#welcome to the thunderdome fuckers!!
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FUCK IT WELCOME TO THE
FIRST ANNUAL PEACHYPIZZICATO BLORB-OFF!!
current f/os face off against blorbos from like at the very least a year ago all the way back to 2020-ish. blorbos i’ve never even talked about will make their first blog appearance to fight for their chance at the title of SUPREME OBJECTIVELY BEST BLORBO (according to you guys)
WHO WILL WIN? WHO WILL BE CAST AWAY? IS THIS JUST AN EXCUSE TO USE POLLS?
these questions and more will be answered in time, so STAY TUNED (also yes)
FUCK IT. BLORBRACKET
#mone’s blorb-off bracket#welcome to the thunderdome fuckers!!#as you can see in the bracket every current f/o is against an old blorbo in the first rounds#its up to YALL to choose the best blorbo of them all#will you make the right choice. or the dreadfully wrong one. puhuhu#anyway yea its my turn on the polls get ready for this shit#self ship community#self shipping community#romantic f/o#peachymisc#also i don’t wanna hear SHIT about my ex-blorbos alright quarantine was hard for all of us /hj
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Berry Blues
Season Two
Part Eleven - (The Sue Sylvester Shuffle) Its All About Football
Quinn Fabray x Reader
Summary: Who knew that thrusting the bully filled football team and the glee club that they target would lead to such chaos? Honestly, you probably should have expected as much.
Word Count: 9,317
WARNINGS: Anger, violence, eating things that you shouldn’t, almost cheating.
(A/N): Sorry for the short delay, I have recently gotten terribly sick, and am still going through it.
-----
The new year had sprung, and with it, new experiences. Ones that weren't necessarily good.
With one of your feet resting upon the back of a chair, you slouched in another. Awaiting the arrival of the Glee Club's Director so that the lesson could finally start.
Soaked through, stained red, frozen, and with sloppy ice laying upon him, in rolled Arite. His presence being announced by a pitying Tina.
"Oh, my God. Artie."
Anger filled you as Brittany rushed down to attend to her boyfriend, instantly realising who had done this, no proof necessary.
"It was awful," the boy whimpered.
Finn Hudson felt the same way you did, outrage flowing through his veins, causing his limbs to shake.
"That's it," he seethed, "Screw rehearsal! This ends here and now."
"Oh, hell yeah!" you yelled, jumping up from your seat, following the boys that all wore letterman jackets, much to the displeasure of Quinn and your sister.
"We're gonna go all Thunderdome on those guys!"
You would have questioned Puck's reference if it weren't for the objects of your anger striding through the doors of the choir room themselves. Wearing letterman jackets of their own, suddenly you stuck out like a sore thumb in the mass of football players.
"So, this is what the ladies' lounge looks like on the inside."
"This is the choir room," Sam replied to the curly-haired blonde jock, "Now, put up your fists because you and I are gonna do some dancin'."
Ever wanting to be the leader, Finn reached out a hand to the boy's chest, stopping him from advancing, altho pointlessly as he didn't even make to move towards the group, as they chuckled in reply.
"No, I got this, Sam."
Insulted, the boy quickly shoved his arm away from his body.
"There's too much talking, not enough fighting, for my liking."
The same football player scoffed at you, "Yeah, you sure put up a fight against us last time."
"Well, maybe this time we can go one-on-one, instead of five of you fuckers ganging up on me like a bunch of pussies. Ask Karofsky. I'm sure he would be happy to tell ya' how well I fair in a fair fight."
The boy in question rolled his eyes, trying to act tough in front of his friends, deciding to change the subject before you ended up showing them all the proof to your statement.
"Coach Beiste told us to come. Where is she?"
As it turns out, right behind the. Along with Mr Schuester.
"Watching it." She pushed through the boys, gesturing to the maroon chairs. "Everyone have a seat."
"You too, guys," Mr Schue said, "All right. New Directions," he continued once everyone had done as told, standing side by side with the coach, preparing to give the announcement, "Let's give a warm welcome to the newest members of Glee Club."
There was outrage all around.
The Glee Club members insulted by the presence of their main tormenters infiltrating their safe space.
And the jocks. Purely because they thought it was lame or "gay", and they were far too worried about how they -and others- were perceived to understand that people do things purely because they enjoyed it. No matter how it could make them look on the outside to everyone else.
"Oh, hell to the no, Mr Schue!" Mercedes yelled over all the riot, "Are you serious?!"
"This is some sick God damn joke, and I do not appreciate it!"
The teacher rose his hands, trying to calm the teenagers, as Azimio jumped to his feet. As Coach Beiste commanded them to with a couple,
"hey"s.
"Are you serious?" Finn stood up now in outrage. "These are the guys who made Kurt transfer."
"Mainly one," you bit, harsh glare directed towards Karofsky.
"And there's no way I am sharing the choir room with a known homophobe," your sister spoke, pointing at the boy who couldn't make eye contact with anyone in the room, herself.
"I don't disagree with you guys."
"So why are they here?!" you yelled, jumping up yourself, "Why is he here?!"
"Because Y/N, I talked to Coach Beiste about it, and she and I both agreed that the kind of bullying that David does is born out of ignorance. Sit down, Y/N."
A hot breath slowly exited your nose as you steadily lowered yourself back into the chair beside your sister. Fixing the man with a death stare for your troubles, thanks to how angry you were.
"Having him in here, as difficult as it may be for us, is an opportunity to show him and the rest of the guys that being in Glee Club is kind of cool. You know, find some common ground."
Coach Beiste took over the man's speech, pointing a hand towards the football players gathering on the left side of the room. "All of you are gonna be in this Glee Club for one week. No exceptions."
"She's bluffing," Karofsky told his buddies, "Next week is the championship game. Without us, she has no team."
"With you, have no team! You guys have gotta find a way to come together, or we're gonna get our asses kicked from here until Tuesday finds a saddlebag full of buckwheat."
You still didn't get her metaphors.
"If I have to stay, I'm not singing no show tunes," Azimio voiced, "That is the music of my oppressors."
"Do you even have any idea what we do in here?" Finn questioned in exasperation.
"No." Mr Schue shook his head. "None of them do. We have to show them. Rachel, Puck. Haven't you guys been working on something? Why don't you give it a whirl?"
