Humor by John Christmann
The New All-Americans
The bus broke down completely on the way to the state finals competition. Later, after the talented high school jazz band had taken first place and captured several performance awards, the bus driver would naively credit their achievement to the ample equipment they had loaded and unloaded several times during the day.
In addition to being an astute music critic, the bus driver was also a comedian. “A flat,” he joked when asked what was wrong with the vehicle even though the tires were fine. The drummer thumped a seatback emphatically: Ba Rump Bump.
As cars and enormous semis shuttered by, the school bandleader decided rightly that the kids would be safer off the bus and to the side of the busy roadway. So they unloaded equipment for 20 musicians and sat with their saxophones and trumpets and trombones on the grass safe from harms way.
Inside a quickly moving car a young girl caught a glimpse of a high school band sitting on instrument cases tuning up by the side of the road. By the time her father looked out to see, there was nothing but vacant expanses of grassland supporting a distant swath of high-tension wires.
In another part of the state, further up the Turnpike, close to the band’s point of departure, a high school lacrosse team was preparing to battle its archrival in a tough, highly anticipated matchup. The team had won the state title for the past two years and had not lost a game in as much time. The team was disciplined, skilled, and motivated to win; traits burned into their psyche by endless practice, a demanding coach, and their own sense of pride and unity.
The competition was equally skilled and equally prepared.
“Shock and awe,” counseled the captain to his teammates before the match, even though the phrase was coined before he was born. But in their high level of play, quick imposing maneuvers designed to deflate opponents were just as important as clean execution, aggressive play, and consistent ball handling.
The band kicked in on the downbeat a few miles past exit 7. Save for a few curious hawks circling high overhead, no one heard them. The bus driver, who was also apparently a credentialed Buddhist monk, wondered out loud: If a band plays on the side of the Turnpike and no one is around to hear, did they really play?
Ba Rump Bump went the drummer. “We’ll be here all week . . . ” he added sarcastically looking at the stalled bus.
A few horns honked flat during the musical warm-up. But they were the sorts absently blatted by fast-passing motorists attempting to acknowledge the roadside band. The experienced bandleader told his students that practicing in a noisy environment would force them to listen to each other, something they needed to do when playing together.
They had heard this many times before.
“Listen to each other,” advised the coach as the lacrosse team took the field. They all understood that their individual efforts, as fluid and improvised as they were, needed coordination to be effective. And in 90 minutes, about the time the band secured a new bus, the teenage lacrosse players had decidedly preserved their unblemished record and were starting to think about the upcoming state Tournament of Champions.
As the victors celebrated, the jazz band hurriedly loaded their equipment back on the vehicle hoping they might still have a chance to compete.
They did. On stage, the bandleader took a deep breath and caught the eager eyes and ears of his young musicians. Their focus intensified. Rockin’ In Rhythm he verified. And snapping his fingers, he coolly counted off the number. The kids filled the room with shock and awe.
Thousands of miles away another highly trained cadre of young individuals ran through their well-rehearsed scenario one more time. They operated on another plane still, a plane where successful execution went far beyond winning a state championship; where the consequence of coming in second place went well beyond disappointment.
“Listen to each other,” mouthed the team leader as they boarded a noisy helicopter. No one could hear him; the rotors were too loud. But they knew what was said. They had been through this many times before.
No proud parents would see this team’s performance. But everyone would know the outcome.
Sometimes I worry about the world our kids are inheriting. I worry that they are not prepared for the threats ahead. I worry that they may not be able to adapt and improvise in the face of overwhelming competition.
But maybe I need to rethink this. For after a weekend observing tenacious young people performing at impressively high levels, I think we are in pretty good hands.
And maybe, just maybe, we had something to do with it.
© 2011 Dadinthebox.com