The Great Crash of '89

Welcome to another installment of Totally Awkward Tuesday! For a lot more funny and usually embarrassing stories such as this, head over to The Secret Life of Tova Darling.
Picture it: Marionville, Missouri (home of the white squirrels), 1989. High School football game. In a town where football is VERY important and the bleachers are always crowded with folks. Half time. Are you picturing it?

Now imagine, if you will, the band. The high school marching band. A really excellent, 3rd in the STATE field competition band. I was one of two drum majors. We had a fantastic half time show - we only did college level field routines. Yeah, that's how serious we were. (you see the sarcasm? You see how I can make fun now of the fact that we WERE SO FREAKIN SERIOUS? Funny now, sure. Funny then? NO.)

So, during this half time show, the band played a couple of songs (with the other drum major and I up on our big boxes directing everyone) and then we did a drum break where only the percussion section played and gave the rest of the band time to get in a different formation AND the flag people (you know the girls who wave those pretty pretty flags around in sync with one another?) to have their flags changed out. It so happens, that as drum major, it somehow became my job to run (and I mean RUN) out onto the field with my arms full of flags, stop in front of each flag carrier and switch out her flag until I had gone through the whole line. Then I had to RUN back to the front, get back up on my box (where is that thing now when I need to preach about something?) and begin directing the band in their next song. Got it?

On this particular night everything went as planned right up to the part where I RAN out onto the field. The wet, wet field. When I got to the very first flag carrier and attempted to stop, what actually happened was that I slid past her, hit the ground, continued to slide, rolled completely over and then jumped up. I never dropped ONE of the flags I had my arms full of either. I heard it. I heard the crowd's collective gasp as I hit the ground. I prayed for the ground to please, just please open up and swallow me now. It didn't. I stood up and continued to switch out flags and then ran back to my box where I was met with laughter and applause. LAUGHTER and applause. (bunch of douches).

And you would think that would be enough wouldn't you? That wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that Monday we got to 1st hour band and we began to review the video of the show (told you we were serious). I realized from the start of the tape that we would be, uh... reviewing my crash. I did NOT realize that the band director would rewind it 4 or 5 times - play it again, play it in slow motion, use his stupid stick pointer to tap the screen and relay his favorite parts, etc. He wasn't being mean, mind you. It sounds like he was, but you'd have just had to know him. I have to admit that I was laughing right along with everyone else upon seeing this AND I forgave the crowd at the game for their laughter too. You couldn't possibly see it and not laugh, but to this day, if I think about it much I can still feel my cheeks turning red with embarrassment.