If you're a regular reader (my Golden Retriever and mother), you know I am a die-hard Buffalo Bills fan. We are not just fans, we are a part of the Bills Mafia, a community that willingly embraces all that comes with it - the hopes and the heartbreak. It is more than a love of a sport or particular team; it is a part of my (and my son's) identity, a bond that unites us with others who share our passion.
Every week, we don the same garb, cook "victory breakfast," and perform our rituals (stand-up on third down, pet "luck-pup" on key plays, to name a couple). Your team or sport may differ, but many of you share the same passions and traditions.
Sunday's game, and this season, felt like an almost perfect performance. We poured our heart into it and hit so many great moments, but then that one snafu—a wrong note, a missed drill spot—left us just shy of the podium. Sunday night's loss was the most heartbreaking I've experienced - a collective heartbreak for the entirety of the Bills Mafia—a gut punch wrapped in a cruel twist of fate.
What made it so hard? The fact that we were not even supposed to be there.
If we're being honest, this was supposed to be a rebuilding year. We weren't supposed to be here, and yet we were. The Bills proved that even in the face of obstacles, magic can happen when a group of people believe in each other. They overachieved. They exceeded expectations. Yes, it ended with a loss, but the story of this season wasn't defined by one game. And that's where football and music education part ways: unlike the NFL, the point of music education isn't about winning or losing—it's about the journey.
Despite my hectic travel schedule, I have made it a priority to be home on weekends. And I am ALWAYS home for game day. However, I was away from home for a game for the first time due to a family emergency. My son and I were both devastated, but even in that difficult moment, we found solace in our shared rituals even though we were apart. We still stood on the third down, pet my imaginary 'luck-pup,' and blew at the TV during field goal attempts.
But to no avail.
After the game, I called my son (who is more die-hard than I am). He was devastated.
I told him...
"We had 17 weeks of being together, 13 celebrations, three commiserations, three additional weeks of games (playoffs), and most important, we are a part of Bills nation. All in a season that was supposed to be a rebuild. It's not about the destination, it's about the journey, and this journey has been a grand one. I wouldn't trade it for another win."
And, I really wouldn't. The Bills gave me a gift. The gift of time with my son. Hours spent together, petting luck pup, and celebrating and commiserating in our shared passion. The Bills gave me the gift of time.
How lucky am I?
The opponent can have two more weeks, and possibly a Lombardi Trophy. It doesn't compare to what I got in return.
In the NFL, the scoreboard rules all. You're judged by how many wins you have, how far you go in the playoffs, and whether or not you hoist the Lombardi Trophy. Success is binary: you either win, or you don't. But in music education, the "scoreboard" is so much broader. It's about the process: the highs and lows, the right notes and wrong notes, the good and bad sounds, the laughter and the frustration. It's about taking a group of kids from where they are to where they never thought they could go and finding joy in every step along the way.
Think about it: a performance that ends shy of perfection doesn't erase the hours of camaraderie, growth, and sheer effort that led to that moment. A festival where the ensemble earns a lower rating than expected doesn't negate the fact that just last week, the clarinet section finally nailed that impossible run for the first time. Those moments—the ones that don't appear on a score sheet—are the heart of what we do and music education as a whole.
The Bills season and your academic year are filled with those moments: small victories, improbable setbacks, and flashes of brilliance from players overlooked by everyone else. Yes, the Bills' loss was heartbreaking, but it does not deter me from the journey they took my son and me on. I see this because, as a music educator, I know better than most that the journey is everything.
Music education isn't about winning; it's about teaching. Showing students how to navigate the ups and downs of life. The wrong notes matter as much as the right ones, because they teach us resilience. It's about embracing the bad sounds, the dragging tempos, and the moments of chaos, because those are the stepping stones to greatness.
Every concert, every competition, every rehearsal is part of a bigger story—a story of growth, determination, and community. The destination is important, sure, but it's the journey that changes lives. That's what makes music education so much more meaningful than a win-loss record.
While my Bills Mafia mourns this loss, I hold my head high because I celebrate the journey, not the destination. It's defined by the journey—the highs, the lows, the breathtaking wins, and the heartbreaking losses.
Football is just a game. Music education? It's life. It's messy, beautiful, and unpredictable. And through it all, it's a reminder that the magic isn't in the outcome—it's in the process.
I will watch the Super Bowl in two weeks, but my eyes will be forward-facing on the 2025 draft, because Evan and I have already started on our next journey.
We're on the hunt for a safety, got any suggestions?
Have a great week!
Scott