Chapter 4: Football Games
(A/N): hey! I'm back! Thanks for all the reviews. Oh! We all yell "RIDGE" because its for our attention thingy. We are the Mountain Ridge High School Band, so we scream RIDGE when called to attention. Just ta let ya know. And so the games begin. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-*-
Chapter 4
Ok, so I was a LITTLE excited about getting a "Superior With Distinction". Key word being a LITTLE. I still hated band. And what I hated most was those stupid morning rehearsals! Who in their right mind would be in this for dumb thing longer than they had to? I mean, waking up early three mornings of the week sucks! And I mean early. We had to be on the field, ready to go at 6:15. That's way too early for me! The only thing fun was being with some of the 'bandies'.
And coming up was my first football game. Oh my gosh! I would be ecstatic and overjoyed! Complete bliss and an angel in heaven . I would be going crazy and screaming as loud as the cheerleaders! I would jump up and down in the stands and be hyper and thrilled . . . If I didn't HATE football. Football is lame and is basically a group of ugly fat hogs chasing and beating each other up to get their hands on some dumb pigskin. It is a pointless and dreary sport that really requires no skill. Unlike marching. Marching takes a lot of skill, unlike pig-ball. We have to stay in step, play, and remember where to march next. Now that it a sport . . .I mean . . .I hate band?
So everybody is talking about this 'homecoming' game. It's going to be my first football game that I am performing at. Me? Nervous? No way! It was just a football game. No big deal. It wouldn't have a lot of people there, who would come out to see a high school football game?
As we marched on to the field, I gasped in awe at all the people. But was I nervous? Not one bit. I had performed before, and nobody would notice if I messed up. The marching band seems like a long line of lemmings. Each of us looks identical. There was no way that anyone could single one of us out. We were one.
I shook my head, determined to not think I was one of them . . .a bandie. We marched around the track. The crowds were cheering, for us perhaps. The field was a deep green and thirsted for the first football game of the season to begin. The sun streaked across the sky, making reds and yellows merge with a dark navy blue. In the east, the first stars were coming out, adding to the excitement of Homecoming Game.
We marched out onto the field, in the line-up we had practiced. We got ready to play "When you Wish Upon a Star" during the crowning of Homecoming Court. I had not practiced this song, and so I had no idea what I was doing. Luckily, the rest of the band seemed to of memorized their part. I gave a sigh of relief as the final Queen and King were announced. We were done with pre-game. The band turned off, and marched off the field. Mouth open in awe, I followed my fellow trombonists up to our high seats in the stands. I looked around the game zone while I waited for the rest of the band to reach their seats. Yelling, screaming, and laughing filled my ears and echoed across the stadium. The huge lights beamed down upon the grass, making each blade shine. As percussion filed in, we sat down and removed our hats. How I hated those evil conductor hats. Not only did they look incredibly stupid, they hurt! And as if the pain while wearing them wasn't enough, they left a huge line across your forehead! All of us would point at each other, laughing at the reminisce of dorky helmets. I usually got a horrible stripe across my head, which showed clearly for the world to see. I rubbed it hard, attempting to make it vanish, but nothing seemed to make the loser sign disappear.
The completely pointless game began. The retards down on the field started chasing after their pigskin. Can you say LAME? Every so often we would play a pep tune such as "Tuba Cadence" or " Batman". Then whenever we scored a touchdown or whatever, we were forced to play the fight song. I hate that song so much. And unfortunately, as I would be figuring out, we had a winning team. That meant we would be playing the vile fight song over and over again. Before I knew it, I had that darn song written to memory.
Then, as second quarter reached the half way point, we began to move off the stands. I hopped down the steps and followed the other band members to warm up. All of us divided into sections; I went with the brass. We played a scales or two, and went over some of the hard parts of our show. My arms strained to hold up my instrument. Mike, my section leader, continuously had to remind me to keep my instrument up. I argued, saying that I was conserving energy for the show. He said to hold it up anyway. I sighed in disappointment, and forced my trombone up. Obviously my arms had not grown enough muscle to support my bone for long. My arms quickly grew restless. They seemed to have little spasms. Shivers ran down my spine, and sweat clung to the back of my neck as my arms throbbed with pain.
