In that instant, I recalled every sports movie where the character is called into action at a pivotal moment. Julie ͚"The Cat" Gaffney in Mighty Ducks 2, Ronnie "Sunshine" Bass in Remember the Titans, Rudy in..."Rudy."

"Yeah I can drum." It wasn't a total lie. I've drummed. Usually in the car or at my desk...I have a sick air drum kit. I was the drummer in my friend's Rock Band group, "Snatch." I could play a few songs on Expert. My old roommate was a drummer...like a real one. I goofed around on his gear a few times. Oh, and my wife was a drummer in marching band. So yeah. Sure. I can drum.

I turned and looked at the drum in the corner. Stared at it. "I can do this," I told myself. I hoisted the drum and its harness on my shoulders. It slipped off. I lifted again. It slipped off again. Drum harnesses are apparently not made for big guys. It became evident there was no way I was going to be able to march a mile with this thing if the harness didn't fit. Even worse was the prospect of letting my pride get the better of me, trying to fight the harness and having the drum come off mid-march, damaging what I assume is a very expensive musical instrument.

Then I remembered my wife was on her way, and I think she had kayak straps in the car. Maybe this can work after all! God I hope those straps are in the car. She arrived just in time, with the straps, and I rigged a most-uncomfortable neck band to keep the behemoth from falling. So now not only was the too-small harness digging into my shoulders, but the strap was trying to snap my neck off. "I'm good," I proclaimed as we made our way out of the beer garden.

We marched the mile from Mecklenburg to Nippert, and I honestly don't remember much of it. Between balancing the massive metal shell, trying to not trip and fall (oh yeah, forgot to mention you can't see in front of you with this thing), and keeping a beat to the marching chants, the trail of tears went by in a flash. I don't know how marching band drummers do it. Gained a new respect for them during the walk.

Before I knew it we were in the stadium, gathering up for our final march to the Bailey. I've said this before, but this part always gives me chills. Usually I'm the guy near the front waving the Cincinnati city flag, and the faces of fans watching us go by gets me every time. The sea of people on the concourse. Phones come out en masse to record us. Even the concession workers and ushers give a cheer and pump their fists. The supporters have arrived. It has become an event of its own for me. I liken it to the ramp entrance the Ohio State Band does at football games...romanticizing it a bit, but regardless it feels special. Blake called me up to the front of the group and we were off.

You know those moments you want to right-click and "Save As?" That short walk down the concourse was one of those moments. The drum became weightless and the pain disappeared. Leading the supporters to the Bailey...just wow.

Down the stairs I stepped, carefully I might add. Arriving at the rail I see Bjorn, the other bass drummer and a mainstay at the front of the Bailey. Almost a mythical figure, his commanding presence and ability to lead the group is matched only by Fox, the man I've been asked to fill in for. Every home match I watch the two of them keep the supporters at a steady roar for 90 minutes. Now the eyes and ears of the Bailey are on me.

I strap the drum to the rail and breathe it all in. Ronny is behind me with the megaphone, and I see Darin down the row. These are the two men who will lead the chants tonight. We start early with "F-C-C," "No One Likes Us," and all the other staples. Then the National Anthem, and we're off and running.

Then it rained. Albeit briefly, but enough to trigger an hour-long delay. It was like someone upstairs wanting me to have an extra 60 minutes of this awesome experience. I'll take it. Plus the rain drops looked awesome off the drum head as we thumped away.