Slingblade, or Hey Hey Hee Hee Get Off Of My Field

As I mentioned in Sunday's blog, I spent a blissfully geeky day Saturday watching high school marching bands. As I also mentioned, one band in particular inspired a little giggle-fest up in the section where I was sitting.

Well, it wasn't so much the band. The band was OK, I guess, "OK" was pretty much the rating they got when everything was over with. It was their "auxiliary." "Auxiliary" is the fancy term for all the other crap that bands seem to have attached to them these days.

And let me just get this out of the way right now. I hate auxiliary. I always have. Then again, I'm from the Old School. I believe a marching band should be a marching band. No flag girls, no majorettes, no rifle throwers, no pom-poms, no interpretive dancers, no fire batons, no farm animals being led around on the field. Well, to be honest, I've never seen that last one, and on second thought, it might be kind of interesting. "The band will now perform their rendition of 'Old MacDonald;'" then bring out those animals and let them do a little jig right there amongst the players. I think I'd be OK with that, as long as I'm not in the band that marches next; I've done my share of parades behind horse platoons.

However, I do have a particular distaste for flag girls (and boys, occasionally you'll see flag boys out there). Anyone ever notice that, well, besides being completely useless, the flags never match anything? They don't match the uniforms, they don't match the music being played, they're just brightly colored crap flying around out there. But that's another rant for another time.

And so back to the story at hand.

The band in question was loaded up with flag girls. And within seconds of their taking the field, something became very apparent. One of their flag girls didn't have a flag. She was just out there holding nothing. And the reason she was holding nothing was because she had her left arm in a sling.

And I'm sure the first question that comes to everyone's mind is, if this girl had a broken arm, why the hell was she out there on the field? And I'm sure that I can't answer that question for you, because I don't know the answer my own self. Because me, arbitrary fool that I am, I would have said, "Sorry about the broken arm, honey, looks like your season's shot to hell." But apparently in this world of "let's not let anyone get their feelings hurt lest they be traumatized for life and end up in the post office with a machine gun," they said to her, "Sorry about the broken arm, honey, now get out there and be the trooper we know you can be. We love you, you're worthwhile, and please don't go looking for that rifle. Unless it's one of those wooden ones that girls twirl around with bands, even though of course you can't twirl it, because your arm's in a fucking sling!"

So there she was out there in the auxiliary. With no flag. And her arm in a sling. And the girls were all adorned in black, and it was a gleaming white sling. And so no matter where one's eye tried to focus, that eye went right back to her.

She became the star of the show. Which I'm guessing will probably keep her from shooting up the post office one day.

When we first noticed this fact, ESP made a great suggestion. That she should have been given some tiny little flags, like those little American flags they give out on the Fourth of July, that are about two inches wide and stapled to a dowel rod the size of a pencil. And she could run around the field waving her tiny flag in the air. It conjured up a nice picture.

But no, she was indeed unflagged. In a gleaming white sling. And here's the thing. She stood out there, head held high, and, well, she stood. If the flag girls ran to the left side of the field, she ran along with them. If they came to the front, she came along too.

But that's all she did. If the other girls twirled around in a circle, she stood there. If they did a high kick or assumed a one-legged position (what we call "The Big Fig Newton," though I doubt anyone's old enough to remember that commercial), she stood there. If the girls hit the ground for a graceful ballet pose, she stood there. Hell, if they even as much as leaned to the right or left, she stood there. With her arm in a sling.

And the more she stood there, the more we giggled.

Now, about halfway into this band's performance, and as I said, it was an OK performance even though I didn't see that much of it because I couldn't take my eyes off Sling Girl, something else happened.

All of a sudden, another flag girl, a regular flag girl with two good arms and a shitload of flags to twirl around, hit her knees and knelt there, on the 40-yard line, motionless. No, you don't understand. Completely motionless. She was staring into space with a fixed expression, not moving a muscle, there on her knees, in what can only be described as catatonia.

All the other flag girls were twirling and hopping and Big Fig Newtoning it, well, all of them except Miss Broken Arm, and this girl was there at the front of the field, dead. Well, if not dead, then certainly in a persistent vegetative state.

And I've got to tell you, folks, this little episode just put me right over the edge.

I was sitting with my sister to one side of me, another set of band parents (who I'd just met) on the other side, and ESP and another band parent (and a client of ours) one row below. Now, when I'm with my sister and she's with the people in her little circle, I try not to be so, well, so me. I try to keep something of a sense of decorum, which could be why they all think of me as so much wallpaper paste, though it could also be because I'm not in their social or economic realm, but I do try to rein things in a bit.

But I just couldn't hold it in any longer.

I began to lose it; I began to rant. "Look at this one! What the hell - what's with her? She's catatonic! She's dead! What the hell is that? Flag girl down!" I started wondering aloud if she was on drugs, or having a cosmic flashback of some sort, or if it was a band rule that if you dropped your appointed flag you had to go have "time out" at the front of the field until everyone else picked up the next flag. I don't know; maybe she was consumed with the sudden urge to pray that God would heal the flag girl with the broken arm.

Oh, Lord Jesus. I just can't describe to you how upsetting this whole scene became to me.

And so Schizophrenic Flag Girl stayed there, dead on her knees, for approximately two minutes. Then she just got back up and started twirling again as if nothing ever happened. Oh, but it happened. It happened, and I'm here to tell the tale.

My sister, who when she lets herself go can be as goofy as I can, carried along right with me, for I think she was almost as amazed as I was by this whole affair. The client lady in front of me, a very kind and shy lady, giggled along and also did her share of wondering aloud what the hell was going on as well. The couple on the other side of me, who I'm sure are fine people because they're the parents of Tay's Stetson-mate Andrew, stayed silent. And - and I'm not kidding here - moved away from me about six inches.

And then there was my buddy ESP. She knows me, so nothing came as a surprise to her. In fact, she was the one who, after suggesting the tiny flags, corrected her opinion to, "No, she just needs to get the hell off the field." She wasn't the least bit offended by my display.

Then on the other hand, not long after she sat down she told a story to me in front of the assembled throng that lofted out the phrase "blow job."

Will they ever let me go watch band practice again....

Betland's Olympic Update:
* We have acrowinners! So, what did yall want to tell me about Oktoberfest?
- Honorable Mention goes to Michelle, with her "Entsetzlich! Mein Liter Rotwein ist Dreck!" Not sure of the exact translation there, but I get the idea. And also Honorable Mention goes to LilyG, with her "Ewww. Many libations regurgitated in drain." Remind me not to check the drains this weekend.
- Runner-up goes to DeepFatFriar, with his "Elizabeth! Mountain Lake! Remember? I'll drive!" This Saturday I doubt I'll remember anything.
- And this week's winner goes to Kellie, with her "Ed, Music, Lederhosen. Raucous Indignant Drunks." That pretty much says it all, though it doesn't specify whether she's mentioning the raucous indignant drunks in the audience or those in the Sauerkraut Band. (By the way, I'm waiting for the day Ernest makes love right in the dessert.)
Thanks to all who played!