Transcendence: Marines, Sousa Marches, Golf In A Gale, And South Oxhey

OldSouth just returned home from an extraordinary evening, spent in a basketball arena with the United States Marine Band and a large enthusiastic audience. It had been a long day. It was a long drive to the venue. He almost decided against going, and is so grateful he did.

The music-making was extraordinary, on so many levels. As a kid of nineteen, OS sat in a balcony at the Salzburg Festival, and watched Herbert von Karajan conduct Mozart's Marriage of Figaro, with the Vienna Phil in the pit. For them, it was another day at the office. For OS, it was a revelation to hear that music played in its true tradition and context. It was an 'A-ha' moment. 'Oh, that's how it's supposed to sound.'

Tonight was one of those experiences, which (as they always do) came as a surprise. To hear the Sousa marches performed by the organization he so indelibly shaped was revelatory. The music marched and danced at the same time, and the transparency of the scores in their detail became apparent. 'Semper Fidelis' performed with the complement of six cornets and two trumpets seemed almost lighter than air. 'Stars and Stripes' with four flawless piccolos on that countermelody (in tune!) seemed to take wings.

The band presented serious concert literature as well. Paul Hindemith's Symphonic Metamorphoses was heavy going at first, but the audience hung in, and were won over. The Persichetti Psalm for Band, potentially as challenging to a lay audience, held their rapt attention.

The patriotic numbers were more poignant and heartfelt than OS was expecting, as the audience sang along on the opening stanza of 'My Country, 'Tis Of Thee', singing and applauding simultaneously as they arrived at the closing line--'let freedom ring', likewise as they sang Irving Berlin's 'God Bless America'. It was an audience full of vets, of soldiers' families, children and friends. These people have true 'skin in the game', in ways your average Ivy League liberal can never understand. No cynicism here, no intellectual's distance to be found between these people and the words they sang.

After the concert, the one band member from Tennessee was surrounded by a small mob of retired Marines, shaking his hand, having their pictures taken with the kid, slathering attention and love on the young man. It was extraordinary--they were all Marines, from the 80-year old guys in the funny hats to the shy 25-year old in his bright red concert dress, holding his trombone.

It was, well, transcendent. The evening was such a contrast to the banality and cynicism of so much of the culture. This music and this experience put the audience in contact with something that resonated deep within them: beauty experienced in community, in a cause bigger than their own entertainment or satisfaction.

And, it's been that sort of week. Mr. and Mrs. OS watched the season's final episode of The Choir Wednesday evening, with misty eyes, as young Gareth takes on the town of South Oxhey, north of London and essentially marooned and forgotten by the county that surrounds it. As the townfolk found their own voices, and learned how to sing and work together, that transcendence made itself known. And, the intrepid young conductor, on a mission to transform a town and then leave, found himself transformed by it, and remaining.

Transcendence.

Two teams of golfers battle the course, the elements and their nerves, until the American doffs his hat, shakes the Englishman's hand and concedes the match and tournament, and it dawns on the Welsh crowd that their boys just won, by one-half of a point. There was that moment of quiet just before the roar as it dawned upon everyone what had transpired.

Transcendence.

OS believes we cannot live without it, but that it must be the real thing; not the pale imitations promised by those who keep trying to peddle us aphrodisiacs, hair implants, weight-loss schemes, get-rich-quick courses, porn, drugs, political utopias and $80,000 automobiles.

Tonight was the real thing.

'Oh, that's how it's supposed to be...'

It's Ryder Cup Time!

Kids wait for Santa to show up every December.

OS waits for the Masters every spring, and the Ryder Cup every other fall.

It's an event that requires the winning team to play with more intelligence and selflessness than the losing team. Athletic ability is desirable, but this game is played between the ears.

The American style of golf, e.g. 'Let's just drive the stuffing out of the ball, let someone find it in the trees and then we'll figure out what to do next' won't be rewarded on this course. Ahem--Phil, Tiger, Dustin...(That link above leads to the page with the hole descriptions and flyover views. It's pretty impressive, built for this event.)

OS predicts Europe wins by 4 at least. It won't take them long, and the Sunday afternoon single pairings are always a joy to watch.

And, please! Let's not have rules officials on the course seeking their personal fifteen minutes of fame this time. Golf needs a good, happy event, after a year of public humiliations at the hands of people who really ought to know better.

Real Golf at the Irish Open

For those who seek relief from the likes of Manny Ramirez, what's-his-name-the-swimmer-who-is-so-stupid-as-to-smoke-dope-in-public, and their ilk, I suggest you turn to the Golf Channel on Saturday morning, and watch events like The Irish Open.

They normally play in conditions that American pros won't even leave the hotel suite for. Saturday's play was delayed when the winds were so high they threatened to pull the clubs from the hands of the players.

You haven't heard of most of these guys, like Robert Rock, Graeme MacDowell, and Shane Lowry, and Johan Edfors. You will soon enough, when the Ryder Cup rolls around again.

They are inspiring, with Lowry (the young amateur) finally taking the cup over Rock after four playoff holes played in the chill and the rain. The crowds were cheering their boy Lowry in Tiger-like decibel levels. His poor mother, standing in the gallery, couldn't bear to look. (Rock had to console himself with the 500,000 euro award for highest finish by a professional.)

Home-made swings, ugly rough, pot bunkers full of wet sand, gale-force winds, rain.

Real golf.

Last year, I met a kid at my local club, fresh from four years on his college team, who wouldn't go out to practice because conditions were wet and chilly. He stayed in the clubhouse and discussed his plans to go play the European Tour. He smirked when I suggested that the day's conditions were typical of what he would encounter across the pond. Now that kid has a real future...in some other line of work.

*****

And, what to my wondering eyes did appear, but John Daly, dressed head-to-toe, learning how to work for a living on links courses. If he survives this, we might see him on the senior tour, hopefully sober and with what remains of his brilliant abilities intact.

But he has to make cuts first, which he failed to achieve this weekend. He has to show up to tee times, which he seems unable to do as well.