"Fine. As offended as I am by their presence here, I won't let anything get in the way of a performance," she stated as Puckerman angrily removed his jacket, shooting the jocks a glare as he reached for his guitar.
After that, quite frankly, in your opinion, disgusting performance between the delinquent and your sister. Including the boy making threatening moves toward the football players, everything seemed calm once the song ended. A lull in the tense atmosphere. Until it was brought back tenfold. Making you roll your eyes at Azimio's words.
"The girl with the mohawk had a really nice voice."
Puckerman smiled towards him sarcastically, acting as if he were in on the joke, removing his guitar. Before the instrument was soon turned into a weapon, and he rushed the boy.
Everyone jumped up then.
Some to stop the attempted violence.
Others to join it.
You were one of the latter.
Or so you tried to be.
With Quinn pushing at your chest, keeping you away from the fray whilst still hurling her yells at the jocks. And Mike, with his arms wrapped around yours, tugging with the blonde's pushes.
"You've had some shitty ideas in your time, Mr Schue! But this one takes the cake!"
His eyes fluttered at your words, his back pressing against the coach's who held Puckerman at bay, also trying to stop the group of teens from going full gladiator mode against each other.
"Great first day, right?" he remarked sarcastically, Beiste returning it with her own statement.
"Awesome!"
It was like you had gone deaf.
One second, cries of anger filled the room. The next? Nothing.
And that was all thanks to one thing.
One sight you caught out of the corner of your eye.
The wild kicking of your sister's tight-clad legs thanks to being hoisted into the air. The perpetrator? A random jock who had been forced into the club for the week. Stopping her from pouncing onto one of his teammates.
Quinn grew worried at your sudden silence and lack of movement, Mike's head poking around to see why you had stopped, considering that was so unlike you.
They didn't have the chance to follow your line of sight as you dropped to a bend, easily slipping out of Mike's distracted hold, causing Quinn to tumble into the Asian boy.
"Oh, so you wanna die today?!" your roar made the others in the room pause mid-action, turning to face where you now stood facing the boy holding your sister still.
The same boy whose eyes were wide as saucers, with enough fear in them to rival someone staring down the barrel of a gun.
Quickly dropping your sister, the jock high-tailed it outta there. But you weren't about to stand for that, chasing him instantly.
Taking any means necessary to defend your sister, including using all your skill to jump onto the piano in one steep step, using it as a means of a shortcut as the boy rushed through the door.
With you not too far behind him, Mercedes yelled, "He's gonna see God!"
---
You were still furious after that whole ordeal in Glee Club. And after punching a bag of sand didn't seem to help, you decided to take a jog around the track.
Only for your jogged movements to stumble into a stop at the giant flame-painted 'WHMS' cannon sat in the middle of the football field. Mouth dropped in pure confused disbelief, so much more so that you hardly noticed the head cheerleader walking up to you.
"What's with the cannon?" you asked her dumbfounded, pointing towards the object when she paused beside you, the other Cheerios walking by, heading back into the warmer school.
"Sue bought it."
"She a pirate now?"
"She's planning on shooting Brittany out of it."
"Right." You nodded before her words finally sank into you and got you to tear your sights off of the dangerous contraption and peer down at the girl. "Wait. What?!"
"Don't worry, I'm gonna talk to Mr Schue about it right now."
"You want me to come with?"
She shook her head in denial, hands deep in her jacket pockets, "I'll be fine. Hey, uh, what happened to that guy you were chasing?"
"He's really fast," you grumbled, eyes glaring down at the ground below you. "He got to his car and drove off before I could reach him."
"I can't say I'm not glad. Don't want you to be suspended again. Or worse. Going to prison for murdering him."
Huffing, you folded your arms across your chest, pointedly not looking at the blonde.
"Come on." A cold palm rubbed against your arm, coaxing you to look up at its owner. "You know I'm right."
"Doesn't mean I can't be mad about it," you mumbled.
"Has anyone ever said you're like a big baby?"
"No. But apparently, I did drink your breast milk, so it only makes sense."
"You're disgusting." Quinn smiled.
"You love me."
'I love you'
---
He wouldn't look at you.
There you were, bracketed in between two cheerleaders, each with tight grips upon your forearms, glaring over at the boy who had grabbed your sister.
You weren't planning on storming him... much.
But thanks to Santana and Brittany's hold upon you, you weren't able to, no matter what. Knowing how feisty Santana would get, especially if Brittany were involved.
But you were still so deep into your glare that you had entirely blanked what Mr Scuester had been saying.
That was until Karofaky voiced his outcry.
"No fricking way!"
Finally, you turned to face your teacher as he spoke, "We don't have a choice. Sue pulled the Cheerios from the game, so if we don't do it, there's no halftime show."
"And this is a problem because?" Zizes pressed.
"Well, isn't the halftime show the best thing about a football game?" you remarked, but Coach Beiste decided to give an answer of her own.
"It's not a problem. It's an opportunity."
"Opportunity to humiliate ourselves," the curly blonde football player replied.
"Hey. The whole point of this week was to bring you guys together. To bring the school together."
"Wait, so you want us to play the first half, change into some "sequin" ball gowns, and then go out and do the halftime show at our own championship game?" Azimio asked his coach.
"Yes."
"You're gonna be tired," you poked fun at the jocks in a sing-song voice as they groaned.
"It's the championship game!" Azimio jumped up. "This is a crazy town! This is crazy!"
"What about the Cheerios in Glee Club?" Finn asked over the other jocks' squabbling.
"They have a choice," Mr Schue stated, "Us. Or the Cheerios competition."
"Well, obviously Quinn is gonna choose the Cheerios," your sister remarked bitterly, gesturing down to the blonde seated beside Brittany.
"How do you know that?" you asked as Quinn shot her a glare.
"Yeah, that's not fair," Finn joined ranks with you, "You don't know what she's gonna do."
"I think the cheerleading is gonna be a lot of fun," Mr Schuester stated, still hoping to coax them into staying with his next words, "But if you go, you're gonna miss out on us doing the most iconic song of all time."
"Spooky?" you questioned.
"Yes, Y/N. "Spooky"." He pointed your way. "In fact, the Super Bowl of pop anthems: 'Thriller'."
