CU FOOTBALL, THE GOLDEN BUFFALO MARCHING BAND, AND THE MAGIC NUMBER

My son makes fun of me for trying to get into Folsom Field early on gamedays to see the CU Golden Buffalo Marching Band play in Balch Fieldhouse before Ralphie runs.  “Dad, do we need to leave yet for the stadium?” he mockingly asks me 2 hours before kickoff while we’re tailgating.

Yes, son.  Yes, we need to leave for Folsom now.   

I love the pomp and pageantry of college football.  I love everything that makes it different from NFL football or NBA basketball games.  I love Ralphie running in Boulder, I love the Hawkeye Wave in Iowa City, I love “Enter Sandman” in Blacksburg, I love Howard’s Rock in Death Valley.  

But most of all?  I love college marching bands.

There is nothing hokier than a college marching band — and I don’t care.  They bring energy and jazz hands and showmanship to every college sporting event that I attend.  Can you imagine how hard it must be to play the same 4 or 5 songs over and over and over for the entire year?  And these songs, whether they be Crazy Train or Carry on My Wayward Son or Rock and Roll Part 2 (the “Hey!” song), are all older than the band members’ parents.  They’re too old to be played on Kool 105!  Yet the band brings energy to the stadium (or the arena, as the case may be) every single time they show up.

And band members are forced to wear goofy outfits that haven’t been washed since the Reagan administration — yet they strut their stuff like runway models in Milan.  They’re forced to wear the silliest hats imaginable  —  shako hats  with poofy fur feathers, or for Colorado band members, cowboy hats that are much too small — yet band members wear them better than Indiana Jones wore a fedora.  

As you can tell, I’m a card-carrying member of #TeamBandGuy.  It’s an odd club to be a member of as someone that was never in a marching band, never played a brass instrument, and didn’t know a sousaphone is another name for tuba until researching this article.  Yet I love a good college band, and I’ve watched many over the years at both Folsom and Michigan Stadium.  I’ve seen Texas A&M’s Fightin’ Texas Aggie Band, the largest military marching band in the United States, criss-cross down the field.  I’ve seen the Stanford Band de-pants a trumpet player mid-performance while making fun of Boulder during a halftime performance.  I’ve seen the University of Wisconsin Marching Band perform at a game exactly 48 hours before the entire band was suspended due to allegations of alcohol abuse and other improprieties.  

And because of this level of bandom (band fandom, get it?), I’ve developed the world’s dumbest way to evaluate a college marching band — count the tubas. 

Count the Tubas

Counting tubas is an extremely scientific way to determine the size and ability of a collegiate marching band.   If the band has 16 or more tubas, it’s hitting above the Mendoza line.  If a band has fewer than 16 tubas in the marching band, it’s hitting below the Mendoza line.  Think of it this way:  > 16 tubas is a Power 4 conference band.  < 16 tubas is a Group of 5 conference band.  

Now that you know the rule of 16, I have some bad news — we are a bit of a crisis right now with the Golden Buffalo Marching Band.  Over the past 3 or 4 years, CU has been stuck at 13 or 14 tubas annually.  It’s quite Utah State-like, if I’m being honest.  We can and must do better.

Compare this to Michigan.  Michigan has 16 tubas that play in the “Michigan fanfare” pregame portion of each game at Michigan Stadium.  “Ahhh, we’re not so bad — we’re in the same tuba ballpark as Michigan!” you might think.  But then you look over and notice that half of the band is not on the field for the pregame performance and is instead sitting in the corner of Michigan Stadium, just waiting to perform in the halftime showcase.  Just sitting there, waiting, are another 8 or so tubas.  That makes 24 tubas, folks.  That’s a flex.

Now, based on some high-level reconnaissance, I can give the following bits of information:

* The Wyoming band has 15 tubas, which is a quasi-respectable showing for a school with only 11,000 students (giving them a tuba for every 733.33 students enrolled).  

* The Colorado State band has 14 tubas (giving them a tuba for every 2,357 students).  A middling effort from the Rams, but should we expect anything else from them at this point in time?

* The Nebraska Fightin’ Corndogs Marching Band has 18 members, which isn’t surprising considering the only alternative to playing a tuba in Nebraska is to be a docent at the Kearney Archway overpass above 1-80.  

I can hear you loud and clear — John, this is all life changing information, but which college band has the most tubas?  

Folks may guess Alabama (26), or Wisconsin (17), or Ohio State (24).

And folks would be wrong.

The answer is probably Georgia (with about 35 tubas) — or most HBCUs.  HBCU schools have killer tuba sections + killer names. Southern University has the Human Jukebox and 30+ tubas. Jackson State has the Sonic Boom of the South and 30+ tubas. Texas Southern has the Ocean of Soul and 30+ tubas. North Carolina A&T has the Blue and Gold Marching Machine and 30+ tubas. Listen, most HBCU bands are so much more fun than the Georgia band (the Georgia band plays an AWFUL fight song called “Glory Glory” that I think I’ve heard somewhere before), that Jackson State and Company are the tubas winners.  If you’ve never watched Jackson State’s tuba section, you’re missing out.

The next time that Colorado needs to face a I-AA (err, FCS) opponent, I think it’d make sense to schedule Jackson State and, as a prerequisite, require them to bring their band to play at halftime.  I can promise you that they’d bring more than 16 tubas, and everyone would get to Folsom early with me.