The Reality Of Time Travel: Cal Band Alumni Day

We watched the current band practice their pregame show, and I marveled at how huge they were—the traditional triangle wedge had truncated back corners because there wasn’t enough room on the field for points. We all talked about how much better they are musically than previous years, but that it came at the expense of partying, which we all agreed was a damn shame. When we old folks took the field to try and get our act together, it struck me that the reason the Alumni band always looked so ragged wasn’t really that they were old and out of shape (well, not mostly)—it was because they only had that morning to learn everything, whereas the current band rehearsed several days a week. Profound respect was earned that morning.

We did our best to pay attention to the director and hit our marks (eight steps per five yards), and suddenly it was time to get back to the band room for music rehearsal. Music rehearsal, which allows the alum to reacquaint himself (or herself) with the songs that may be played on the field and in the stands, is also a useful time to go to the Bear’s Lair pub and hoist a few pints, since it’s a scientific fact that drinking beer imbues the drinker with the knowledge of music without having to rehearse. Or so I gleaned from the slightly glazed eyes of people who’d been oddly absent from rehearsal.

In any case, I got to run through some of my favorite party songs from my band years, like Santana’s “Everybody’s Everything” and Steve Wonder’s “Another Star,” both of which are “Latin feeling” songs, which meant that I could play crazy wild drums as I saw fit. This was well-received by those around me, as far as I could tell.

After music rehearsal was lunch, which by this time was an absolute necessity. Outside on Lower Sproul, the out-of-shape alums devoured sandwiches like starving bears, which of course we were. At that moment, the sky decided to let go of all the rain it had been hoarding, forcing the hungry Blues under the eaves of Cesar Chavez Student Center until it passed. Thankfully, it was only a brief shower, and it stopped in time for the band’s noon concert.

This game’s halftime show was a tribute to Southern Rock, and the massed crowd at Sproul Hall bounced up and down to songs from Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Allman Brothers, and others. The band lined up smartly and marched crisply up to the stadium, after which the alums wandered into a kind of block formation and marched painfully. Being a drummer, my job was to play the marching cadences as the rest of the band strolled leisurely along. I surprised myself by remembering most of them, but by the time we reached the stadium, I had developed a blister on my finger from lack of practice. Luckily, a fellow drummer had some duct tape, which served to prevent further damage and helped me look hardcore.

Approaching the entrance to Memorial Stadium after marching up a 45-degree angle for seven miles (I’d swear), we switched from our normal walking pace to the traditional high-step march. This is the normal way that the band begins and ends their trek, but 19 years of laziness makes it harder to snap into perfect form. What did put that snap in was the presence of the current band lining the tunnel leading to the field. Nothing draws that extra burst of effort than seeing kids 20 years younger who are evaluating your performance. Thus drained, we entered the stadium, played a few songs for the alums who showed up early, and made for our seats.

The football game itself was honestly a blur. I know we played the National Anthem with the band during pre-game, and we played a few tunes from the stands. Then it was time for the halftime show, and the old folks trundled out to the endzone to wait for the current band’s short performance. When it was our turn, we marched down the field and played in front of 52,083 people, a larger crowd than I ever experienced in the team’s underperforming 1980s when I attended school. I made a couple of mistakes, but so did everyone, and as we paused before the final song and script “California,” I yelled out, “I love this band!” to my fellow bandsmen and the gathered crowd. I doubt that I could have held it in even if I’d wanted to, because the pride I felt in being part of such a group of people was too much to contain.

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