We went to a college football game yesterday afternoon. The weather was clear and crisp with lots of sunshine. Our club seats were wonderful and the home team won.
After watching the marching bands in the halftime show, I’d had enough of sitting in the sun. I suggested to Zen-Den that we go inside to the private eating area and get something to eat. Then I suggested in the most adamant terms possible that we should stay inside in the shade to watch the third quarter on one of the many TVs provided therein. He went along with my idea because: 1) he’s older now and has learned that when he goes to a game he doesn’t have to watch every second of it live to enjoy the game; and 2) I mentioned food.
So, in we went.
We got our food, found a nice place to sit and were in the process of munching when we heard the marching band. At first we thought that it was on TV but realized that the noise was getting louder and louder. [Hello doppler effect.] The noise was coming from the other side of eating area, so we turned around to see what was happening.
What we saw were 9 members of the flugelhorn section of the home team’s marching band– in full dress band uniform– not quite marching, but kind of kick stepping through the room. [Think John Cleese in the Minister of Funny Walks.] They were playing the home team’s fight song–very loudly and not all that tunefully.
It was Monty Pythonesque absurdity at it’s best. Both of us started to laugh so hard that we were crying.
We couldn’t figure out why a roaming band of flugelhornists had chosen to visit the club section of the stadium. Was this a reward for them or a punishment for them within the band hierarchy? Was this a reward for those of us who had paid more for club seats– or was it a punishment for those of us who didn’t get invited to the classy box seats on the quiet level above? Who knew?
Nor could we figure out if these were first team flugelhornists– or, as Z-D suggested, the freshman reserve flugelhornists allowed to strut their stuff later in the game when a victory was certain. Considering that they weren’t exactly on key, I’m going with freshman reserve.
I suspect that we’ll never know the answers to these probing questions about the inner workings of Team Flugelhorn. And that’s okay. I like a bit of mystery in my life. But what I do know is that we’ll always remember attending this football game– and our chance encounter with a roaming band of very loud flugelhornists.