Glitz, glamor. Fortune. Fame. 

Aside from the pleasantries of alliteration, stardom offers much where there should be little: emotional turmoil, money, power, a character arc for the ages, groupies, the adoration of a crowd of people you will never know by name. 

But no matter who you are, or where you come from — once you have a taste of the high life, you’ll never be the same.

So let me introduce you to the antithesis: pep band.

Just throw all that nice imagery right on out of your head. Yep. They don’t pay me to help you visualize, nevermind paying me at all.

Color your world in blue and gold, and then kind of just run it through a paper shredder. Get a bunch of cool shirts and then leave them in a basement for like, fifteen years. That’s not only the pep band spirit — that’s also the pep band way.

Never advertised on the Campus Times and rarely acknowledged by anyone beyond drunk frat boys and those old guys who lament how much better the band used to be, this is a shameless plea by University of Rochester’s very own Pep Band for new members. For all of you nerds out there, I would daresay that Gondor calls for aid.

Let me paint a prettier picture first. Let me tell you, in broad strokes, about antics, and comedy, and a bunch of strange, stripey clowns in weirdly-sized shirts. There’s pizza sometimes, movie nights, and an exclusive fashion show kept under tight pants — wraps — but, there’s also something that campus is quite frankly coming to lack. That’s right: school spirit.

Among other things. Like affordable food. And housing. And good internet. And those Starbucks sandwiches that I really like, but everybody else just gets there before me, so they’re always gone by the time I get out of work. 

Anyways — school spirit.

We’ve never had it, and probably never really will, but that’s the one, true job of a pep band. To inspire the inspiration-less. To bring joy to a bunch of random people and their parents who showed up for a basketball game, and that kid that spills his Gatorade down your shirt.

In any case, this is a tried and true pledge to the little joys of pep band. The good times, the bad times, and all the rough-and-tough times between — they’re here. They care a little bit, maybe, and they play. 

They play for you. Specifically you. 

There’s no need for experience, or anything other than a willingness to sit down for a few hours and scream. Because, hey, that’s the spirit alright — screaming, with wild abandon, for a sport you know next to nothing about.

Still, the heartfelt plea remains.

If greatness, achievement, or Ohio State’s Best Damn Band In The Land tickles your fancy, ditch those high hopes for rugby and a worn-out kazoo. The pep band takes one, and the pep band takes all — as the GIM bills, no experience required! Literally. None.

Consider them a beacon of hope in the dark, if your interpretation of ‘beacon of hope’ amounts to some people making funny noises at each other in the Hale room for two hours. 

Swing by for some swing, a half-hearted attempt at whatever our school song is supposed to be, or more importantly, the pep band specialty: Stacy’s Mom, if she still had it going on after a double hip replacement, two lawsuits, and six decades of cigarettes. 

Or, hey, come for a good laugh. Come to butcher every note. 

They’re here for a good time, not a long one — and sometimes, there’s even coconuts.

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