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“I wonder how long they practiced to get that structured,” she asked.
“Well, let’s just say that they take their school initials seriously.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ohio College at Defiance. OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder?”
She laughed and lightly slapped his arm. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. Then, as if having second thoughts, he released his grip and stuffed his hands in his pockets. She savored the all-too-brief moment.
The OCD band finished their portion of the halftime show, took another precise bow, and exited the field with the same panache as they entered.
“And now ladies and gentlemen, we present the University of Northern Ohio Marching Band!” The announcer’s deep, professional voice rung out.
A few, long awkward seconds passed. No band.
The voice gave it another try. “Ladies and gentlemen. We’re proud to present the University of Northern Ohio Marching Band!”
Still no band appeared, but the clash of symbols, the beating of drums, and a few off-tone unrecognizable instruments echoed through the stadium. Finally, the band stumbled out. Their purple and lime green uniforms were topped by hats with plumes of the same colors wobbling precariously from side to side.
JJ watched nearly stupefied as the band tried to march. She nudged Kenn. “They’re having a tough time playing the entire song together, like a band usually does.”
“That wouldn’t be so bad,” Kenn said, grinning, “if those who actually played got the notes right.”
No sooner had he spoken, than the woodwinds went musically rogue, each instrument apparently playing their own melody, horribly off key. JJ cringed at the discordant notes. Finally, the brass section drowned them out. Just when all the instruments appeared to be playing together, the cymbalist tripped and his instrument clanged unexpectedly, startling the other members and the crowd.
The announcer introduced the group’s finale as if it were some magic trick. “And for your musical enjoyment and delight, the band will perform a popular song while creating Script Ohio.”
She moaned and rested her forehead on Kenn’s arm. “I see disaster in their future and I’m not even psychic.”
The band began to form the capital “O.” Okay, so it looked more like a “U.” Then they tackled the “H.” But the true chaos erupted when the band, in an attempt to create the “I,” crisscrossed each other. The hat of the trombonist slipped off his head and covered his eyes. He apparently got disoriented and turned in the opposite direction he should have, and slammed into a fellow trombonist. The slides of their instruments struck each other, got hopelessly entangled, and took them both down.
Sprawled out on the field, there was no way that poor bass drummer could avoid them. He tumbled over them landing smack dab on top of the pair. One of the trombonists was caught under the drum, only his legs visible. In the process of trying to extricate himself, his trombone tore the skin of the drum.
The drummer furiously freed himself from the ugly wreckage, attacked the offending trombonist, and wrapped his hands around his neck. It took two trumpet players, three clarinetists, and a flutist to separate the pair.
When they were finally at a safe distance from each other the crowd cheered.
“Are they cheering because the fight got broken up or for the original disaster?” JJ asked.
“Hard to tell. Definitely hard to tell.”
Hearing the approval of the crowd, the participants of the fight along with those who intervened took a bow.
“What is Blake doing?” she asked. She pointed at him as he waddled out on the sidelines and began to lead the spectators in cheers.
“Apparently an attempt to salvage the moment?” Kenn quirked an eyebrow.
The cheerleaders joined in to prepare the fans for the second half as the band left the field.
“We’re definitely not OCD.” Kenn spoke into her ear.
****
“I can’t believe the Fighting Fingers are so close to winning,” JJ said as she and Kenn again jumped to their feet after the team completed an incredibly long pass.
It was late in the fourth quarter and the score was fourteen to seven—with UNO ahead.
“Don’t get too excited,” Kenn cautioned, “the game isn’t over yet.” He tapped her arm. “Did you see that kid who just ran down the field?"
