Since the apocalypse had come, these bands decided to get
together
and wipe it off.
Hi, I'm
Evan Macbeth, your host on this
little journey into hell. So just sit back, relax, and let me, and my
co-conspiriators in the Pep Band and Stanford Band help you commit moral sins.
Just follow
the examples set by these two Bands when the met in Missoula Montana for
the Womens' NCAA's Sweet 16 (1997).
"We hooked up through E-mail," said Matt Merrill, a self-proclaimed "flagboy" for the Stanford Band. "The miracle of modern communications." added Evan Macbeth, a drummer with the Virginia Band.
-The Missoulian, March 22, 1997. Misquoting the hell out of me, but getting the story about right.
The bus had a bar. The bus had a FUCKING BAR. And Pete and I were without hooze! We had violated our most sacred oath to the GLC. But, as we were soon to find out, that was the gateway to a high level of existence as a scrambler. So we were on this bus, going to Richmond, and it had a bar. Enough about the stupid bus, but we had to mention the bar.
So it's Wednesday, March 19, and we're on this plane
heading to Missoula, Montana. Who the hell put the NCAA Women's
Basketball Tournament in Missoula, Montana?!?!!? It's in
MONTANA, for pity's sake! Did they REALLY want the Pep Band to
go to a state with civilian militias, no speed limits,
unrestricted firearms, and liquor stores open till 2 a.m.?
Perhaps that was why SeanMike wasn't on this trip! The plane
trip definitely had it's moments, even if it didn't have a
drink (d-word, go hooze Pete. Okay, Evan) cart. Evan, for one,
wore his vest on board. It must've been the excessive amounts
of crack. A few of us tossed around the idea of flasking the
plane, but we figured we'd save our trouble points for later
on. Somewhere over Chicago, a couple of traveling fans,
boosters, athletic supporters (insert joke here), or whatever
they were, demonstrated the fact that the plane had an open PA
system (read: MICROPHONE!!!) that they used to hawk playing
cards. We put two and two together, got five, and started
writing a proper show. (credit is due to Chuck "Grain Fireball
Dumbass" H. for the inspiration for the show and to Evan
for having the cojones to get this pushed through) Evan played
stenographer and recorded our brainstorming-
which even included Pete making a joke that was actually FUNNY
and worthy of being in a show! (unheard-of...) We gave our
director numerous ulcers in the course of writing, plugging,
clearing with Coach Debbie Ryan (I did that! Shut up, Evan!),
and producing said show, but all must agree that it was worth
it. There were no wild shrieks of laughter, but everyone was
amused by jokes such as, "The least favorite in-flight movie of
all time: _Alive_" and, "While in Montana, please remember a
few things: 1) Do not enter buildings with signs that read
'United People's Front Against
Missoula truly didn't know what hit it, or what hit ON
it for that matter. (although we must admit, we were
beer-goggling at the time) First of all, the nearest liquor
store was ACROSS THE STREET from our hotel, the Holiday Inn
Express. Literally within a half an hour of arriving at the
hotel, Derek Hart, Evan, Chuck, and Pete had discovered that
the liquor store was open until 2 a.m. (Pete's response while
on the phone with the liquor store, much to the laughter of the
clerk: "I LOVE this state!"), taken hooze orders, gotten money,
and marched down to the store like men on a mission. And we
cleaned that store out! The four of us, OBVIOUSLY buying for
people who were underage (the ten bottles of Boone's were a
hint), bought over $150 in hooze--and none of us got carded!
Not even Pete, who is 21 but looks 17 on a good day! (Peter,
would you stop going on about your looks! Fuck, no!) We partied
good and hearty that night, as well as 20-25 exhausted
Virginians, armed with limitless hooze and a deck of cards,
could party in the meeting room of a hotel in
Mi(ddle-of-west-bumblefuck)ssoula, Montana.
The next day, after Pete, Evan (that's us!) and our
director, Chris "Doogie" Rasmussen, discovered public Internet
(E-MAIL!) access at the local public library -- telnet was
removed from the computers the next day (no shit) -- the bus
driver (who was cool beyond human capacity [COUGH...unlike
Gary...HACK]) took us to an enormous shopping mall in downtown
Missoula. This essentially amounted to killing time and blowing
per-diem -- always positive activities, but hardly
raise-your-blood-pressure exciting. We organized an early
return from the mall, leaving four of our members and the
cheerleading coach behind (Oh, Gawd, what a terrible loss!), in
order to prepare for the imminent arrival of... the Leland
Stanford Junior (pause) University Marching Band. By 11 p.m.,
Evan had called Stanford's hotel (the Village Red Lion, only 2
blocks away) numerous times in anticipation of their arrival,
but to no avail. We had nearly given up on Stanford (Pete had
resigned himself to a weekend of dreary drunkeness, while Evan
never gave up hope--he's just good like that) when Chuck
H. tried again --and got them. Score!!! A saucer section
of 10 or 11 weary Stanford Banders was immediately dispatched
to our hotel, and a vested and squeeze-bottled gang of Pep
Banders (Tina, Aron, Evan, Pete, Chuck, and Derek) met them
halfway in the parking lot of Buttrey's (the local attempt [and
I stress ATTEMPT] at a supermarket). After a spirited round of
introductions led by Evan, who was wired on a lot of coffee,
and after a quick hooze run to the infamous "Liquor Store
Across The Street," Stanford and U.Va. partied together for the
first time in six years.
