The Pep Band, having delivered uninspired performances in the opening weeks of 1993, managed to bully the Review Board into accepting a script for the Clemson game that really walked the ragged edge. The bit that was far and away the biggest hit with our fans, and the biggest bust with theirs, went as follows:
Now, anyone who's ever had to suffer through a performance of the Clemson Band knows that they pretty much do one thing, and do it really well: they play the Tiger Rag, over and over and over and over - literally as often as 30 or 40 times in a single football game. We know because we keep track, usually with flip-cards. "Watch now," boomed our Announcer, "as we in the Pep Band do our best impression of the Clemson Band... and what we wish would happen to it." The Band formed a generic block formation, and had at it - we played the chorus of the Tiger Rag ("Hold that tiger, hold that tiger, [key change] hold that tiger, hold that tiger") for all we were worth, seemingly endlessly. In what, though statistically overwhelmingly likely, we still considered to be a bit of good fortune, the real Clemson Band had played the Tiger Rag immediately before our show; with those strains still echoing around, the effect of our caricature was perfect.
After about 90 seconds of this musical monotony, two Pep Band character actors, who had been lurking on the sidelines, slowly and menacingly took the field. I was wearing a long dark trench coat and a black baseball cap. Mick Stone wore a double-breasted suit and a fedora, circa 1920, and carried a violin case. We both wore very dark sunglasses.
The crowd moved to the edge of its collective seat when we appeared, and you could hear the 40,000 people draw breath as we drew our weapons - Mick's AK-47 from his violin case, and my AK and 12-gauge pump shotgun from under my trench. We opened fire. The crowd went wild.
The pseudo-Clemson Band starting going down as the staccato sound of gufire rang out (produced by the "machine gun" button on an actual Revenger in the booth). The Tiger Rag grew fainter and fainter. Finally, only one trombone player was left standing. Obviously out of ammunition, Mick and I approached the lone survivor, took his horn, whacked him over the head with it, and stomped it to bits on the artificial turf. We took a bow.
Later, we were only more pleased with ourselves when it was reported (by one of our memebers who had gone to visit a friend over there) that the members of the Clemson Band were in a black funk. "They shouldn't be allowed to do that," bemoaned one sullen fellow. "It's not right." And we had an even grander laugh when we got a two-page letter from their faculty director. This missive described in great detail this director's opinion of our musicality, manners, and professionalism. It made the claim that it was the shoddy performance of the Pep Band, in contrast to the shining spirit of the Clemson Band, that had allowed the Clemson football team to come back to win the game after being down 28-0. It made other lofty claims and issued further flailing criticism. We elected not to pen a response.
