Since July 28, 147 kids and their directors have devoted impossible amounts of time and energy to seven minutes of perfection. Half the time we were all sweating like pigs and squinting in the blazing sun, and the other half we were hunched against the cold, playing sixteenth notes with numb sausage fingers. And since there’s just that much time, the third half was spent proudly bearing our chins up into a deluge and then the fourth half drying out our pads, finish, flags, and feet. But somehow, almost every minute of that time was spent working toward greatness. We came together in August with next to nothing and more than a fourth of the band never having marched and here we are, more than a quarter of a year later, champions of the state of Texas. Really, the feeling is beyond words, except maybe that word that filled the Alamodome… something like… “AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” This Tuesday the Dripping Springs band was rewarded at long last for the hardest season it’s ever been through. Such a spectacular season, into which went so much energy and pain and enduring will, could not have a more suitable end.
We marched with our minds, played from the depths of our hearts, and held our souls out for the world. We set the Alamodome on fire. And no matter where we go in life, we will always remember the Alamo!