Love notes and ghosts in Stegeman

Tonight was a VERY strange night between the rickety walls and disconnected ceiling of Stegeman Coliseum. There was something in the air from the start.

First of all, I would like to point out that Spike indeed did not hug me, saving me from having to fulfill my threat of several days ago. The team waited so long to come onto the court that the sound booth "ran out of music" which means they weren't prepared to switch "playlists." So for the first time in a long time, the Redshirt Band played before the team came onto the court.

In the midst of this change in plans, for some reason the game management person (who's name rhymes with Fohn Fateman) could no longer hear your's truly. I could hear him and I could talk to everyone else but him. This phenomenon is known as an "impossibility" meaning someone somewhere was screwing something up. I had a new headset for the beginning of the game.

When the lights came up (they don't really come up, they open the shutters), two entire banks of lights were....

...extinguished, like a lost lover's scent, or a dream that has passed unrealized...

or like a light that has been turned off. We killed time as they solved the problem by turning the old lights "on."

About 2 minutes into the second half, a band member asked me for a pencil. Suspecting hijinx, but nothing that could potentially damage someone's person or emotional well-being, I obliged. I start hearing whispers about "checking yes or no" and "which one" they "should give it to." The next thing I know the entire band is laughing...

and a Dance Dawg is blushing. Mike, you would have messed your britches. So I had to ask what happened.

It seems that one of our "part-time members" whose name rhymes with Fobert Lundy was at the game on a night when he didn't have to be. He was in what we in the business like to call "street clothes" and was seated behind the band with a couple of friends. The most reliable report I received says that the recipient of the pencil wrote a note which contained the following query:

"Do you love me? Check Yes or No

From,

The guy behind the band"

He passed it to one of the really cute Dance Dawgs. She blushed, checked yes, then apparently sent it back to him, knowing that this was typical band silliness.

At this point, the band is laughing, making fun of the person whose name rhymes with Fobert. Fobert-rhymer is embarassed, proclaiming his hatred for all of the band members, and flashing a look of intended revenge in his eyes.

As I called up a tune for the 8-break, a few members suggested that we change the selection to the never-too-overdone "Hey Baby" in tribute to this love connection. Though we've never actually "rehearsed" this selection as a band, I chose to do it anway.

Editor's Note: At this point, the band had good cause to lead the "Thrice Your Score" cheer, as the Lady Dawgs were thrashing the Hatters of Stetson University. They were looking in directions other than courtward for entertainment, as was the crowd.

So we begin playing "Hey Baby." All of the audio and video engineers and game management personnel knew what was happening. But the big surprise was when the band began to sing. The new lyric was as follows:

"Hey, hey Ashley
Rob wants to know
If you'll be his girl"

Ashley was apparently the name of the Dance Dawg whom the Fobert-rhymer was purportedly attempting to court. Rob is short for the real name of the young man whose name rhymes with Fobert. For the record, Ashley was on the court dancing at the time, doing her damndest not to laugh her butt off in the exact place where Michelle-the-Georgette (my ex) tore her ACL in 1999. Fobert-rhymer was stricken with the worst look of horror and shame I have ever seen on a clothed person.

As the song ended and play resumed, the band wasn't finished. They continued to sing quite loudly for several minutes, earning the curiosity of much of the Stegeman Hall throng of onlookers. Fobert-rhymer's shame only worsened, and grew to a fever pitch at which point he finally couldn't contain his urge to approach Ashley and tell her he didn't do it. As he descended the metal stairs to clear his name, the band caught the action out of the corner of its collective eye and screamed as though Fobert-rhymer had just fouled out of a big game, "Gooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!"

Unfortunately, this was right in the middle of a Georgia player shooting free throws so I had to put an end to it. Buzzkill... always the buzzkill.

And for a nice additional touch, one of the custodians came up and asked me "when" he "could get one of those fancy red hats like the band." We had just finished a time out, so there was NO WAY someone would call a time out while I was gone. So I headed to the storage room to retrieve a hat for the nice man. Sure enough, I hear a whistle. Followed by another whistle, and Dave Johnston's voice: "Stetson calls a time-out. That'll be a full time-out."

"Sunuva....," I said as I threw the hat at the poor fella and ran back into the main area of the coliseum screaming over my headset, "I got it, I got it" to keep promotions from using canned music when they have a perfectly good band sitting right there. I looked like I had been in le pissoir taking care of business.

I'm sure the people who regularly write the Athens Banner-Herald about the poor sportsmanship of the band will soon be complaining of the band's lack of focus and the director's poor sanitary habits upon his exit from the restroom.