Zecura
09-22-2009, 11:44 AM
I’m sure all of you have had the opportunity at some point in your life to witness an opening ceremony for a ball game. Attendees are asked to rise and usually the National Anthem is either sung or played from a recording. Moving as the National Anthem, in and of itself is, it is often played to a somewhat distracted audience.
Last night at the Phins game, prior to the start of the opening ceremonies, a seemingly endless procession of volunteers exited the East endzone service breezeway, forming what looked like a centipede. They just kept coming out carrying a continuous sausage looking red, white and blue bundle under their arm. This immense bolt of fabric eventually found its way to the visitors sideline spanning endzone to endzone.
Attention to the sideline was now almost unanimous. “Please welcome our acapella chorus. They will be singing at all our home games this year. Now, please rise as they sing our National Anthem.”
At the first note of the Anthem, the fabric begins to unfurl, slowly, steadily, unhurried and governed as if being pulled across by a master puppeteer. Always with my right hand over my heart as I sing along, I’m thinking to myself that it must end at the half way mark as no flag can span 50 by 100 yards. Releasing the salute, I brail around my camera bag, not interrupting my fixated stare on the ever expanding Stars and Stripes. Can it be? There is no obstruction on the field to halt its progress. Realizing Old Glory is going to span the depth and breath of the entire field I begin to choke up. Not since the first home game after 9-11 have I been in the presence of such an overwhelming field of stared blue with 13 stripes of red and white.
Those voices. Angles from on high were wrought with one of the deadly sins at the sound of those voices. I can not shape the words to describe that harmony. Perfection does not do those voices justice. Awed silence of us mere mortals in the presence of such extraordinary symbolism and patriotism, consumed the almost standing room only stadium.
The last note of the National Anthem was sung, our eyes were transfixed on that entire field of red, white and blue. From the West a dulled roar began to overtake the voices as those birds, those magnificent machines, those iron eagles that project our power across the globe, flew over us seemingly just above the stadium lights. On perfect cue they crossed our bow stepping on the gas as they past the stadium illuminating the night with their dragons breath.
The awed patriots, letting loose with the national pride of eighty thousand voices, saluted them with thumbs up, whistles and pumped fists in the air. Red pyrotechnic star mines rose a split second after they passed. Timed to perfection. As soon as the red stars rose, from each corner, twelve salute shells lifted. They all broke within 5 seconds of each other, punctuating the Anthem words bombs bursting in air. We weren’t Dolphin fans or Colts fans just then, we were ALL Americans.
Absent the post 9-11 opening ceremony, this was by far the most moving opening ceremony I have ever experienced. God Bless America.
Last night at the Phins game, prior to the start of the opening ceremonies, a seemingly endless procession of volunteers exited the East endzone service breezeway, forming what looked like a centipede. They just kept coming out carrying a continuous sausage looking red, white and blue bundle under their arm. This immense bolt of fabric eventually found its way to the visitors sideline spanning endzone to endzone.
Attention to the sideline was now almost unanimous. “Please welcome our acapella chorus. They will be singing at all our home games this year. Now, please rise as they sing our National Anthem.”
At the first note of the Anthem, the fabric begins to unfurl, slowly, steadily, unhurried and governed as if being pulled across by a master puppeteer. Always with my right hand over my heart as I sing along, I’m thinking to myself that it must end at the half way mark as no flag can span 50 by 100 yards. Releasing the salute, I brail around my camera bag, not interrupting my fixated stare on the ever expanding Stars and Stripes. Can it be? There is no obstruction on the field to halt its progress. Realizing Old Glory is going to span the depth and breath of the entire field I begin to choke up. Not since the first home game after 9-11 have I been in the presence of such an overwhelming field of stared blue with 13 stripes of red and white.
Those voices. Angles from on high were wrought with one of the deadly sins at the sound of those voices. I can not shape the words to describe that harmony. Perfection does not do those voices justice. Awed silence of us mere mortals in the presence of such extraordinary symbolism and patriotism, consumed the almost standing room only stadium.
The last note of the National Anthem was sung, our eyes were transfixed on that entire field of red, white and blue. From the West a dulled roar began to overtake the voices as those birds, those magnificent machines, those iron eagles that project our power across the globe, flew over us seemingly just above the stadium lights. On perfect cue they crossed our bow stepping on the gas as they past the stadium illuminating the night with their dragons breath.
The awed patriots, letting loose with the national pride of eighty thousand voices, saluted them with thumbs up, whistles and pumped fists in the air. Red pyrotechnic star mines rose a split second after they passed. Timed to perfection. As soon as the red stars rose, from each corner, twelve salute shells lifted. They all broke within 5 seconds of each other, punctuating the Anthem words bombs bursting in air. We weren’t Dolphin fans or Colts fans just then, we were ALL Americans.
Absent the post 9-11 opening ceremony, this was by far the most moving opening ceremony I have ever experienced. God Bless America.