The Crew's Quarters
Official records of the Topsail Pirate Band.
Mostly true.
A Letter to the Crew
To every soul aboard this fine vessel — welcome.
Another season is upon us, and the wind is fair. The Deckhands have arrived green and wide-eyed; the Old Salts march with the easy confidence of those who have weathered many a Friday-night squall. The Shipwrights have been at the timbers since July, and I am told the new props will be the envy of every port from here to Wilmington.
A reminder to all hands: a well-tuned brass section is the difference between a proud broadside and a sad squawk. Mind your reeds, watch your rigging, and for the love of the seven seas — keep your dot books on your person.
To our Merchant Guild — the businesses and families who keep this fleet afloat — there is no voyage without you. The Galley Crew sets sail at every football game, and the Harbor Watch keeps order in the stands. My deepest thanks.
Now then. To your stations. We have a season to win.
Yours, in tempo and tide,
— The Captain
Ship's Roster
Every soul aboard, by their proper name and rank.
Program Leadership
- Captain
- Director
- First Mate
- Assistant Director
- Harbormaster
- Booster President
- Quartermaster
- Treasurer
- Navigator
- Technology Team
Volunteers
- Shipwrights
- Prop Crew
- Harbor Watch
- Chaperones
- Merchant Guild
- Sponsors & Fundraising
- Galley Crew
- Concessions
- Sailmakers
- Uniforms
- Rigging Crew
- Logistics
Crew & Sections
- Deckhands
- Freshmen
- Crew
- General Members
- Old Salts
- Seniors
- Cannons
- Percussion
- Broadside Brass
- Brass
- Whistlers
- Woodwinds
- Jolly Rogers
- Color Guard
- Armory
- Front Ensemble
The Quartermaster's Counter
Fine shirts for every rank. Prices in good coin only.
* These shirts are entirely fictional. The Quartermaster is on shore leave.
Uniform of the Day
- · Pressed jacket and black trousers — no exceptions.
- · Polished boots. A scuffed boot reflects poorly on the entire vessel.
- · Section sash, worn over the right shoulder.
- · Tricorn hat (optional, but encouraged for dramatic effect).
- · An orange in the pocket. Scurvy is no laughing matter.
- · Spare reeds, valve oil, and a smile.
Footnote: Kazoos remain contraband. Any crew member found in possession of a kazoo will be made to swab the trailer for one (1) full rehearsal.
The Night the Cannons Won State
'Twas a cold November eve, and the sky had the look of a sky that knows something you don't. The fleet had sailed three hours up the coast to a stadium that smelled of popcorn and ambition.
We took the field at twilight. The Whistlers were sharp as a cutlass; the Broadside Brass had been polished 'til they hummed of their own accord. But it was the Cannons — oh, the Cannons — who carried the night.
"I have never heard a quad run cleaner. The earth itself kept time."
The Jolly Rogers spun their flags so fierce the wind itself stepped aside. The Armory rang out from the front line like distant thunder. When the last note fell, the silence held for a breath — and then the stands erupted.
We sailed home with the trophy lashed to the mast. The Captain didn't say much. He didn't need to. He just smiled.
The Legend of the Sauce Kings & Queens
Long ago — nobody quite remembers when — a single deckhand pocketed a handful of hot sauce packets from a roadside galley after a long, sauce-less competition. Word spread. Others contributed. A locker was claimed. A combination was set.
Thus began the most closely guarded tradition aboard this vessel: the chosen Sauce King and Sauce Queen, sole keepers of the Sacred Locker, custodians of an ever-growing hoard of taco, ranch, soy, buffalo, sweet-and-sour, honey mustard, marinara, and the occasional contraband ketchup packet.
At the close of each season, in a ceremony witnessed only by those who have proven their salt, the reigning monarchs whisper the Combination to their chosen successors — and the kingdom passes on.
Long may they reign. Long may the packets flow.
Court of the Sauce
Peer shout-outs to future Sauce royalty. Approved by the Harbormaster.
Consulting the crown…
Captain's Log
Dispatches penned by the students themselves. Approved by the Harbormaster before posting.
Unfurling the log…
Wanted
To hammer, paint, and haul.
One (1) free bottle of water and the admiration of the fleet.
Willing to help load trailers after Friday's match.
Eternal glory. Possibly pizza.
Wanted in connection with seventeen (17) missing markers.
No questions asked. Just bring them back.
Captain's Orders
- · All Cannons report at 1700 hours. No exceptions. No mutiny.
- · Whistlers — reeds in water, not in pockets. We have discussed this.
- · Jolly Rogers, sabres polished by sundown.
- · Deckhands — water bottles full, dot books on persons.
- · The trailer shall be loaded before the bus departs. Always.
Pirate Rumors
- · The Whistlers claim they can outplay the Cannons. The Cannons declined comment.
- · A Deckhand swears the bus driver took a shortcut through international waters.
- · The Broadside Brass have been seen practicing in the parking lot. At dawn.
- · The new Sauce Queen may already be hoarding a stash of Chick-fil-A Polynesian. Investigation pending.
- · Somebody re-tuned the Captain's tuner. The Captain has questions.
The Black List
- · 3 Sharpies
- · 1 Water Jug (large)
- · 2 Flip Folders
- · 17 Pencil Caps
- · 1 Lyre (left at last port)
- · 1 Mute (the one that matched)
- · An entire box of zip ties
- · The Captain's good pen
Last seen near the Armory. Return to the Quartermaster — no questions asked.
Ship's Articles
- All hands shall report to muster by 6 bells (6:00 PM sharp).
- No mutiny against the Captain's tempo. Conduct your dissent through proper channels — and a better count-off.
- Sectionals are sacred. Skip them at peril of swabbing the trailer.
- Thy instrument is thy weapon. Keep it clean, keep it dry, keep it in tune.
- The Galley Crew rules the concession stand. Treat them with the reverence they have earned.
- Hydrate. The sea is no place for a fainting deckhand.
- When the drum major calls "Band, ten-HUT" — ye answer with thunder.
- We rise together. We march together. We are one crew.
The Tortuga Trading Post
The Quartermaster's official wares. Prices in doubloons (or, fine, US dollars). Coming soon to a port near ye — we're talkin' to a real shirtmaker.
Embroidered crest. Combination not included.
Wool blend. Looks ridiculous. Wear it anyway.
Front: a reed. Back: a threat.
Reinforced wrist cuffs for stick grip.
Disappears within 48 hours. Guaranteed.
Holds two flags, one rifle, infinite glitter.
Iron-on. Earned, not bought. (Fine, also bought.)
Holds 16oz of pre-rehearsal courage.
All proceeds fund the fleet — instruments, uniforms, travel, coaching. Bartering accepted in sauce packets at the Captain's discretion.
Which Pirate Be Ye?
Five questions. One destiny. No takebacks. (Fine, takebacks.)
The bus rolls out at 0700 hours. Ye:
Crack the Sauce Locker
Three dials. Ten digits each. Eight tries to claim the throne and ascend to Sauce Royalty. Spin carefully — the current monarchs are watching.