, but everyone on my bus soon broke out into Queen's "We Are The Champions". My friend remarked that it might be kind of mean to be singing that as other bands walked by us, but we didn't care. We were Superior, and that's all that mattered.
-Tracy King
12/8/01