1990 ended with Virginia football having seen its most tumultous - and far away its highest profile - season ever. The immense attention accorded the football program that year, from the University and from the nation, should have served as a warning signal to the Pep Band; as the organization that for many years was the only reason people came to Virginia games (aside from the drinking), we should have been attuned to the fantastic change in climate and the terrible problems that could potentially result from having a powerhouse football program. But, that year, when the team won their first seven games (by an average margin of 38 points), when they beat Clemson for the 1st and only time in 35 years, when they were ranked consensus #1 in the entire nation... well we were as stoked and out of control as any random townie in the stands or any orange pant-wearing alum. After all, we were supposed to be the teams biggest supporters. And when the team lost 3 out of their last 4 games... by then we had completely lost our normal sense of perspective along with everyone else, and boy were we pissed off (along with everyone else). But we had a nice consolation: a bid to the 1991 USF&G Sugar Bowl in New Orleans on New Years Day. We knew we were in the big leagues - but we had yet to find out what that really entailed.
The Pep Band rolled south. Along the way, we did several interesting things, such as discovering a highway sign that actually read, we swear to God, "Route 69 South to Moundville". Somewhere in rural Tennessee we blew up one of our buses with alcohol and vomit and had to have a replacement sent down from Charlottesville. We had a good roadtrip.
In New Orleans, we stayed at the Riverside Hilton. We ate extremely well, and drank better. We spent several nights carousing on Bourbon Street; in particular we populated Fritzel's Cavalier Tavern (which, we would discover when we returned for the Women's Final Four that spring, was a gay bar the rest of the year). We drank Cavalier cocktails there. The house combo played a jazz version of Auld Lange Syne, which of course provides the melody for our revered Good Ole Song. We sang Rugby Road and The Limerick Song out in the street, hundreds strong. At midnight on New Years Eve, thousands of Wahoos packed Bourbon Street around Fritzel's. People hung from the balconies. The crowd, so thick with your friends that you couldn't move, ebbed and flowed like the Sea. Champaign bottles passed by overhead, and they were always tipped so you could drink some as they went by. After the countdown they piped Auld Lang Syne outside and each of the thousands of us sang The Good Ole Song for all we were worth. It was absolutely unbelievably great.
It got even better. The next day at the football game, our team outscored the University of Tennessee team 16-0 in the first half. Their team even missed a short field goal at the end of the half - they couldn't get on the scoreboard. This was totally unexpected, particularly to the 60,000 or so unshaven, quick-tempered, rurally-inclined Tennessee Volunteer fans in attendence. They were not pleased at all. But we were too pleased ourselves to notice this. Also, we were about to perform our half-time show. And little could we guess, that show contained what was to become the most completely notorious Pep Band skit in history. It contained "The Death of Elvis."
While the Pep Band performed on the field of the SuperDome, our Elvis impersonator lurked in the wings. He wore a white sequined suit and big dark glasses; he had lots of hair and more sideburns. He was pretty loaded, too. He was ready for action.
After the band formed a square packet of NutraSweet on the field (bad Sugar Bowl joke), Elvis appeared, wandering hesitantly onto the field. The Announcer intoned: "Oh my goodness, ladies and gentlemen, none other than Elvis Presley has been spotted on the field! Elvis Presley, ladies and gentlemen!" The crowd went wild. The 60,000 Teneseeans went to their feet to cheer for the return of their own Prodigal Son. Elvis blew kisses and waved and sauntered to the very center of the Pep Band formation. There was a pregnant pause.
After which, 110 Pep Band members turned on Elvis and fleshpiled him. When they finally dispersed, Elvis was a crumpled twisted King of Rock 'n' Roll heap on the 50 yard line. The Pep Band bass player whacked him a couple of times with his bass, for good measure. The Teneseeans abruptly stopped cheering. And the announcer concluded, "Well, the mystery is solved, ladies and gentlemen. Elvis is finally dead." The Virginians in attendence went wild this time.
Elvis lay unmoving on the 50 for the remainder of the show. He lay there when the Pep Band scrambled off. The Announcer came back on: "Ladies and gentlemen, it seems that Elvis' dead body has been left on the field. The SuperDome maintenance crew would like to solicit some help in removing him: do we have any... Volunteers ?" At which point, two of our guys, barefoot and wearing coon-skin caps and overalls, dashed haphazardly out and carried Elvis away.
Tennessee fans (who were also presumably Elvis fans) wrote to us to complain. They also wrote our Athletic Department. And our student and local newspapers. And our administration. "We got a very angry letter from the Elvis Presley Fan Club" testified AD official Kim Record in the press that followed.
Lots of press followed. USA Today picked up the story, as did the Atlanta Journal-Consitution, and other papers around the country. The controversy thickened a little, and the AD did what they always do - they sold us up the river. "If we were making the decision today, we would not be inviting them back to our football games," Record was quoted as saying, evidencing that common AD confusion that the football games are theirs, in USA Today. (She later claimed she was misquoted, but her mendacity is now legendary.) But conspicuously absent from their comments, as always, was the fairly important point that the show material had been approved weeks in advance by a Review Board consisting of students, faculty, staff, Charlottesville residents, and... the Athletic Department. We in the Pep Band were looking for that elusive "We approved the Elvis skit, and we stand by our student band" quote, but we looked in vain.
The government got involved, as they like to do. Virginia State Delegate, and former UVa football player, Robert Tata (D, Virginia Beach), claiming embarrassment at the Elvis skit, introduced legislation in the state General Assembly that would haved banned the Pep Band. The bill never got to a vote, due to lack of sponsorship. But it was interesting for us to be on the record.
The Athletic Department declared they were eliminating Pep Band shows from 3 of 7 home games in the fall. They ended up giving 2 back.
On the other hand, one Tennessee journalist speculated that Tennessee fans might not have become nearly so upset had their team not been losing 16-0. (Tennessee went on to win 23-22.)
