Band Geek's Guide to the Gridiron

(Please note that the following is the Editor's overly anal and fussy perspective on college football.  Aaron just wanted me to scream and flash the crowd cam.)

A few weeks ago, one of our former students, Roy McKenney, mentioned that he was the drum major for this year's marching band.  He told Aaron that they were performing at the home football game at the University of Montana in Missoula, MT.  (Roy has lost 35 pounds, by the way!  Go Roy!)  Since we, the Geeks, would be in Missoula for our education conference, we elected to stay an extra night and watch them march.  There was only one problem.

Janet had to watch a football game.  She also had to ignore Aaron's chihuahua-like leaps of joy.

I received my Master's from U of M, so I guess I'm supposed to cheer for the Griz.  I went to classes over the summer, so I never was exposed to the psychotic fan fervor that defines U of M.  I had never been to a major sporting event, and I would probably feel more comfortable getting a root canal.  During a root canal I would just have to lay there and be sedated, and I would know exactly how to to behave.  Football game?  Not so much.

I decided that I would document and study the behavior I saw at the game so I could figure out how to act at any future sporting events.  I tried to see everything from a neutral standpoint.


First, I noticed that I missed the memo on what color to wear.

Our seats were in the student section, and I soon learned that the word "seat" was a misnomer, as there wasn't enough room to sit.  We stood sandwiched in with thousands of students, most of whom were working on their own type of sedation, though the drug of choice seemed to be Everclear.

Some seemed to be channeling the spirit of the bear, a ritualistic gesture designed to incite the murderous power of the beast to said football team.

This guy seemed to be channeling the spirit of a condom.

Also present were walking, dancing avatars for the team.  As cool as it was, how a guy driving a mini fighter jet in a bear suit will make them more likely to win, I haven't a clue.

There were several of our former band geeks present.  Roy, the drum major...

Logan, Roy's little bro, playing trumpet.  (2nd from left, center row.)  Logan lost a great deal of weight, as well, though I don't know the amount.

Andrew, another former student, playing saxophone.  Andrew doesn't need to lose weight.....dammit.

Here's the most puzzling aspect of the game.  I get the basic rules.

Get the ball in the other team's end zone.
Prevent them from doing the same to yours.
Don't die.

Ok.  Got it.  But does anyone else find it even a teensy-weensy bit hypocritical to go to these games to see guys get the piss pounded out of them, and then be all concerned when they get hurt?

Then again, band geeks everywhere owe a debt of blood to the players on the field.  Few would come to see the band by itself.  Sadly, no one has figured out how to make it a contact sport.