I have a confession to make: I will always be a band geek. Even as people now see me as a guy who works solely with sports and assume I never had anything to do with music, I miss it.
Today marks exactly 10 years since the first time I carried a drum in a field show marching band competition. We bused to Portland for a competition that we were not at all prepared for and performed pretty poorly (unlike Skyview HS from Vancouver…). Ten years later, I can’t help but reminisce.
I miss the feel of the drum harness and the sound of a crisp, clean triplet roll performed perfectly by a tight five-man snare line. I miss the band camp experiences that would make for great stories if they had not been permanently tainted by Alyson Hannigan in “American Pie.” I miss the ridiculousness of a group of drummers smashing a pumpkin prior to taking the field, eating Flintstone vitamins as a weird sort of act of camaraderie and trying not to crack up while one of the tenor players points out that the Mead drummers are holding hands and he thinks we should, too.