The Glee Club side of the room grew excited by the news, as the jocks looked less than pleased.
"Yeah, remember a few years ago when that Philippine prison did that mega performance of 'Thriller' and put it on YouTube?" Now, in the four months it took to rehearse that number, prisoner-on-prisoner crime dropped eighty per cent. Doing that. Together. As a team. Created a unity within that prison. And that's what I'm looking to do here."
"Send us to prison?"
"I mean, don't get me wrong, you know. I'm big on Micheal and everything, but isn't that kinda what they're expecting us to do?" Mercedes asked, shrugging her shoulders, with her arms still deep within the pockets of her hoodie.
Pointing to the girl, Mr Schuester was happy to continue his announcement, "Which is why we're gonna mash it together with the 'Yeah Yeah Yeahs' equally spooky single, 'Heads Will Roll'."
"Oh, this is gonna be so cool," you gushed to yourself.
"Who's 'Yeah Yeah Yeah'?"
At Azimio's question, you called over, "They're a band, big guy."
"New Directions," Beiste spoke to the club, turning to her football members, "Titans. We're going to zombie camp." To which she solidified with a sharp blow of her whistle.
---
'Zombie Camp' was fun.
Even with the football players shoving one another thanks to their stumbling feet.
But by the end of the first lesson, the team and football players were at least making some good progress. And your director seemed to think so too, with his clapping.
"All right. Nice progress, guys. Let's take a breather, and I'll see you in the choir room for a lesson in zombie make-up."
"Make-up?" Azimio voiced affronted, following after the group as members of the Glee Club kept up the zombie act, "No, no, no, no, no."
"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes," his coach countered.
"It's not make-up like that."
"How else could it be?" he asked you.
"It's not the kind that makes you look pretty," you explained, gesturing your arms around, "This stuff is meant to make you look gross and gory."
"That sounds a bit better, I guess," the large boy mumbled.
You were mid-way through your zombi make-up, working on the giant gash across your face, when you spotted the football player by your side, about to smush something into his eye. Something that he thought was regular make-up.
Snapping your hand out, you grasped his wrist mear inches from his face.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Why not?"
"That stuff will glue your eye shut. Trust me, I've done it before. Lost like fifteen eyelashes ripping it open."
The boy dropped the sponge onto the table, reacting like the thing had just bit them and it was poisonous.
"Yeah, wise decision."
---
"What did you get on the math homework yesterday?"
Turning to Sam as you walked down the school's halls, you asked, "We had math homework?"
The blonde boy looked at you obviously, making the small amount of dread he had given you to flood larger.
"Shit."
"Don't worry, I'm sure you can talk to her about it," the boy said, referencing your math teacher and patting your shoulder.
"Oh, you are so naive." You recognised that voice, even from almost halfway down the hall. Quinn. "This whole school is about labels."
"Wow." You also knew that scoffed tone. Finn.
Patting Sam a few times against his arm, you pointed out the two squabbling teenagers before you were about to round the corner. Literally pointing them out, as you said, "Uh, dude."
"I never realised you were so freaking weak."
"Oh? I-"
"What did you say?"
Finn spun at the sound of Sam's voice, only to spot you side by side with the blonde.
"All the Cheerios quit Glee Club."
You peered over to Quinn to see if it were true. Who silently shook her head and shrugged at your sadly.
"So, why are you yelling at my girlfriend about it?"
"I'm yelling at her because I'm the leader of this team."
"You are swimming in hypocrisy, Finn," you told the boy, who looked confuddled beyond belief.
"What does that even mean?"
"It means that you're acting all high and mighty for someone who's done the exact same thing. Or do I have to remind you of how you ditched the club, too, in favour of being on the football team last year?"
"That's not the same!" he tried to excuse, "I didn't have any other choice."
"Yes, you did. You had the same choice that Quinn had now."
"But I made it better. And I felt really bad about it!"
"Yeah, well, I'm sure she feels pretty fuckin' bad about it, too."
Quinn's eyes fluttered at you, shoulders dropping softly, suddenly so thankful you were here.
"Why are you always sticking up for her? For everything," the tall boy sneered, "You've got a problem with me acting like this, being a leader, but you have no issue with her?"
"Well, maybe it's time for a change at the top," Sam jumped back in.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"This is kinda hot, actually."
At Quinn's words, you took a glance at her before processing her words and looking at her properly.
"Good to know," you said with a nod. Receiving a light push t your arm from the girl's boyfriend, to which you playfully tapped his own back in retaliation.
Finn, who had also been looking at the girl over his shoulder, turned back once Sam began talking again, giving you the opportune chance to lean over to her with your whispered question.
"That includes my participation too, right?"
Quinn rolled her eyes at you dramatically. The smile she tried to force away told you all you had to know. Making a confident grin pull across your own face.
"It means that maybe the reason everyone hates us is because we need some new leadership," Sam gave the boy some, quite honest, truth, "Face it, you've had your feet in both worlds for a year now and never been able to bring them together. I guarantee you, if Y/N were on the football team-" He gestured to you, using you as an example for his point. "-Things would be in harmony right now."
"Thanks, man." You smiled, catching Finn glaring at you. "What? I'm not allowed to take a compliment?"
"Point is," Sam stressed, continuing, "Maybe someone else could."
"What? As in maybe, you?"
"Or me, apparently."
"As in yes," Sam replied to Finn.
"Well, maybe we should settle this right now," Finn challenged.
"Bring it." Sam pushed the boy ever so lightly.
Pushing the blonde back in his chest, Finn replied, "Brung."
"Oh, well, this is childish," you stated, watching as the boys carried on shoving each other, getting harsher each time.
Quinn thought the same thing as you, watching them with judging eyes.
"Yeah, you want some more of that? You like that?" Finn egged him on.
"Really, guys? Really?"
"What are you doing?" you squinted at the two. "This isn't how you fight. Throw a punch- Ow!" Rubbing at the now sore skin under the shirt of your arm, you looked wide-eyed at Quinn after the glaring blonde had just pinched you. Which you decided to use to your advantage. "Yeah, even start pinching. That'll be better than this shoving bullshit."
Before the boys' "fight" could grow any harsher, Mr Schue jumped in between them with a yell.