But before I knew it, I put my instrument down, and warm-up time was over. I felt relieved to be able to rest my arms. I could relax. I breathed slowly. . .then I realized that now warm-up was over, it was time to perform. I wasn't really nervous, but the thought of being forced to keep up my instrument for even longer, made me groan. I got in line, and began to march out onto the field.
Carefully, I moved into my exact position for the opening movement. I watched as the drum majors gave their salute and walked up to the podium. I drew a long breath in, and reminded myself to keep breathing. The lights overhead were almost directly in my eyes. The slow hum of the bass clarinets signaled my cue to move to the right, to get in the next formation. I went over my first notes in my head for what seemed mere seconds, and somehow hours at the same time. I brought the horn to my mouth and let my lips buzz to the music as my hands worked the slide. My eyes darted from the drum major to the crowd and back again. Everyone had their eyes on us. I gave my last majestic style tone, and got ready to move.
Swiftly, I followed the line of bass clarinets and trombones as the tempo suddenly increased. I zigzagged across the field. As we got to the greatest part in "Appalachian Springs", I got out of step! We were moving at half time, or every other beat. I quickly tried to fix the problem, staring at everybody else's moving feet. I looked forward, but flutes were zooming ahead, merging with the trumpets. I looked down and over, and rapidly changed my feet. I continued playing, mentally sighing with relief. The second movement began. How I hated this song. Actually, the song was kinda pretty, but hafting to march to it took forever! It was sooooo slow! "New World Symphony" took so much time. We slowly marched, forming shape after shape. I waited and waited for the last movement to come.
And soon it did. The drums speed up and we followed their beat. The "Red Pony Suite" was a really cool song . . .I mean . . .for classical. I just liked the change in tempo. I moved all around the field, right left, forwards, and backwards. As I did the final moves, sweat trickled down my face. I blasted the last note, and snapped my trombone down. We finished. The crowd went wild.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-*- (A/N):ok, so it's a little short, but it's late and I am tired . . .so please review! Tell me what you think! Please? I want more reviews! That's the whole reason I put this things out!
~Jen
(A/N): hey! I'm back! Thanks for all the reviews. Oh! We all yell "RIDGE" because its for our attention thingy. We are the Mountain Ridge High School Band, so we scream RIDGE when called to attention. Just ta let ya know. And so the games begin. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-*-
Chapter 4
Ok, so I was a LITTLE excited about getting a "Superior With Distinction". Key word being a LITTLE. I still hated band. And what I hated most was those stupid morning rehearsals! Who in their right mind would be in this for dumb thing longer than they had to? I mean, waking up early three mornings of the week sucks! And I mean early. We had to be on the field, ready to go at 6:15. That's way too early for me! The only thing fun was being with some of the 'bandies'.
And coming up was my first football game. Oh my gosh! I would be ecstatic and overjoyed! Complete bliss and an angel in heaven . I would be going crazy and screaming as loud as the cheerleaders! I would jump up and down in the stands and be hyper and thrilled . . . If I didn't HATE football. Football is lame and is basically a group of ugly fat hogs chasing and beating each other up to get their hands on some dumb pigskin. It is a pointless and dreary sport that really requires no skill. Unlike marching. Marching takes a lot of skill, unlike pig-ball. We have to stay in step, play, and remember where to march next. Now that it a sport . . .I mean . . .I hate band?
So everybody is talking about this 'homecoming' game. It's going to be my first football game that I am performing at. Me? Nervous? No way! It was just a football game. No big deal. It wouldn't have a lot of people there, who would come out to see a high school football game?
As we marched on to the field, I gasped in awe at all the people. But was I nervous? Not one bit. I had performed before, and nobody would notice if I messed up. The marching band seems like a long line of lemmings. Each of us looks identical. There was no way that anyone could single one of us out. We were one.
I shook my head, determined to not think I was one of them . . .a bandie. We marched around the track. The crowds were cheering, for us perhaps. The field was a deep green and thirsted for the first football game of the season to begin. The sun streaked across the sky, making reds and yellows merge with a dark navy blue. In the east, the first stars were coming out, adding to the excitement of Homecoming Game.
