The air was hot, and the sun was dazzlingly bright, there was nothing to shelter the groups of supporters from the harsh weather elements. The students were hushed, there was constant mumbling, occasional complaints and cynicisms, but above all there was a sense of waiting, of expectancy. The sizable group of Rafflesians had come down for one reason: The Band Competition.
Several schools had already performed. Those that watched too intently got headaches from the blinding afternoon sun. The group of supporters had temporarily assumed the role of self-proclaimed critics. But beneath this bravado, there was this gnawing uncertainty -- COULD we take them out? From what we had seen, so far, the other schools weren't spectacular, but what if our own band wasn't as good as reported? What if from the judges' opinion, the others were doing a fantastic job? What if our band cracked up in the last minute? What if somebody fainted? It was agonising to voice one's cool confidence of victory only to be plagued by these questions and doubt. The Band had trained hard. They deserved to win... they should win. But there was always a note of doubt that kept growing and growing until it threatened to overwhelm us.
Then, all too soon, the waiting was over. The Band scrambled into the starting block and was ready in a matter of seconds. It was inconceivable that they were not nervous, impossible that they weren't plagued by the sense of doubt felt by all the supporters. It was not believable that they weren't nervous. But they didn't show it. To the casual observer, the band stood stock still, almost indifferent to the intense pressure. It seemed as though the group of boys dressed in white, positioned behind and slightly to the right of the band, were more prone to sudden seizures and convulsions of agony.
The march-in tune was performed flawlessly and the band slid to a stop. Who knows what each member was thinking while the durm major saluted the guests. Perhaps, he was in a heightened state of consciousness, taking in all the sights and sounds faster that he would have thought possible. Perhaps he was furious with himself for making an imperceptible mistake in the brief piece during the entry. Perhaps he was living in a dream, trusting that his arms and legs required no conscious direction to perform, the cheers of the supporters became a mere background in the distance.
The first note was struck and the action began. The now familiar tune was suddenly filled with energy, sending ripples of excitement through the crowd. The drums were heart-pounding, the music was charged, the formation was executed with far more style than we would have thought possible. All the uncertainties were wiped out as we knew we were going to win. The only thing left was our drum major, but we had no reason to fear. All the throws were done to perfection. In the ranks of the supporters, there was a hushed silence, everyone was waiting for the next move to cheer about. There was frustration and joy at the same time. Frustration that we were helpless to aid the Band and add to the music, proud that they didn't need it. Scream and shout was all we could do, yet it seemed inadequate compared to the efforts of the Band. The air fairly crackled. The instruments which once meant despair to teachers were suddenly alive, caught in an awesome frenzy which was the winner of hearts.
The shattering applause that sounded at the end of the performance was unimpressive, yet the message rang over and over again in our hearts -- we had succeeded -- the Band had succeeded! Once again, the dedicated group of boys which made up the RIMB had proven themselves to be the one constant in Raffles Institution.
The Bands marched on for the last assembling and the results were announced. The voice of the announcer sounded metallic over the microphone. "...the Chinese High -- Gold". Our supporters were silent, "...Tanjong Katong Girls' School... Gold!". We were still, waiting, watching, straining for... "Raffles Institution... Gold!". The screams reverberated across the stadium, ringing from all directions. The exultant faces shining, hands upraised to the sky and voices making unintelligible sounds of victory, the crowd shared in the glory the Band had brought us.
As for the Band members themselves? They still stood stock-still, seemingly indifferent, and yet it was not hard to imagine that tears were streaming down suntanned cheeks, and occasional gulps to control the outpouring of emotions. They could control them, but they couldn't hide them. Every fibre of their being must have been concentrated on one fact -- victory at last. Soon, when the rest of the results were announced, we had settled into a kind of dreamy euphoria, tinged perhaps with a little disappointment that there was no way of distinguishing our Band from the other Gold winners. Then the Best Drum Major award was announced. "The best drum major award goes to Leong..." the rest was lost in another frenzy of cheering.
Victory at last. Now, with the heat of the event over, we'd like to thank and congratulate the Band. They have done us proud.