The Mighty Cattle
******
In a gymnasium in southern Connecticut,
about twenty students were attempting to
play instruments.
"Ok, guys, let's try the B flat concert
scale," a short blond alto sax player
shouted amongst the ruckus.
"Trev, dude, ya know that we'll never
be able ta play for the school," stated
Claudia Cortes, drummer.
"Ah, shut it, Claudia," Katheryn
Patersen, lone trombonist
angrily shouted
"Speak for yourself, Katie,"
came the reply.
"Aah, just play the friggin' scale,"
Jenna Gregory, flutist, practically shouted.
Everybody agreed, and one of the drummers
decided to conduct them. All the percussionists
covered their ears to shut out the horrible sound.
About halfway through the scale, the doors to the
gym opened. Everyone stopped playing, and turned
around to see a man in a suit, cell in hand, enter.
Whispers circulated across the gym, until Claudia
stepped forward.
"Hey mister, we don't allow drug dealers in this
gymnasium."
The man answered, "I'm not a drug dealer, I'm
your new band director, Jordan Gombay."
"Got evidence?"
He reached into his coat, and they all stared,
expecting a gun.
"Andresen, Trevor... alto; Borger, Eric...trumpet;
Carter, Alysa...flute and oboe; Caruthers, Tim,
alto sax; Cortes, Claudia...percussion; Gregory,
Jenna...flute and bells..." he read off a list.
"Okay, so you are our director," piped up Jimmy
Reese,
a skinny boy grasping drumsticks, "..what
are we gonna do, then?"
"B flat concert scale, in a round. You,
you, you and you start."
Alysa Carter raised her hand.
"What?"
"Aren't you going to learn our names?"
"No. Now play."
"Just to warn you, we really suck,"
Joe Vangas confided to the director.
They all started to play at once,
sounding like a dying moose.
Gombay winced, and yelled for the
kids to stop.
'They really suck,' he thought.
"What happened to your last director?
Didn't he teach you anything?" Gombay
asked, massaging his temples.
They all looked at each other, until
Tim Caruthers spoke up.
"Well, during this meet, he started rubbing
his arm, and all of a sudden, he fell
on the ground and started twitchin'."
"Great, the guy had a friggin' heart
attack..." Gombay whispered to no
one in particular, and popped an
aspirin.
"Oh, so THAT'S what happened,"
Tony Xiu said, as if it were the
most important thing in the
world.
As one, the rest of the band
let out a sigh.
"What, I though he had food
poisoning."
"Aah, shut the hell up,"
While Jordan was rubbing his head
in pain, Katheryn walked up to him
"Hey coach, I'm Katie. I'm the trombonist."
Jordan, still massaging his temples, managed to answer,
"You don't say."
Meanwhile, the rest of the band was engaged in
an all-for-one brawl, screaming and punching,
the flutes beating up the rest of the band.
"Fine, practice is over."
Jordan walked out to his limo,
only to have the kids follow him.
"Can we have a ride?" they said hopefully.
"Fine..." Jordan said, just to stop them from
bugging him.
They all piled into the 'sine, and began to drive
around the parking lot, until a woman with
curly hair waved her hands around crazily.
Trevor slumped in his seat.
The limo driver pulled the limosuine to an abrupt
stop. Reluctantly, the band filed out to hear
Mrs. Andreson scream at Gombay.
"You could have killed them!"
"Ma'am, we were on the parking lot! I grew up
on parking lots."
"So what....Trevor, we're going home."
Trevor walked behind his mother, and sent
his friends a pleading look.
After Mrs. Andreson was out of earshot,
Darren Duncan blurted:
"Ooh, Trevvie got ho-sed!"
***********
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Mighty Ducks.
They belong to Disney. The 'bandies' are based
on the members of the band at my school. Love ya!
Trevor Andreson belongs to me.
A/N: How was it? Didja like it?
******
In a gymnasium in southern Connecticut,
about twenty students were attempting to
play instruments.
"Ok, guys, let's try the B flat concert
scale," a short blond alto sax player
shouted amongst the ruckus.
"Trev, dude, ya know that we'll never
be able ta play for the school," stated
Claudia Cortes, drummer.
"Ah, shut it, Claudia," Katheryn
Patersen, lone trombonist
angrily shouted
"Speak for yourself, Katie,"
came the reply.
"Aah, just play the friggin' scale,"
Jenna Gregory, flutist, practically shouted.
Everybody agreed, and one of the drummers
decided to conduct them. All the percussionists
covered their ears to shut out the horrible sound.
About halfway through the scale, the doors to the
gym opened. Everyone stopped playing, and turned
around to see a man in a suit, cell in hand, enter.
Whispers circulated across the gym, until Claudia
stepped forward.
"Hey mister, we don't allow drug dealers in this
gymnasium."
The man answered, "I'm not a drug dealer, I'm
your new band director, Jordan Gombay."
"Got evidence?"
He reached into his coat, and they all stared,
expecting a gun.
"Andresen, Trevor... alto; Borger, Eric...trumpet;
Carter, Alysa...flute and oboe; Caruthers, Tim,
alto sax; Cortes, Claudia...percussion; Gregory,
Jenna...flute and bells..." he read off a list.
"Okay, so you are our director," piped up Jimmy
Reese,
a skinny boy grasping drumsticks, "..what
are we gonna do, then?"
"B flat concert scale, in a round. You,
you, you and you start."
Alysa Carter raised her hand.
"What?"
"Aren't you going to learn our names?"
"No. Now play."
"Just to warn you, we really suck,"
Joe Vangas confided to the director.
They all started to play at once,
sounding like a dying moose.
Gombay winced, and yelled for the
kids to stop.
'They really suck,' he thought.
"What happened to your last director?
Didn't he teach you anything?" Gombay
asked, massaging his temples.
They all looked at each other, until
Tim Caruthers spoke up.
"Well, during this meet, he started rubbing
his arm, and all of a sudden, he fell
on the ground and started twitchin'."
"Great, the guy had a friggin' heart
attack..." Gombay whispered to no
one in particular, and popped an
aspirin.
"Oh, so THAT'S what happened,"
Tony Xiu said, as if it were the
most important thing in the
world.
As one, the rest of the band
let out a sigh.
"What, I though he had food
poisoning."
"Aah, shut the hell up,"
While Jordan was rubbing his head
in pain, Katheryn walked up to him
"Hey coach, I'm Katie. I'm the trombonist."
Jordan, still massaging his temples, managed to answer,
"You don't say."
Meanwhile, the rest of the band was engaged in
an all-for-one brawl, screaming and punching,
the flutes beating up the rest of the band.
"Fine, practice is over."
Jordan walked out to his limo,
only to have the kids follow him.
"Can we have a ride?" they said hopefully.
"Fine..." Jordan said, just to stop them from
bugging him.
They all piled into the 'sine, and began to drive
around the parking lot, until a woman with
curly hair waved her hands around crazily.
Trevor slumped in his seat.
The limo driver pulled the limosuine to an abrupt
stop. Reluctantly, the band filed out to hear
Mrs. Andreson scream at Gombay.
"You could have killed them!"
"Ma'am, we were on the parking lot! I grew up
on parking lots."
"So what....Trevor, we're going home."
Trevor walked behind his mother, and sent
his friends a pleading look.
After Mrs. Andreson was out of earshot,
Darren Duncan blurted:
"Ooh, Trevvie got ho-sed!"
***********
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Mighty Ducks.
They belong to Disney. The 'bandies' are based
on the members of the band at my school. Love ya!
Trevor Andreson belongs to me.
A/N: How was it? Didja like it?
