Battle of the Band

While attending a college football game in Illinois last fall, I had the distinct displeasure of sitting directly behind the marching band. My proximity was such that I was a mere acne outbreak and Sgt. Pepper suit away of being numbered amongst them. Oblivious to everything but my immediate environs, I sat there inundated with a barrage of collegiate fight songs (composed primarily of Queen ballads from their ubiquitous taunting sports anthems era, namely "We Are the Champions" and "We Will Rock You"). Amid one of these spirited renditions, a cymbal clash exploded like 12 gauge buckshot into my skull. And like the Apostle Paul's blinding-light epiphany, I came to suddenly recognize the paradox that has plagued band members since the dawn of The Brass Age: They're forced to cheer on their most ardent tormentors.

While the disparity between the band and the football team is considerably more polarizing in high school than in college, the basic stratagem still persists. Several years of maturity can only do so much to erode the monolithic partitions that have so stringently divided the opposing social castes. Therefore, to the average incoming-freshman-tuba-player's dismay, the aggrandized utopian ideal that is college never quite lives up to the Promised Land lore that he and his ilk have so heavily relied upon for perseverance while marching aimlessly through four years of barren adolescence. That’s because social standing is a salient thing. For historical evidence I point to the unsuspecting Tri-Lambdas from "Revenge of the Nerds."

Unlike Hollywood's hyperbolic depiction, however, the outright mockery and bullying that once prevailed, now more likely exists as a deluded animosity—taking the form of peripheral contempt, if not indifference. This, however, can be equally detrimental, as some individuals strive for attention no matter if they're the resident butt of the joke. Samuel "Screech" Powers, for example, was the embodiment of this self-flagellating phenomenon.

Band members—once resigned to weekends consisting of no more than Jolt-fueled toilet-papering escapades, youth group bowling, and/or clandestine "Magic: The Gathering" benders—are now suddenly exposed to the coming-of-age taboos that had formerly eluded them. Because it's common knowledge that those of a more prominent social standing are the default pioneers of the venerable vices (with possible exception to the black-leather-jacket-clad-cigarette-smokers of impending meth connoisseurship who mutter darkly about everything short of Metallica's pre-Load lyrics). But band members—once emancipated from the social stigma and parental scrutiny that high school proffers—naturally gravitate toward the vices long deprived of them. This Pavlovian response, when compounded with their preconditioned misfit proclivity, cause band members to seek out a subgenre that falls under the overarching Marching Band Umbrella. Prominent subgenres include: emo, neo-hippie, electroclash, punk, cowpunk, trustafarian, Norwegian death metal, twee, lesbian vegan, indie, goth, Wiccan, riot grrrl, ska, or—in extreme cases—rockabilly.

Barring this subgenre phenomenon, cloves would be all but nonexistent. And Morrisey would still be wallowing along the piss-laden curbs of London Town instead of reigning supreme as the Asexual Godhead of Heartfelt Misery. Affiliation with these subgenres—whether born of true affinity or mere convenience—provides a sanctuary of camaraderie and commiseration that serves as a formidable defense mechanism against the cutthroat realities of social hierarchy. Fraternities and Elks Lodges similarly serve the same purpose, despite existing on the opposite end of the spectrum.

When considering the unforgiving and hostile order that nature operates within, it's conceivable that the Football/Band dynamic is just one of the many symbiotic relationships that coexist in nature—one which ultimately helps foster and condition the various components essential to achieving both of their respective objectives. Opposing forces are at the core of our existence, after all: Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, gravity's pull vs. Earth’s push, etc. And beyond the physics of it, there is also an epic rivalry to account for. What would Batman be without the Joker? Or God without Satan? Or Gallagher without Watermelon?

Above all else, the football team's success is dependant upon competitiveness—the animal aggression waged to defeat its foe. Whereas the band's success is dependent upon its ability to perform in concert—the refined precision in pursuit of harmony. Given the essential qualities that each faction requires to optimally perform, I'd deduce that the football team—though likely unaware of it—extracts its competitive sustenance by exerting its physical dominance over the most visibly feeble peers (which can often be found in band, for whatever reason). This reflex allows them to exercise their aggressive nature and reaffirm their superiority complex, which is of no little importance come game day. Such displays of dominance can take many forms. The swirly is a perennial favorite, as is the incapacitating kidney shot and the shaming rib eye.

The band, on the other hand, garners its requisite vitality in an inverse manner. The cruel actions confronting various band members cause them to circle the wagons and retreat to their safe place, be it the mother ship of band or the divergent subgenres therein. This reaction inevitably strengthens peer bonding and edifies their ability to perform harmoniously. As Bob Dylan so eloquently put it, "It's strange how people who suffer together have stronger connections than people who are most content." And it's only a minor coincidence that Dylan's band was, in fact, named "The Band." Though I imagine the only kidney shots they ever took were from Jack Daniels.

In conclusion, that the whole of a band's existence is to cheer on the very souls whose rage is the bane of their existence is a tragedy of Grecian proportion. But only when this visceral dynamic is observed from a removed and objective vantage can we come to recognize the synergetic aspects by which both the band and the football team ultimately benefit.

As ever, I turn to Bette "The Divine Miss M" Midler to sum it up best:

From a distance
There is harmony
And it echoes through the land
It’s the voice of hope
It’s the voice of peace
It’s the voice of every man