"Hey, hey. How many fights do I have to break up this week?"
"Oh, don't worry, Mr Schue. That wasn't a fight." You waved the man off, to which you went ignored at the teacher was still far too focused on keeping the boys separated.
"Now, calm down. And get back to Glee Club." He tugged Sam around, pushing him down the corridor. "Come on."
"Hope to see you there," Finn said, turning to Quinn before walking off himself.
You rolled your eyes at the boy's departing form.
"Don't listen to him..." you would have said more to the Cheerio if you hadn't gotten so distracted. Now beaming at her brightly.
"Why are you smiling?"
You gestured to the gold necklace you had gotten her for Christmas, hanging around her neck, below her signature gold cross. "You're wearing it."
"Of course I am." She lightly pushed your shoulder. A sad look began to take over her eyes as she took a step backwards. "Now, get going. You're gonna miss Glee Club."
As you watched the blonde leave, you could only think one this.
'Screw Sue for making her do this'
---
You were awarded the temporary title of 'Honoury Football Player', even including a jacket of your own, just for this performance with the guys from the Glee Club and the jocks.
Zombie makeup and movements fully ingrained into you by the end of the performance of 'She's Not There'.
Rounding the green auditorium chairs, Mr Schuester came to the foot of the stage, slapping the file onto the. "Guys." Momentarily looking back to a shrugging Beiste. "Awesome!"
A breath of relief flowed through you after the teacher's psych-out.
"All you football players, nailing that zombies classic on- on the first time out. I am impressed."
"Now get your butt's into the locker room and get cleaned up." Beiste stood up.
"Thank God, this stuff's uncomfortable."
The students and faculty of William McKinley High School felt like they had suddenly walked into a horror movie, one where their entire football team turned into jock zombies and now patrolled the halls of their school like phantoms of the day.
Being stopped only by a gang of hockey players.
"Appropriate outfits," the ring leader said, "They represent the death of your guys' reign at this school."
"How many times do we have to put you puck-head in place before you realise that football rules this school?"
"I forgot we had a hockey team," you mumble to yourself from beside Azimio, "They must suck worse than you guys did last year."
Azimio hummed at your words, nodding in agreement.
"Maybe, but not after you make dancing fools of yourselves at that halftime show."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you remarked, raising your hands up into the air, "Is it that, or just the fact that you guys don't have big enough balls to do it yourselves."
Shocking yourself at how quick you were to defend the football players that tortured your team, not even including what they -Karofsky- had done to Kurt.
The leader scoffed at you, shaking his head.
"Come on. You know it, and we know it. The whole school knows it."
"Yeah, I don't take criticism from people who have mullets worse than the 80s."
"And anyway, they'll think differently after they see it," Karofsky jumped in now, "It's gonna be awesome."
"Holy crap. They turned Karofsky gay," the "puck-head" laughed, gaining a chuckle from his teammates.
Rolling your eyes, you said, "You can't turn people gay. It's in their DNA, I know we live in Ohio, but you should know what that is at the very least."
"What are you moose knuckles doing with those slushies?" Puckerman brought everyone's attention to the filled cups within their hands.
"Ready for the fireworks? It's independence day."
"Cover your eyes!" you yelled as a warning to the football players that had never experienced the pain of the ice-cold drink before.
Even with your warning, the stinging juices still managed to trickle and splash into their eyes.
Minutes later, you were in the boy's locker room washing the drink from your eyes and face as the football players whimpered in pain.
"Agh, my eyes!" Karofsky grunted in pain, "Burning."
"Just relax. It stops after a couple of hours," Finn said, as all the glee clubbers reacted to being slushies as if it were nothing, just proceeding to clean their faces of the zombie make-up.
"I tend to sleep it off if I can," you advised, walking forward towards the long-haired Hawaiian football player, struggling to get the stuff out of his eyes, "Don't rub it back in like that." Helping him wash his face off, you added, "That stuff I stopped you from putting in your eyes burns worse than this if you would believe it."
"No fricking way I'm letting that happen again," Karofsky said, trying to push back the tears in his voice.
"I consider this karma for all the times you've done this."
"He's in the first stage of loserdom: Denial," Artie stated.
"No!" the jock snapped, pulling away from the shower he occupied, "I am not a loser!"
"Everyone's a loser in their own right," you called over.
"Well, not me! And I don't sing and dance. I walk tall and carry a big stick."
"Oh, wow. My mind is imploding with the amount of dick jokes I can make with that."
"Dude." Finn walked towards the pissed-off boy. "Relax. This is gonna be fine."
"Yeah. Of course, it is." Karofsky gave the boy a harsh shove, making you jump up from where you were helping the boy you had been these past few days. "Because I'm quitting Glee Club."
"No, you're not," Beiste stated, turning the corner into the shower portion of the locker rooms, "Fact is, covered in ice and red dye number seven, you guys look more like a team than you ever have out on that field."
"I don't care. I'm out."
"Then you're off the team."
"No way."
"Yeah."
"If we quit, you barely have enough guys to play next week. It's the championship game. You're not gonna throw it."
"Try me."
"All this because you can't handle your eyes burning and being called a loser when you get sacked out on the field regularly? This is what breaks you?" you scoffed.
Finn's voice was pleading when he spoke, trailing off into one of his leadership speeches, "Don't do this. If we stand together and we do the halftime show, we can win this game and be kings in this place."
"Oh, what a castle to rule in," you muttered to yourself, glancing around the locker room.
After looking around at his jock friends, gaining shakes of their heads, Karofsky replied, "Good luck with that." Before all the new Glee Football players trailed from the room.
After looking around at his jock friends, gaining shakes of their heads, Karofsky replied, "Good luck with that." Then all the non-glee football players trailed from the room.
Cutting the tension in the room, you sniffed, then asked the coach, "You mind if I hold onto this jacket for a while? My shirt is soaked, and I don't have any spare clothes here. I gave them to Artie when he was drenched."
---
This is exactly what you needed after the long day you had.
Warm coffee to combat the cold ebbing from the streets outside. Along with the plates of sweet treats and your friends.
No matter how much they jokingly bragged about their number for the upcoming competition.
"Now, I don't want to sound cocky or anything, but... you guys better be pulling out all the stops for regionals because the number we just rehearsed is so off the hook, it's dangerous."
