No Bigger Than a Baritone Horn - Part Ii

Minimal involvement with extracurricular activity at Methacton limited to playing Baritone Horny within the band though marginal interest existed to maintain constancy feigning noteworthy interest second to none eventually Mister O'Donnell (I remember without mental exertion - surmising that tubby name of bandleader) synonymous with attitude ill suited, thus loss being banned haint grand loss, and subsequent loss did not stun, nor disheartenment arose to forego hearing future applauding hand, or standing ovation and felt reprieve, relieve, when refused further sharing of any awards won yet the greatest joy arose to even the score for decision foisted upon me to play Baritone Horn now a choice I manned in tandem with with late afternoon rehearsals necessitating this boy not much bigger than the baritone horn to make a mad dash with truckload of academic material plus encased “mini tuba,” which constantly banged upper right thigh, and nearly tripped me to go flailing head over heals. Exhaustion (a welcome relief with sprinting the distance – possibly even setting a world record) getting linkedin (half heartedly envisioning myself whizzing across the mountains viz tour de France measuring a winning distance – quite an expanse whereby giving the strong armed cyclist brandishing his lance a run...er rather pedal for his money, yet this flight of fancy fragile as a séance vanished without a trace, although this trance figurative shifted gears burnishing via sans deus sol invictus and didst witness glory, where ignominy, humility, and disharmony Mister McDonald (supposed namesake) from looming maestro, whose countenance evinced countless cartoonish, distorted expressive facial grotesqueries earning apropos sobriquets who jabbed the air with each illusory add vance.