The Pride of the Buckeyes

WOSU's documentary about The Ohio State University Marching Band re-airs June 3, 2009.(Photo: WOSU)


Tap. Tap. Tap.
It might be a verbal cue, chanted during The Ohio State University Marching Band practices, or the sound of nervous horn players’ feet on game day, or director Jon R. Woods’ baton against a music stand cradling “Carmen Ohio.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.
In this case, it belongs to a snare drummer who offers the cadence as both a cue for action and the beat of the upcoming number. For “Ramp,” which is the first thing that most frenzied OSU fans hear in Ohio Stadium on Saturdays, the three taps come at a rate of 180 per minute, or three per second.

To get that precisely right, a single drummer will watch the stadium clock, second by second, tapping along at three per second—softly at first, and then much louder. The beat is passed to the rest of the percussionists, and then to the rest of the band. (To get the best view of this, head to the north stands at least 20 minutes before kickoff.)

The “Ramp Entrance” was first performed in 1928, “Script Ohio” in 1936. Aside from personnel changes, these routines have been played almost exactly the same way every game, every year. Tap. Tap. Tap.



Summer Session is not a tryout. This is the tryout before the tryouts. Musicians new to the band’s style of marching, or even returning band members who are shaking off months of rust, practice turning square corners, driving down the field, and “8 to 5,” which is not a reference to hours, but to the standard marching step that covers exactly five yards in eight steps.

Women get the same treatment as the men, and are held to exactly the same standards. And yes, there have been female sousaphone players who have dotted the “I,” as well as female drum majors.

Those who persevere get the pleasure of more practices once the real tryouts begin. Again and again, young men and women sing “Sloopy” until they’re hoarse, and sling their brass instruments around like yo-yos.


The video crew at WOSU spent five-plus months in 2005 in the shadow of the band—in rehearsals, in the dressing room, on the practice field, even going up to Michigan and west to Arizona. We were given access to meetings that even the most trusted outsider never sees. And we recorded, as faithfully as possible, a process shaped by tradition and routine.



A ritual occurs under the north stands before game time. The band marches from St. John’s Arena, where they rehearse during Skull Session, then they merge onto the ramp that leads to the stands, and they sing:

I Wanna Go Back to Ohio State

I wanna go back to Ohio State
To old Columbus town,
To the stadium to hear the band,
By far the finest in the land,
I wanna go back to Ohio State
To old Columbus town,
I wanna go back,
I gotta go back,
To Ohio
Ohio, Ohio
The hills send back the cry [O - H!]
We’re here to do or die [I - O!]
Ohio, Ohio
We’ll win the game or know the reason why!
And when we win the game, we’ll buy a keg of booze!
And we’ll drink to old Ohio,
’Til we wobble in our shoes!
Ohio, Ohio
We’ll win the game or know the reason why!


Besides the adrenaline rush, the perks include unrelenting adoration from Ohio State’s massive fan base. If you think Ohio Stadium is loud, try sitting in with the band while it plays at a high school in Toledo, a bi-annual excursion that packs the rafters of an overstuffed gymnasium. Many a student musician has been converted there.


The bar for making and sticking with the band are as high as the knee lifts. Perfection on the field demands perfect practices, tryouts, and music checks that push students past the edge of what they believed they could do. The band embodies all of the qualities that make adults weep when they hear “Carmen Ohio,” and make them rattle C deck when they play a rock song from the 1960s. They are simultaneously pep squad, choir leaders, and gymnasts.