"Seriously." Kurt nodded from his seat beside the boy he wished to call his boyfriend, as you took yours at the head of the table, sitting between Blane and your sister. "People should wear protective headgear when they're watching it."
You sighed as Rachel and Mercedes shared a look.
"Guys, we're kidding," Kurt supplied, not meaning for any harm to be taken by it.
"Yeah, well, it's hard to laugh right now with everything going on at McKinley," your sister replied.
"I mean, look at us," Mercedes voiced, "The stars of two rival show choirs sitting down to coffee?"
"I think that's very healthy of us," you spoke around the lip of your coffee cup.
Gaining a nod from Blane. "I agree."
"But that still doesn't negate the fact that our school is so messed up we can't even keep our own football team together," she pointed out.
"It's so sad, you guys. Coach Beiste and Mr Schue were so close at getting everyone at the school together."
"And the boys are super depressed about it."
"Why hasn't Finn told me anything about this?" Kurt asked in indignation, "I mean, we live together. And I bring him a glass of warm milk every night, just in hopes that we'll have a little lady chat."
"Warm milk?" Blane asked, "Really?"
"It's delicious."
Rachel shook her head. "Finn's too proud to complain. He feels like he has to be strong for everyone, but I know it's just killing him inside. I hope he realises that, you know, if he and I were still together, I could make him feel a lot better, you know."
"Hopefully not by spreading your legs," you muttered.
Rolled her eyes, she replied, "I'm not Quinn."
At the same time you gave her shin a swift kick under the table, Mercedes shoved her shoulder into hers lightly.
"Let it go, Rachel," Kurt replied to her words about Finn.
"I- I just wish that there was a way that we could help. That's all."
"Yeah. And the worst part is how bummed the guys are," Mercedes added, "I mean, they already suffer enough abuse just being in glee. I really think that winning the game could have eased some of the pressure, at least for a little while."
"Wait. So, the whole team quit?" Blane asked, munching on his biscuit.
"Everybody not in glee. I mean, you can't play football with five guys, and one of them is in a wheelchair."
"Yeah, and Coach Beiste put up a sign-up sheet for people to join. I think they'll take anyone at this point."
"Well, the good news is you only need four more guys," Blane pointed out, trying to bring some hope back into the three McKinley students, "High school regulations actually let you play a couple guys short if you want to."
Sharing plotting looks with the girls, the boy had given you an eureka moment.
"But if they figure out a way to make it work, we will definitely be there to cheer 'em on."
"Oh, totally," Kurt was quick to agree, "Blane and I love football. Well, Blane loves football. I love scarves."
"Are you two thinking what I am?" you asked the girls before turning back to the head Warbler, placing a hand upon his shoulder, "Blane, you do not know how glad I am that you love football... even if you do dunk your biscotti into coffee."
---
"Why can't we just let them back on the team just for this game?" Sam asked during the next glee club session after the news everyone knew was coming had finally been broken.
"No." Beiste shook her head. "We carry this thing through. Even if it means having to forfeit the game."
"I can't believe this is it," Finn said glumly.
"Maybe it isn't." Sharing a look and an assured nod with your sister, you both stood up and walked to the centre of the room, where the adults were. "We wanna join the team."
"Or, in better words, we volunteer as tributes," your reference was met with silence, "Seriously? Have none of you read 'The Hunger Games'?"
Artie waved his hand. "I have. I got it."
"Thank you!"
"Wait," the boy then paused, processing what this all insinuated to, ""We" who?"
"All of us glee girls, and Y/N." Mercedes popped up now, followed by Tina. "We wanna join the football team, and we want to play in the championship."
"Come one, guy. Stop screwing around," Mike said moodily, "It's not cool."
"What's not cool is you guys not respecting women enough to realise we're perfectly capable of playing football," Lauren countered, walking to the front of the room herself, "And don't forget who the state champ in Greco-Roman Wrestling is. I've got offers from three different professional wrestling organisations for after I graduate, so..."
"High-five," your sister said, the two sharing one as you celebrated Lauren's achievements yourself.
"Oh, hell yeah!"
"Rachel, have you actually seen a tackle football game?" Mr Schue asked, leaning against the piano, "When they tackle you, it hurts."
"No, I thought it would tickle," you replied sarcastically, eyes rolling into the back of your head.
"Yeah, Puckerman voiced, agreeing with his teacher, "And not in the good Mellencamp way."
"We thought about that, but the truth is, is that you guys don't really need us to play. You just need enough players out there to field a regulation team. So, when they snap the ball-" Rachel mimed. "-We're just gonna lie down on the ground. We're just gonna lie there."
"Well, I'm not," Zizes informed, "I'm gonna bring the pain."
You nodded in agreement, "Yeah, me too."
"I guess they won't get hurt if you stay down," Coach Beiste said, clinging onto this shred of hope that had been given to her.
"Okay, what do your parents have to say about this?"
Pulling out a stack of paper from behind her back, Tina moved to hand them over, "We all have signed permission slips from them. It took some convincing, but they understood what it means to all of us."
"Oh, not for me. My dad's were happy to let me do this. They thought it was a great way for me to get out my anger. Tackling people on the field, rather than in the hallways. Even if it is for one game."
"What do you think, coach?" Mr Schue asked, handing the permission slips over.
The woman sighed. "I think... welcome to the football team."
"Yes!"
You celebrated along with the girls, the boys coming down to join in the festivities.
"I'm gonna kick some ass!" you yelled, pumping a fist, "Whoo!"
"Football team! Football team!" Rachel chanted, clapping her hands. "High-five, teammate!"
Oh, this was gonna be so much fun.
---
You couldn't remember the last time you had felt this much anxiety vibrating through your bones. Which, lucky for you, was masked with excitement.
Hats, scarves, and jackets were needed on the cold January evening. And here you were in bulky football gear and pads, the stereotypical black steeks painted under your eyes.
Finn shook your shoulders once the guys joined up with you on the field, noises of excitement coming from everyone.
You had just finished high-fiving Sam when you heard your sister's loud shout came from behind her gold-star-covered helmet.
"Let's kick some ass!"
"Yeah!" you and Puckerman yelled in unison.
"Kick some ass!"
