MIKE JONES. MIKE JONES.

I don't even know how to begin.

We went to contest yesterday (it's Sunday now, I guess...currently being 1235 a.m.). The drumline was there early, as usual, at 9. We practiced in the cold September rain. We practiced with the band once they got there three hours later.

My bass solo was cut. Well, our bass solo (as a section) was cut, really. But it was given to Strobel...four bars of bass given to bass 1.
I tried to not take it as a personal insult. It just felt like...Austin (my instructor) gave up on me. I felt like he said "Nope - you can't do it," and condemned me to marching in silence.
I still heard my solo in my head, and the feeling of my sticks still against the rims of my drum made me feel empty.
In orchestra, they never cut parts. You have to learn it to the best of your ability and get through it. There's no sitting there in silence while one person in your section plays for you.

I hated myself. I hated myself so much, words can't describe it.
My head kept on yelling at me, "Why couldn't you play that better? What place do you have in this drumline? Why are you even here?"
It made me angry - no, furious.

But finally, we loaded the buses and we headed to Columbus North. I taped my sticks and made myself forget about the cut. If they felt like I sucked that bad, then maybe it was for the best. Maybe we'd score a little better.

When we were warming up by the other football field, my drum felt incredibly heavy. I had no idea why - everything suddenly hurt. The bottoms of my feet, my legs, my right elbow that's been giving me trouble for the past week, my shoulders.
I wasn't about to have this. Not before a competition. Not before the one time that everything counted.

We marched on that prim, clean-cut field. We didn't have any distractions. We were the first in our class to perform.
For having performed our ballad for the public only one other time, I thought we weren't all that bad.
Still, I kind of think the football performance was just a little better. But I'm not sure - both were pretty solid.

When we were in our little huddle for drumline and pit, Dustin told us that we had the best percussion in our class. I wasn't sure what this meant. Did we really have THE best? Could he tell this early in the competition?
I had no idea.

But hours passed, and finally it was time to hand out awards.

They announced that Perry Meridian won Best Percussion for Class AAA.
We won. We won something - therefore, I found out, we placed.
We didn't get a Participation plaque.
We PLACED. Specifically, Third place.

I couldn't believe it.
The drumline I was a part of won something.
All those hours during the months of June and early July...came to this.
All those Saturday camps, including the one the morning of contest...came to this trophy.

"Happy" is too weak of a word to describe how I felt.
"Euphoric" is getting closer.

I was honored to be part of it. But I let myself realize that maybe I wasn't so suckish, after all.
That maybe I DID have a place in the drumline.
That maybe if I let myself grow even more from this success, I could become the drummer I want to be. Someday, I want to play snare.
Today, I was proud of what my family accomplished.
And I allowed myself to be proud of what I have accomplished.

And if you know me, you know I don't let myself do that often.