Among other things, these sessions come with the unforgettable scent of sweat spliced with a touch of body odor; the sizzling of rubber soles of worn-down marching shoes on 110-degree asphalt; the sometimes multi-thousand dollar investments in instruments; the sacrifice of any semblance of a social life; and miles upon miles of parades playing the same song over and over, all the while remaining in step whilst simultaneously doing your best to avoid massive piles of horse dung, all for the opportunity to play for a crowd who’s only watching you because the lines at the bathroom were too long, or maybe a free t-shirt and half an hour’s worth of course credit. All of these things beg the question: Why would anyone want to join the marching band?

I found myself asking that question as I huddled over my trumpet in the pouring rain one Saturday afternoon. The date was Sept. 29, 2012. The Horned Frogs were taking care of business against SMU in monsoon-like weather. To the dismay of myself and other band members, the drum majors and instructors insisted that we continue to play music despite the conditions. I began asking the “why” question after the first hour or so of rain, well after I took to tucking my mouthpiece in my pants between songs to keep it warm and useable.

But looking back on my freshman year of marching band, I have no regrets. If I had to do it all over again, I absolutely would. For all the challenges, there was an equal, if not greater, reward under the surface. I met one of my closest friends. I went to a multitude of football games I otherwise wouldn’t have seen, including the Buffalo Wild Wings Bowl in Tempe, Ariz. I was on the field for the opening game of the newly renovated Amon G. Carter Stadium, playing the national anthem as F-16 jets flew overhead. (This is still one of my fondest memories from TCU). And, on top of all of these happy memories, I can say with pride that I was a part of something remarkable.)

The marching band is a tight-knit community of interesting characters unlike any other group I’ve ever been a part of, and it’s a community that welcomes those characters. Never did I feel out of place or uncomfortable, even when surrounded by a dozen people with different views, interests or likes. In band none of that matters. The individuals put aside their differences and come together as a whole. That’s the entire premise of marching.

Every person is a single cog in the greater machine, and not one of those cogs is unimportant. It takes every member, every section working as one, to create a successful marching show. Every gear is essential in operating the machine. To be a part of something like that is a reward in and of itself. So sure, band members may not get the love they might desire or deserve, but I’m proud to have been a member of the TCU marching band, even if for only a short time.

Horned Frog Marching Band: the good, the bad and the group.