The National Game March, or how I learned to throw all self-dignity away and make an ass out of myself

I've gotten a few unexpected facebook messages the past few days, from unexpected sources. Apparently, the fine folks down in the Luther College Concert Band have been playing a certain John Philip Sousa march by the name of "The National Game." And apparently, I seem to be inextricably and forever more attached to that march.

I suppose the story is well known by the, oh, 3 people who loyally read this blog. Through some strange turn of events (namely me blabbing off a bunch of shit that I had no expectation would ever be taken seriously), I ended up ditching my trombone for a baseball bat and running around the CFL while masquerading as a ballplayer who just hit a game-winning home run. I really wish there was video evidence that it actually happened, because I think I did my best Kirby Puckett/Game 6 impression, and most people who I tell this story to don't believe that I did it. Let their heads remain buried in the sand.

I maintain that the most hilarious part was when I had to explain to the Luther baseball coach why I needed to borrow the uniform...

But anyways folks, let me tell you from experience, if you're ever looking for a great way to spend your evening, try wearing 3 or 4 layers of polyester and then sitting down under a blazing spotlight for an hour. It is absolutely fantastic - easiest way in the world to look classy while simultaneously shedding 30 pounds.

I don't mean to wallow in self-glory, if that is even applicable to this ridiculous event. It was just nice to know people remembered it, and it brought back a lot of good memories. Truth be told, given the relatively low profile I tend to keep, and kept at Luther, I remain very surprised when people continue to mention it. But it's always pleasant to be remembered, even if its for a dumbass stunt that pretty much sapped an otherwise respectable concert of any musical integrity whatsoever.

Everyone has memories of college, of the "good old days." I suppose I'm becoming of that age where they do start to become "old days." But there's a perfectly good reason why such memories stick around, and why friends remain. Sure, we can't go back to how things were, but it's so nice to laugh and remember, and then go out and make something new.




P.S. - Benjamin, I still can't get over how good we look in that low brass photo... hard bodies