LOUISVILLE, Ky. -- The University of Louisville men's basketball team was expected to romp through its game last month against the College of the Holy Cross. Instead, with a nifty layup early in the second half, Holy Cross took a one-point lead on Louisville's home floor. A befuddled Louisville called timeout as the crowd of more than 19,000 fell into a nervous silence.

Time for the school's 30-piece pep band to rouse the crowd and team from their funk? That would have to wait. Up above, on the giant scoreboard sponsored by Pepsi, a commercial for the Kentucky Lottery whirred to life. Lottery ping-pong balls swooped across the four screens, each measuring 108 square feet. The band members, dressed in matching red nylon sweat suits, were left holding their instruments, staring at the video while the arena's 110-decibel sound system boomed overhead.

At colleges across the country, bands say their musical tradition is falling victim to revenue-hungry athletic marketing departments. Video advertisements, audio promotions and on-court gimmickry are eating up the lulls in action that once were filled with blasts of live music. The band plays on, but barely.

"It's looking like ultimately there might not be a need for us," says 21-year-old Ryan Tinsley, a senior engineering student and trumpet player in Louisville's pep band. As he warmed up with a jazz tune before the game, a video ad for Pepsi featuring the comedian Bernie Mac echoed in the empty Freedom Hall. Mr. Tinsley says that because of such promotions, the pep band's playing time during games has dropped by about half since his freshman year.

Since 1998, bands at basketball powerhouses like Boston College and the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign also have yielded as much as half their total performance time to commercial promotions, which can command as much as $15,000 a spot. Gone are their once rollicking full-length renditions of "Louie Louie" and "Heartbreak Hotel." In their place are 15-second song snippets, known as shorts, played only after promotions are shown on large video screens or staged on the floor.


Purdue University used to have as many as 100 students vie for slots in the 50-member pep band that performs at men's basketball games. Then came a wave of new promotions on the basketball floor, such as one in which a uniformed FedEx delivery person marches a package to a fan inside 14,000-seat Mackey Arena. Those promotions have taken their toll on the band's playing time, which in turn has dried up student interest in joining, says band director David Leppla. This year, Mr. Leppla had to give a marketing talk at the beginning of music classes to recruit new members. Even then, the band is still three trumpets and two trombones short of full strength.

"Five years ago, all the fun was in the band," says Mr. Leppla. "You had a sense that you were an integral part of the game. Now you've become much more peripheral."

Purdue's assistant athletic director, Jay Cooperider, agrees that the band's playing time has decreased as the school moves in the direction of being a "pro venue." Fans, accustomed to pro basketball, like all the marketing razzle-dazzle, he says: "Our fan experience is a mix of the pep band, in-game promotions that incorporate band music and ones that don't. It's all a show for our fans."

The College Band Directors National Association recently began a fact-finding survey on how bands are coping with less playing time. The goal is to develop guidelines for better cooperation with universities and marketing companies that develop the in-game promotions.

In the meantime, it's every band for itself. At the Dec. 7 Louisville game against Holy Cross, that tension over playing time -- and some signs of compromise -- were on full display.

In the first timeout of the first half, Cingular Wireless staged a free-throw-shooting promotion, giving away 100 free wireless minutes for each free throw made. A recording by Sly and the Family Stone filled Freedom Hall, and to healthy applause from the crowd, a fan sank six free throws. Next, cheerleaders lofted T-shirts into the stands to promote a health club. Mr. Tinsley and the rest of the band were silent throughout.

Later in the half, a boy played basketball against a giant inflatable milk carton promoting a dairy, and the Pepsivision scoreboard became an optician's "eye cam," panning the crowd for the "most beautiful eyes" in attendance.

The band, with some time to play after these promotions, launched into a minute-long version of "Give Up the Funk." The drummer bashed out a long solo during a timeout late in the first half. In all, the band played for only about four and a half minutes in the first half.

Mr. Tinsley says the allotted playing time was better than in some previous games, but added that "you lose some of the spirit of the game when you can't play from the very start after the timeout." Once the promotions start, "the crowd's enthusiasm dies down."

Spirit does not pay the bills. Last year, Louisville's sports programs generated about $2 million from the sale of radio and television rights, advertising spots and signs in its football stadium and basketball arena. A school spokesman says the advertising revenue helped Louisville add three women's sports programs.

Directing the promotions inside Freedom Hall was Elizabeth Mandlehr, a harried 23-year-old who spent the game wearing a black headset. Each of the 29 promotions were listed in detail on a one-page photocopied timeout script that took Ms. Mandlehr two days to plan.

Frustration over such scripts has been a big part of the battle of the bands and marketing departments. Has the home team mounted an incredible comeback, bringing the game to the verge of overtime? A band can launch into a spirited number and get the crowd even more excited. Too often schools adhere too religiously to the script, and post a commercial on the video screens, say band members and directors.

"It's like throwing a wet blanket on the crowd," says Gary Smith, who directed the marching band at Illinois from 1976 to 1999. "This is affecting the whole psychology and spontaneity of college basketball."

Some band directors have fought back against the scripts, including Brantley Douglas, an assistant band director at James Madison University in Harrisonburg, Va. He and colleagues employ what he calls "the unwritten rule of emotional override" when the school's team is in the midst of a comeback or has just surged ahead. Ignoring the directions he is receiving over his headset from the marketing staff, he will instruct the band to play. "Sorry we missed that," he tells the marketers.

Band members have begun voting with their feet. At both Illinois and Louisville, directors say bands have begun to prefer playing at women's basketball and volleyball games, rather than football and men's basketball. With much less advertising, "our women's games are still like they used to be," says Mr. Smith. "The band feels important."