We discovered we had similar drinking games, drinking
habits, drinking tastes... and did we mention drinking? (We
really do have a one track mind, Evan. Go-fucking-hooze,
Peter!) We realized we were all long lost brothers. We got
pretty loaded with them thar Stanfordies! Do we remember any of
that first night? Well, lessee who was there from Stanford?
There was Mike Carter (Old Man), Kate (very cute boner),
Ietszche (Kate's TAKEN!? sheeyit...), Evan ("The Stanford
Evan") Nordby, Andy, Wendy, Kramer, Ben, Ethan (drummer, old
guy), and Jacob. We're sure there were others, but they escape
the memory a drunken two weeks away. It was a good night. We
made plans to rally, not realizing what that rally would mean
ultimately, and how bitchin' that would be.
The next day came (And we wiped it off. Evan, that joke
is LAME!), and some of us went hiking in the Rockies. We were
all up for some intense hiking, but none of us expected a trail
that was two feet of snow! We even had a really cool
cheerleader (I know, it sounds like an oxymoron) with us --
Christine. She and Neil disappeared together for half an hour.
What happened? Perhaps we're better off not knowing... But
enough about the damn mountains. We rallied with Stanford that
evening!
We had made tentative plans to get together at about
five p.m. that evening in the Buttrey's parking lot. (How can a
state tolerate a FOOD store with the word "Butt" in it's
name!?) Evan, Pete, Tina, Aron, Christie, Rob, Chuck, and Neil,
met up with the ENTIRE Stanford band, in full rally clothes
(retro-costumes). Ladies and Gentlemen, us Pep Banders learned
how to RALLY that day. (Ahem, LET'S DO THIS NEXT YEAR!, cough,
cough, hack...excuse our terrible cold) The resident members of
the Virginia Pep Band hadn't truly scrambled in a long time,
but we truly rediscovered its orgasmic potential (Pete, you
really need to get laid! Hey, no argument here!) that day. It
was scrambling at its finest -- through the streets,
government, bars, and TV station of Missoula. Evan and I shit
you not when we say that the LSJUMB and the Pep Band took
downtown Missoula like a case of herpes! The cops came and
accused us of disturbing the peace, without a permit. Evan had
the distinct pleasure of standing up for the Pep Band in the
face of the Law. So, since we were disturbing the peace
outside, we all decided (at the urging of the customers) to go
INSIDE the nearest bar, the Missoula Club. We all played, sang,
and drank free beer (4 pitchers worth!) on command from the
patrons of that drinking establishment. It truly kicked more
than its fair share of ass. We then repaired to our hotels to
recuperate for partying that night. However, we were unable to
party at our hotel, since the management had noticed a distinct
alcohol smell to the conference room we had used the night
before. We couldn't party at the Red Lion either, so Stanford
told us, but when pressed, we did anyway.
When we met for dinner at the local Pizza Hut, the
Stanford Band was interested in trading stories. We told them
about the Revolution of '93, and both groups realized that the
things Stanford takes for granted we are still fighting for,
tooth and nail. In response, Stanford told us about doing shows
with formations meant to read "HI FOLKS," and reading "HI
FUCKS" instead! As a whole, the Pep Band gained serious respect
for the Stanford Band's musical achievements, arrangements,
sound, spirit, and style, while on the other hand Stanford
seemed to have serious respect for the constant conflict our
beloved band faces and the incessant shit we put up with from
our athletic department. Much to their amazement, we are still,
and ALWAYS WILL BE, a scramble band.
The party that night was truly a test of the memories
of the Pep Banders there present. The Stanford band effectively
challenged the Pep Band to a drinking song contest,
"consummating" the Stanford and U.Va. relationship. Thanks to
the fact that at least 3/4 of the Pep Banders on the trip
showed up at the Red Lion that night, we were able to out-sing
Stanford by at least two full songs, make them cringe painfully
at "The End of the Month" and at some new verses to "The S&M
Man" (which they taught us back in '91), AND add a couple of
spontaneous verses to their songs (namely "On the Farm").
