Halftime

"Nobody ever paid to hear this song," were the words my high school band director used to describe our National Anthem. An artistic, self-absorbed, autocratic leader of kids half his age, he was spouting an opinion that was reflecting his own issues about the division between high school athletics and arts programs. We were listening to the overflow of emotions stoked by years of being allowed to use facilities like the football field for limited periods of time while preparing our halftime extravaganzas.
We all knew that, in addition to those folks who were checking their watches as they awaited kickoff, the audience in the stands were not there for a high school band marching band show. Friday nights under those lights were all about football, and though we played to the empty seats vacated by those wishing to grab a hot dog or a cup of cocoa, we still gave it our all. The dozen or so "fans" left in the stands were the friends and family of the band kids, and the ones too drunk or lazy to move.
The joke was on them for a couple of reasons: First of all, the proceeds from the concession stands went to the band parents' organization. They were the ones moving all those treats and hustling behind the scenes. Secondly, those of us performing in uniform during our fifteen minutes of relative glory were dong so more as a rehearsal for marching band competitions that would be held over the course of the fall, and we used those occasions under those lights to perfect our show.
While I was in high school, it was our marching band that brought back more than their share of trophies compared to our somewhat lame football team. Not that this translated into more seats filled with enthusiastic fans. The applause we received was primarily that which acknowledged the end of our show in anticipation of the return to football.
I recognize that roar at the end of the National Anthem. It's the release of all that pent-up anticipation of the game that awaits. Sure, we dress it up with flags that cover the field, or a flyover by the Air National Guard, but that cheer isn't just for Whitney Houston. It is the war cry of the crowd waiting for the lid to come off this week's can of gladiatorial combat. I would like to believe that all that hype was about patriotism, and there is probably a little bit of that. Mostly, it's about getting the Star Spangled Banner out of the way so the game can begin.
Nobody ever paid to hear that song.