Your On Fire correspondent has a special place in his (or her) heart for marching bands. Marching bands are to football what peanut butter is to jelly, the Chicago Cubs are to disappointment and On Fire is to perfection.
While enjoying a lethargic Sunday afternoon watching copious amounts of NFL action (shout out to the Falcons for making the case to stay ITP for at least another season) and counting out each fantasy point needed to win (shout out my opponent for keeping Matt Ryan on the bench), your correspondent was watching highlights from the otherwise-uneventful Bucs-Panthers game.
Not content with listening to the beautiful music being blasted by the Bethune-Cookman University Marching Wildcats as halftime was winding down, Panthers kicker Graham Gano began to take practice kicks in the MIDDLE OF THE BAND.
Now, your On Fire correspondent is fully appreciative of kickers, having once attempted a 15-yarder in middle school and subsequently failing miserably.
But, loyal readers, your correspondent pledges his allegiance to the marching band, where he (or she) spent four grueling years standing at attention, marching intricate formations and, most importantly, blaring the “Mortal Kombat” theme song every time our team got a first down.
When Gano shoved a trombone player out of the way in his single-minded pursuit to launch an oddly-shaped projectile fifty yards downfield into the loving arms of the net, he broke rule number one of marching band: never break formation.
Much like Fight Club’s edict imploring participants not to talk about fight club (sorry, Phi Delt), many sports hold their elite to one rule governing proper positioning, lest they suffer the consequences.
In baseball, it’s a balk. Football, offsides. Hell, even curling has rules about where you can slide around on the ice.
In the great sport of marching band, being a step out of line is the difference between a cool formation that looks like the Eiffel Tower or a phallic disaster. One step out of line and that cool flag toss over your head turns into an orthodontist’s nightmare. One step out of line is one step short of greatness.
Take, for example, Steelers punt returner Antonio Brown, who is now infamous for unceremoniously karate-kicking the Browns’ punter in the face in a failed hurdle. Positioning matters.
Had Mr. Brown realized the importance of marching band formations, perhaps I would not be watching Vine remixes of his fail in slow motion. Or maybe he really, really wanted to be a Spartan for the next sequel to 300.
The Atlanta-but-moving-to-Marietta Braves certainly can tell you a thing or two about positioning (zing).
Another important lesson your On Fire correspondent learned from marching band is the significance of precision.
Let us go back to a time where your Correspondent was a wee freshman in high school, playing the National Anthem before the first home game of the year.
Your over-eager Correspondent overestimated the amount of air required to play the final note, and proceeded to perform a shockingly accurate interpretation of an elephant’s mating call for 4,000 fans to enjoy.
For the next two weeks, your now-embarrassed correspondent was referred to as “Elephant-Man” (or “Elephant Woman”), and he (or she) spent countless hours cringing in the second practice room on the left while playing “Home of the Brave” over and over again.
Precision is the difference between a cool, sexy strikeout and a bases-loaded grand slam. It changes a clutch buzzer-beater into a “well, at least we have chess season to look forward to.”
While your sadly, sadly nostalgic Correspondent has waxed philosophical about his (or her) marching band career, he (or she) hopes you, dedicated reader, have taken away some key points.
This is, after all, the most important column in the Wheel.
As the old saying goes, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, neither of which your correspondent has any experience with.
However, if given the chance, your intrepid On Fire correspondent would most definitely mess those up, too.
The Emory Wheel was founded in 1919 and is currently the only independent, student-run newspaper of Emory University. The Wheel publishes weekly on Wednesdays during the academic year, except during University holidays and scheduled publication intermissions.
The Wheel is financially and editorially independent from the University. All of its content is generated by the Wheel’s more than 100 student staff members and contributing writers, and its printing costs are covered by profits from self-generated advertising sales.