"Kick it!"
"Yeah!" Rachel and yourself stood side-by-side, synching each other up. "I knew it wasn't just me with anger in our family."
Speaking of...
Your eyes glanced over the crowd, finding two familiar faces.
"Hey, dads are here."
"What?" Rachel followed your line of sight, spotting your father's smiling down at you, making her wave excitedly to them with both hands. You, however, used a single arm, waving largely to them.
Even from so far away, you could feel the worry radiating from them. But still, with their bright smiles and waves, you could tell they were looking forward to the game you had felt so passionately about, just to help your friends.
"You sure you're gonna be able to join in?" Finn asked, "I mean, you don't even know how to play football."
"Just tell me what number to go for," you replied confidently.
Before long, you were in a huddle, with Finn giving out plays that you nor most of the girls even knew.
"Punch and Judy on one. Ready, break!"
"Break!" All the guys clapped.
"What?"
"Who's Judy?"
Turning to your sister as you made your way towards the line, you sassed, "You tellin' me that you know a guy called 'Punch'?"
"Where do I go? What do I do?"
Finn pointed her towards the ground, leaving her to copy a position she had once seen on television before turning to tell you where you had to go.
"You have to stand behind Rachel and Tina and stop number 38 when they lay down from going any further."
"Got it."
Copying the position of the boy you were tasked to stop, a smirk tugging at your face when he joined his teammates in chuckling at what your team had to do. Knowing you were gonna take him down, just like you had Karofsky weeks ago.
"Blue 42! Blue 42!" 'What?' "Down! Set! Hut!"
Your sister screamed around her mouth guard as she, Tina, -and Mercedes- all dropped to the ground. Leaving you to slide between the two, halting the football player with a huff.
With the blow of a whistle signalled the end of the play.
"Is it over?" Rachel asked as you helped her and Tina up.
"It was the first play. Obviously, it's not over."
"What happened?" Tina asked next.
Checking the board, you replied, "They got the ball."
By the second quarter, your team hadn't got a single point, and the rivals were up by seventeen. And you were in yet another huddle.
"All right. How's everyone doin'?" Finn asked, checking in.
"Kill me now," Mercedes spoke up exhausted, "I wanna die."
"Well, I'm actually having a lot of fun," you stated, turning to Sam, "Hey, you think Coach Beiste would let me try out next year."
"You don't even know the game."
"No, but tackling people is fun."
"Is anyone else tired of lying down all the time? I want to play," Tina said.
"Oh, hell yeah."
"Just... don't get ahead of yourself, okay?" Finn tried to talk the girl down from her boredom and intrigue, "Ready, break!"
One again bent down behind Tina and Rachel, with your hand pressed into the grass, ready for yet another failed play.
"The Blitz. The Blitz. Watch!" you heard Coach Beiste's voice coming through your helmet, pointing out directions.
"What the hell does that mean?" you asked yourself worriedly, hoping that it wasn't anything directed at you.
"Set! Hut!"
You, as usual, had stopped 38. But Finn had gotten tackled anyway, sending the ball tumbling across the field for anyone to nab.
Luckily, it was one of your team that managed to grab it and begin running it down the field.
Still pushing at the boy, you heard directions being screamed through your helmet.
"25, get to number 4!"
Glancing down at the number printed across your chest, you shoved the boy to the side whilst yelping, "Oh, shit. That's me! That's me!" Bolting towards the boy chasing Tina.
You weren't able to get there in time.
Skidding to a halt, you threw the boy off her back while he manoeuvred himself up.
The whole team gathered around the girl, still flat on her face, along with the medics. Her boyfriend worriedly hovering over her.
"Is she breathing?" Mike asked.
"Is she dead?" you asked before you were able to stop yourself, too busy panicking and racking through your brain, trying to grasp onto any idea you could muster to help the girl. Gaining a swift smack around your helmet-covered head from Sam in reaction to having your foot in your mouth.
Finally, once her mouthguard was pulled away, Tina spoke, "Did we win?" Sending relief flooding through you, your teammates, and the crowd.
"Glad you're alive, Tina," you joked after pulling your helmet off.
"Thanks, so am I."
"We're still in this," Finn tried to keep everyone's hopes up.
"Oh, give it up, Finn," Rachel retaliated, turning to face the boy, "Our only shot at redemption, right now, is to kick butt at the halftime show."
"She's not wrong," you panted, gesturing over to the scoreboard, "I mean, how do we come back from this?"
Just then, a look crossed the brown-eyed boy's face, the type where two wires fell together and sparked a thought that could rival an epiphany.
"Sam! Come here." He waved him over. "I need to play quarterback for the rest of the half."
"Haven't you already?" you asked, confused. Considering he had been the one shouting out the plays all night.
However, the blonde nodded readily. "Okay." Leaving the taller boy to continue giving directions.
"Puck, when the half ends, you gotta go convince Karofsky and the rest of the guys to do the halftime show with us."
"How the hell am I supposed to do that?"
Finn rolled his eyes at the question. "Figure it out. You're my wingman, right?"
"I got tone, Mav," Puck assured, pumping the boy's awaiting fist as you threw out your arms in indignation, looking at Finn shocked.
"And what am I, your dancing chimpanzee?"
"W-Where are you going?" Rachel asked, sensing the boy was about to run off himself.
"You can't have a halftime show without cheerleaders."
"Oh, nuh-huh," you voiced, stopping him before he could make any real distance from your little group, "Quinn's probably still pissed at you. It won't do nothing than make it worse. I'll go."
"You sure?" he asked as you jogged past him, making you turn to face him, walk backwards down the field, and throwing your arms up onto the air, still holding onto your shiny red helmet.
"Well, she likes me right now!"
Then you turned, sprinting away, hoping to make it in time before they left. Even if you had to run in front of the bus to stop them.
Maybe your parents were right. You were reckless at times.
---
Running down the rows of parked buses, you were given some hope of reaching the girls before the Cheerios coach drove off with the cheerleaders inside, thanks to all the other Cheerios mulling around the area of the parking lot.
When the coach came into view, it wasn't hard to find the giant cannon this whole ordeal started with. Along with the three cheerleaders you recognised, even from the back.
"Hey, hey, hey," you called over to the trio, making them turn to find your panting form jogging up to them.