Stanford also took the time to write down some new verses on
paper targeting us, mostly referencing word-of-mouth,
reputation, and... um... behavior of the Pep Banders from that
evening. In general, every Pep Bander that showed up had the
good fortune to get to know most (if not all) of the Stanford
Band contingent -- some better than others... (awwww yeah)
Before we go on, we should mention an underlying theme
of this trip, that of Stupid Chuck Tricks. Mr. H. has
always been an outrageous, brash, careless son-of-a-bitch
(meant in the nicest way possible!), but on this trip he was in
RARE form. First of all, Chuck discovered that Montana, unlike
Virginia, sold grain alcohol. As a result, he bought a fifth
the first night there and finished the entire fifth in 4 days!
It may not sound like much, but this is GRAIN we're talking
about, here! On Friday evening, he and Nathan Flesher, one of
his roommates for the trip, decided it would be fun to do grain
fireballs in their hotel room. So Chuck takes a sip of grain,
sprays it over a lighter, and not only manages to set his hand
on fire, he also sets the carpet of his hotel room on fire!
Thankfully their other roommate, Neil Lineberry, wears rather
large shoes and was able to stamp out the fire instantly. They
also managed to set Chucks new shot glass on fire--and when
Chuck put that shot glass under the faucet to cool it off, the
damn thing exploded! Chuck set new standards for drinking, made
standard the phrase "Gee officer, it seemed a good idea at the
time!", and definitely gets the "Dumbass" award for this trip!
The next day troupes from Stanford and Virginia just
wandered around downtown Missoula together. We did the tourist
thing, you know, pawn shops, playing Spades on the sidewalk,
the usual. The highlight of the day was when a renegade group
of Stanfordies and Pep Banders duct-taped Pep Band Director
Doogie Rasmussen to a piece of Modern Art (Four red X's, no
we're not kidding) near the train station. Little did we
know...or care...that Mr. Rasmussen was claustrophobic. [grin]
That night was the Game. Both Bands musically
played their souls out, because essentially we weren't playing
for the fans, we were playing for each other. We all sounded
awesome, even if the outcome of the game Sooked a Big Fatty, a
91-69 blowout in favor of Stanford. We were supposed to leave
on a 2 a.m. flight for C'ville that night, but the NCAA took
mercy on us, and our flight back wasn't until 11 a.m. the next
morning. As a result, Stanford was happily suprised to discover
we would be available to party that night. After greeting the
team with a standing ovation upon their return to the hotel
(it's easy to forget that they were the one's that got us to
Montana in the first place), a gang of dedicated Pep Banders
headed over to the Red Lion for one last night with Stanford.
Little did we know what some of the Stanford OLD PEOPLE had in
mind.
Upon our arrival at the Red Lion, the mob of Stanford
Banders and Virginia Pep Banders wandered outside in a
semi-loaded state and headed towards the hotel in which the
Georgia band was staying. After waiting (and heavily hoozing)
in the parking lot of said hotel for a while, four Georgians
came out to meet and party with us. (all of them remembered the
"Like Sherman through Georgia" joke, and they all thought it
was hilarious!) Mike Carter, of Stanford Pope-uniform,
accordion, and old fart fame (Stanford actually thought that
old farts were a strictly Stanford phenomenon!), placed a call
to the Vanderbilt University band's hotel several miles away,
and they sent a van-load of partiers over to the Red Lion -- so
that by about 1 a.m., there were four (count 'em, FOUR) bands
partying at one hotel. Hell, yeah!!! It was an awesome party!
Even Pete had an attractive, young female (a "Naugh'y Bit O'
Crumpet") pounce on him! (For the record, her name was
Jennifer, from Vandy)
None of us wanted to leave the Red Lion that night, and
in fact for a while, they weren't LETTING us leave! According
to Chuck, he was about to drag "the puddle that was Rob Koehl"
(Chuck's words, not ours) back to our hotel, when Mike Carter
and several other Stanfordies stepped in front of him. Chuck
drunkenly explained that he was taking Rob home so he wouldn't
be castrated by Christie, Rob's girlfriend, but that made no
difference--Mike and his cohorts stepped in front of the door
and informed Chuck that he wasn't leaving! Finally around 5
a.m., with 6 hours until our departure time, the last Pep
Banders (namely Pete and Evan) bade their farewells to the
Stanford Band. We who were on this trip will never forget the
times the Stanford band and the Pep Band had together. Their
influence on us, as well as our influence on them, has yet to
be fully recognized. We gave our regretful farewells, but they
were definitely not final good-byes. Fate, cyberspace, and
Debbie Ryan shall ensure that our bands will meet again! And
when they do, God help the poor, unfortunate town that has to
clean up after us! Wahoowa!
To the Pep Band
homepage.
To the Stanford
Band homepage.
To Evan's
homepage.
