Maxville - Conclusion

I said the storm began to subside, but the weather never really cleared. The rest of the day alternated between light drizzle and steady rain. It's not like a little more precipitation mattered. At this point, it wouldn't have mattered if the skies had cleared and a huge hair dryer had descended from the heavens in a divine act of drying, everything and everyone was hopelessly, irreversibly saturated. Oddly, our so-called rain capes do very little to repel water. Someone really ought to write a letter to the manufacturer. In fact they seem to absorb and hold moisture. So what happens when you put a rain cape over a wool pipe band uniform is that you quickly become both soggy and sweaty. You move about in your own personal bubble of rainforest-like atmosphere. The only solace one has is the knowledge that one's fellow bandmates are equally as uncomfortable. It's essentially a team-building exercise.

The storm quieted and a contingent headed out to discover the plan for resuming the contest. Of course we went to the beer tent, which may seem like a self-serving decision on our part, but in fact the beer tent is where pipe bands go when the weather goes sour. OK, the beer tent is where pipe bands go regardless of the weather, but the point is that it made sense to be where our fellow competitors were.

The tent was a sea of black rain capes. In one corner, a band was passing a set of pipes, belting out fast-fingered tunes in an effort to fuel the ceilidh. Everyone jostled about trading cash for tokens, tokens for beer and beer for stories of the day's chaos. Not long after we arrived, the Chief Steward came by to announce plans to resume the competition. The PPBSO might be criticized for waiting so long on the day to halt the events, given the dangerous weather, but I give them credit for maintaining good humor in dealing with a difficult situation. As the Chief Steward, an old Scottish expat whose speech retained a hint of a brogue, addressed the beer tent, explaining the times and locations where the competitions would resume, one obnoxious bandsman (probably a drummer) shouted, "No massed bands!"

"Shut yure cake hole!" the steward fired back, without missing a beat. The crowd roared with approval.

The steward then took off to go spread the word about the competition. Ten minutes later, he was back. At this point, he was beer tent favorite and the group quickly fell silent to hear his next proclamation. He rolled up in a golf cart and, like Eisenhower addressing the troops, he stepped forward and questioned, "Are there any members from the Midlothian Scottish Pipe Band here? Anyone from Midlothian?" A hush prevailed. No band members came forth.

"Alright then," he said. "Keep drinkin!"

Again cheers erupted from the tent. This guy was our hero and the best entertainment a beer tent full of weary, waterlogged pipe bands could ask for.

By the time the band competed for the second time it must have been after 5 PM. Everyone was sodden and exhausted and it's fair to say that we didn't play our best. Band competion continued until well past the time we normally would have played the closing massed bands. The rain picked up again. There were rumors of a closing ceremony being held in the big beer tent, but no official word came through. Some of the band packed it in and headed back to the hotel. Others of us headed to the big tent to grab a couple pints and await the contest results. Large swaths of the beer tent were under water. To get anywhere in the tent, you had to negotiate greasy mud pits.

In the end, the best summary of Maxville that I heard was that it was a day of extremes. It was the earliest the band had ever competed at a Games and also the latest. Of course, the weather was certainly extreme as well. I don't think any of us regret being there though. It was a lot of fun and an epic competition. A typical Games day seems tame by comparison. Writing this now, it occurs to me that some of our band members probably tucked soggy rain capes into their pouches after Maxville and never took them out to dry when they got home. The next games we're at where it rains, you'll be able to spot the Schenectady Pipe Band. We'll be the guys wearing the fuzzy green rain capes. You'll smell us from across the massed bands field. At least the capes will match our kilts . . .

Running Season stats:

QMMs Played: 3
Cake Holes Shut: 1
Kilt Hose Casualties: Too gross to tally exact figures