"What are you doing here?" Quinn asked, then looked you up and down, brows furrowing at your outfit, "And what are you wearing?"
You looked down at yourself, spreading your arms out, "Costume party. And to answer your first question, I'm here to stop you from going with Sue to the Regionals competition."
"Y/N..." the girl started, shaking her head softly.
"Come on, Quinn. Please come back to the game. We need you guys there."
"Haven't you been paying attention?" the head cheerleader snapped, "If we're not Cheerios, we're nothing."
"That stigma might have been pushed onto you, and every dumb fuckin' student here might believe that, but you and I both know that that's bullshit. You wanted to be popular, so you joined the Cheerios, but why did you join the Glee Club- Well, why did you stay in the club? Because you loved it, right?"
The three nodded softly.
"We care about you in the club. Sue doesn't! She's fine killing Brittany for a bullshit competition. Be honest with me, guys. if it meant you could still be popular and it wouldn't hurt your reputation, which would you choose?"
With a shrug, Brittany admitted, "Glee club."
"See." You gestured happily to the girl, before your eyes found Quinn's, spotting the sad yet unsure look in her own hazel ones. With a gentle sigh, you stepped toward the girl to speak with her more personally. "I know you. And I know that you don't think you are, but you're strong enough to do this. You're strong enough to do anything, Quinn Fabray."
The blonde smiled up at you, eyes shifting into the ones she used to look at you with during the summer.
"Okay," she breathed.
"Okay?"
A nod, "Yeah."
"Yes!" you yelled in celebration, shooting your arms up into the air, making the girl giggle. "San, what about you?" You then turned to the silent cheerleader.
"Screw her. She put me on the bottom of the pyramid."
"And there's no more harsh vibes between you two?" you asked, waving a finger between her and Quinn.
"No. We duked that out."
"Hot. Wish I could have been there." The blonde smacked your arm in playful punishment. "Ow," you spoke dully, "Okay, we've gotta go, halftimes in a few minutes, and we've gotta get changed ASAP."
"No time for a foursome, ladies," Sue called over from the front of the bus when you tried to leave with the girls, "Bus leaves in five."
"Which, by the way, I'm totally down for," you told the three with raised eyebrows, waving your helmet between the three.
"Of course you are," Santana smirked.
Ticking her head to the side, a smug look upon her own face, Quinn spoke to the coach, "We quit Cheerios." Making you beam proudly.
"You can't quit Cheerios," Sue stated, "Its blood in, blood out. Now get your sweet little cans on that bus."
"But we still quit," Santana pressed, ticking her head sassily.
"You're my stars. If you leave, I have no performance!"
"Sucks for you," Brittany sassed herself as you began walking away once more.
"You signed a consent form!"
"What's that?" You turned, finding the cheerleading coach holding up a sheet of paper. "That the only copy?" you asked, coming closer.
"The only one I need." Swiftly, you tugged the sheet of paper out of her fingertips and shredded it to pieces. "I can tape that back together," she told you smugly.
"That right?" you asked rhetorically, calling her bluff and throwing the shredded paper into your mouth. Taking a smug joy in the way her face fell at your actions. Swallowing the dry, clumpy paper down, you sassed, "Try taping that back together."
Chuckling, you jogged back to the three shocked teenagers, throwing your arms over both Quinn and Brittany's shoulders.
"You know that she couldn't have done anything with that consent form, right?" Quinn smiled up at you.
You stared down at the road below for a few seconds before speaking, "Shit."
---
Puck had managed to get all the football players -but Karofsky- to perform in the halftime show until the boys joined everyone at the end, dancing along with the zombies.
Things were still unsure for the team, which is why you were brought along into the boy's locker room, celebrating with them on the successful performance, before you possibly had to go back out there and tackle more rival players.
"Hey, what are you guys doing in here?" Beiste asked,
"Oh, we were just gonna take out zombie make-up off for the second half," Finn said, "It's kind of itchy."
"Yeah, you're tellin' me," you agreed from your seat upon one of the wooden benches, scratching at your neck where the stuff started.
"No, leave it on. Maybe we'll freak out the other guys a little bit and we need all the help we can get right now. Now, get out there."
"All of us?"
At Puck's question, you peered over at the woman curiously, awaiting her decision on letting the guys back on the team.
"Yeah." She nodded. "All of us."
"Oh, thank God!" you celebrated yourself, once the boys finished cheering, flopping down onto the bench fully, head rolling back into the wood, "Now I can lay down."
"I don't think so."
A groaned, questioning grunt left your mouth as you turned to peer at the coach, who only looked at you pointedly.
"Oh, no!"
"Oh, yes!" She nodded to you happily. "Now, get back out there!"
"I don't wanna! I'm tired!"
"Come on, Y/N." Sam smiled, fingers curling into the shoulder pads sitting on your chest, using that leverage to pull you back up, "You've got more people to tackle."
As you were ascending, against your will, you whined out, "But violence is never the answer."
---
Turns out, having football players who actually participated in the game and knew what they were doing, not including yourself, really made the difference. It also might have had something to do with the make-up.
Finn and everyone around you, were still telling you what number to go for. But other than that, you seemed to be doing pretty well out there. Not to mention you were having a lot of fun out there, more so than the first half. And that could be seen, thanks to your humoured laugh, straightening out your helmet.
"Did you bite him?" you managed to get out through chuckles.
Puck just grinned at you knowingly whilst nodding his head, only making you crack up more.
It was the last stretch of the game when Sam nodded to the huddled team. "It was a good run. We almost had it."
"Well," you began with an exhaled breath, "Considering the fuckery that was the first half, I think this was a big achievement."
Finn, ever the optimist, said, "Hey, this game isn't over."
"There's, like, ten seconds left. It's over." Karofsky shrugged.
Then it dawned on the once quarterback, "Not if the quarterback fumbles the snap."
"How do we make him do that?"
He knocked on your chest. "Just follow my lead."
Meeting the rival team at the line, you started the chant of 'brains', swaying like zombies as you did, creeping them out. Which quickly lead to the entire crowd chanting it into the night sky, like some stereotypical cult meeting.
And it did exactly what Finn planned it would.
