29 August 2014
One Last Time
“Backwards, twelve to four” is the next thing Ryan Johnson says. It’s Super State, don’t get called out. You know how to do this. Left is odd and right is even. Here we go. “Five, six, dut dut. Three, four. Push hit cross hit!” “Sierra get your feet in time!” Perfect three counts in and I’ve already messed up. It’s my freshman year, and this is the last competition we will have in Arizona this year, for the Basha Bear Regiment. Last chance to prove that we are the best in the state. It’s now or never. Will the Basha Bear Regiment take home the win? Is this the win that’ll lead us to Fresno? Can we pull out of the bottom form the bottom year? Beat Perry and Desert Vista, our biggest rivals. Eleven minutes can change all of this.
The stadium is over flowing with people. Parents, boosters, and marching band fanatics form all of the state are enjoying the group before ours. The band silently judging the band, watching their show. Observing the competition. Everyone in the band snaps to attention as the drum majors call us. You can hear the bands one word, gold, echo through the stadium. The announcer calls out the Basha Bear Regiment and we are on the move, with base five in the back keeping tempo. You can smell the food from the stands, everyone eating all the fatty food that is sold at competitions. I see the line in front of mine halt and mark time. Then we approach our opening set. I feel excited and nervous at the same time. Ready to start but afraid of messing up. My mouth is already dry. The dryness when it is hard to swallow and there’s hardly any saliva. Now that there is an eleven minute show ahead doesn’t help. Then the moment we are all waiting for. The announcer says, “Basha Bear Regiment, you may now take the field for competition.”
The football field, every marching bands best friend, stays silent till the first note is played by a tuba. After waiting 32 long beats I take my...