We marched out onto the field, in the line-up we had practiced. We got ready to play "When you Wish Upon a Star" during the crowning of Homecoming Court. I had not practiced this song, and so I had no idea what I was doing. Luckily, the rest of the band seemed to of memorized their part. I gave a sigh of relief as the final Queen and King were announced. We were done with pre-game. The band turned off, and marched off the field. Mouth open in awe, I followed my fellow trombonists up to our high seats in the stands. I looked around the game zone while I waited for the rest of the band to reach their seats. Yelling, screaming, and laughing filled my ears and echoed across the stadium. The huge lights beamed down upon the grass, making each blade shine. As percussion filed in, we sat down and removed our hats. How I hated those evil conductor hats. Not only did they look incredibly stupid, they hurt! And as if the pain while wearing them wasn't enough, they left a huge line across your forehead! All of us would point at each other, laughing at the reminisce of dorky helmets. I usually got a horrible stripe across my head, which showed clearly for the world to see. I rubbed it hard, attempting to make it vanish, but nothing seemed to make the loser sign disappear.
The completely pointless game began. The retards down on the field started chasing after their pigskin. Can you say LAME? Every so often we would play a pep tune such as "Tuba Cadence" or " Batman". Then whenever we scored a touchdown or whatever, we were forced to play the fight song. I hate that song so much. And unfortunately, as I would be figuring out, we had a winning team. That meant we would be playing the vile fight song over and over again. Before I knew it, I had that darn song written to memory.
Then, as second quarter reached the half way point, we began to move off the stands. I hopped down the steps and followed the other band members to warm up. All of us divided into sections; I went with the brass. We played a scales or two, and went over some of the hard parts of our show. My arms strained to hold up my instrument. Mike, my section leader, continuously had to remind me to keep my instrument up. I argued, saying that I was conserving energy for the show. He said to hold it up anyway. I sighed in disappointment, and forced my trombone up. Obviously my arms had not grown enough muscle to support my bone for long. My arms quickly grew restless. They seemed to have little spasms. Shivers ran down my spine, and sweat clung to the back of my neck as my arms throbbed with pain.
But before I knew it, I put my instrument down, and warm-up time was over. I felt relieved to be able to rest my arms. I could relax. I breathed slowly. . .then I realized that now warm-up was over, it was time to perform. I wasn't really nervous, but the thought of being forced to keep up my instrument for even longer, made me groan. I got in line, and began to march out onto the field.
Carefully, I moved into my exact position for the opening movement. I watched as the drum majors gave their salute and walked up to the podium. I drew a long breath in, and reminded myself to keep breathing. The lights overhead were almost directly in my eyes. The slow hum of the bass clarinets signaled my cue to move to the right, to get in the next formation. I went over my first notes in my head for what seemed mere seconds, and somehow hours at the same time. I brought the horn to my mouth and let my lips buzz to the music as my hands worked the slide. My eyes darted from the drum major to the crowd and back again. Everyone had their eyes on us. I gave my last majestic style tone, and got ready to move.
Swiftly, I followed the line of bass clarinets and trombones as the tempo suddenly increased. I zigzagged across the field. As we got to the greatest part in "Appalachian Springs", I got out of step! We were moving at half time, or every other beat. I quickly tried to fix the problem, staring at everybody else's moving feet. I looked forward, but flutes were zooming ahead, merging with the trumpets. I looked down and over, and rapidly changed my feet. I continued playing, mentally sighing with relief. The second movement began. How I hated this song. Actually, the song was kinda pretty, but hafting to march to it took forever! It was sooooo slow! "New World Symphony" took so much time. We slowly marched, forming shape after shape. I waited and waited for the last movement to come.
And soon it did. The drums speed up and we followed their beat. The "Red Pony Suite" was a really cool song . . .I mean . . .for classical. I just liked the change in tempo. I moved all around the field, right left, forwards, and backwards. As I did the final moves, sweat trickled down my face. I blasted the last note, and snapped my trombone down. We finished. The crowd went wild.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*- *-*-*-*-*- (A/N):ok, so it's a little short, but it's late and I am tired . . .so please review! Tell me what you think! Please? I want more reviews! That's the whole reason I put this things out!
~Jen
