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All Trombones Are...


A marching force of extraordinary magnitude. Seventy six members strong, this thundering machine of ultra high-stepping madness takes the field by storm, expelling gale-force winds through ten feet of silvered brass. You're forty rows up in Camp Randall Stadium and suddenly the sound hits you like a cannonball. At first you're terrified, yet the cheers from everyone around assures you of an excellent show. Our relentless pursuit downfield does nothing to ease your tingling nerves, but then... all is quiet. It's as if time has stopped. A flash of light. Horns are up. Four whistles and you are serenaded into reverie by your favorite Motown classics. The carefree gliding of the trombone slides send you into a trance and you stare off into the sea of silver as it darts around in perfect harmony only to be sliced down the middle by a streaming red flame. As your eyes focus, you recognize Bucky Badger waiving the school's emblem with all his might. A tear rolls down your cheek. You are filled with pride and at the same time, murderous rage towards the opposing team. Everyone's on their feet as the band leaves the field. A breeze sweeps across the field and up to you. You are bathed in the warmth of tens of thousands of calories having just been burned on the velvety turf. Your crazed excitement is heightened when you realize the band has just solved the world's energy crisis with a healthy dose of primal intensity and school spirit. The team takes the field. You bare your teeth. What time is it?

Game time.