The quarterback, too distracted by the crowd, missed catching the ball. Giving your best friend the perfect chance to scoop it up and run it to the end zone, successfully winning the game for your school.
"Oh, I'm gonna pass out as soon as I hit my bed tonight," you groaned, dropping your helmet to the ground and holding your knees as soon as you got to the sideline where the rest of your friends stood waiting.
"Are you okay?" Quinn asked, unable to wipe the smile from her face. Both at winning the game and your overdramatics of the moment.
"I'm exhausted." You let out another deep guttural groan from your chest, spotting the helmet at your feet. Sliding it across the ground, you lowered yourself down, choosing to use the hard thing as a pillow. "I'm gonna take a nap."
"Y/N, you can't-"
"I'm gonna take a nap right here!"
"They always were overdramatic when they're tired."
Your eyes snapped open when you heard that voice. Looking up, you spotted your fathers both looking down at you with proud smiles up on their faces. Scrambling up, you rushed to give them a hug. Full pads and all.
"Dads!"
"We're so proud of you."
"Thanks!" Pulling back, you told them, almost conspiratorially, "I ate paper today."
"Why did you eat paper?" LeRoy asked, both their eyes wide in shock at the information.
"It's a long story, and you had to be there. But all you need to know is that I had to do it, and it wasn't pointless in the slightest."
From over your shoulder, Hiram and LeRoy could see a still zombie Quinn, shaking her head obviously, clearly mouthing the word 'no', letting them know you were lying.
They both hummed at your words as you continued to smile at them happily, content with the decision you made earlier.
They wondered how you weren't a 'leash kid' when they were younger sometimes.
---
Rounding the corner, still turning heads in the halls as the students walked to their next class, thanks to your involvement in the championship game, you came face to face with one Quinn Fabray.
"Hey!" You smiled brightly at the girl, who still looked at you like you had hung the stars in the sky.
"Hi." The blonde watched you for a couple moments before she blinked herself out of her thoughts and gestured to the folded letterman jacket in your hand. "What's with this?"
"Oh, well, I borrowed it when I got slushied the other day, 'cause I didn't have any other clothes. Just tried to give it back."
"She letting you keep it as a souvenir?" she asked, referencing your participation on the field.
"Yeah." You nodded happily. "Also said that I might as well keep it now instead of getting it next year."
Quinn's eyes lit up in surprise. "You're on the team?"
"Apparently so. She said I was good, even though I had no clue what I was doing out there. It's strange, huh? I gain a uniform just as you give one up. How does that feel, by the way?"
She shrugged happily. "Weird. Did turn a couple heads."
"Well, I think it suits you," you spoke earnestly, glancing her up and down, taking in her dress, "Very 'nieve girl going to see church grandma', but still hot at the same time."
Playfully, the blonde shoved your shoulder, trying to push away the heat building upon her cheeks.
"I never got the chance to thank you." She looked down bashfully. "For helping me do the right thing."
"Ah, all you had to do was get out of this." A soft tap on her forehead. "I'm sure if we weren't on such a time crunch, you would have figured it out yourself in no time."
"I... I just have to say that you were amazing this week. On the field and off."
You gave a soft chuckle, "Yeah, it seems I'm just as good at tackling football players on the field as I am during fights."
She laughed lightly, shaking her head. "Your dedication to your friends and how much you cared... it reminded me of why I fell for you."
"Wait..." Your head drew back, breath thinning out of shock of what Quinn had just confessed. "Y- You fell for me."
"Of course, I did." She shrugged as if it were obvious. "How could anyone not?"
"Quinn... I..."
As you stumbled over your words, trying to process the information that was thrust upon you, hardly noticing the blonde moving closer to you. Finally, snapping out of your stupor, by the feeling of her hands on your chest, travelling to wrap around your neck.
"Wait..."
Quinn hummed, nose nudging against yours. In the middle of the school hallways.
"We shouldn't be doing this," you said, with your hand on her hip, "You're- You're with Sam. And you're still not ready to come out, right?"
The girl sighed, nodding her head as she rubbed your cheekbone with her thumb. "You're right." She finished her sentence off by pressing a heavy kiss against your cheek, then left you alone in the hall, looking over her shoulder, shooting you a soft smile, before rounding the corner.
And you could only think one thing.
'Quinn Fabray loves me!'
-----
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Classical Guitar
Welcome to the Thunderdome.
***
You know why nobody ever talks about classical guitar in any way, shape or form? Because it’s boring as shit and the culture is really weird.
You know Gollum from Lord of the Rings? That describes basically 75% of classical guitarists I’ve encountered in my life. The sheer amount of time and effort devoted to fingernails would blow your mind. No joke...find the cheapest nail salon around a university with a music school, go in during the last week of November or April (before finals), and I guarantee you’ll see at least two classical guitar students in there. I know this from personal experience, because it’s less embarrassing to go with a buddy than it is to go by yourself.
The reason classical guitarists are so weird is because of the incredible demands the requires simply to play the fucker decently. Not great, not well...decently.
Because, while technically classical guitar and every other style of guitar is technically...well...guitar, it’s like comparing penguins or ostriches to an eagle. And in this metaphor, classical guitar is not the awkward land bound bird here...
***
You have to keep in mind historical context. You always have to keep in mind historical context when talking about this shit. The guitar is not an orchestral instrument, it’s a parlor instrument. It evolved out of the lute and was designed for a single musician, or maybe three or four, to play shit to entertain people while they fucked around. It’s an inherently informal instrument.
The advantage it has in this context can’t be undersold. Beethoven called the guitar “a little orchestra” for a reason.
The piano is loud as shit when played softly. When dug into by someone with chops, it can shake a foundation...not great for things conversational atmospheres, even with the lid down. The guitar doesn’t have this problem.
It’s this “little orchestra” aspect that makes classical guitar different than any other modern style, other than Joe Pass-style jazz guitar. Classical guitar features counterpoint and chord development that other stringed instruments can’t do. It fills up tremendous amounts of sonic space...provided one has the technique to make it really sing.
Serious modern guitar players typically gravitate to jazz because it’s actually somewhat applicable to other modern styles of music. Meaning, you can talk to others without coming off like a weirdo. They don’t gravitate to classical guitar because of the technical demands, and how those demands don’t translate through eras.
That said...
***
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This is guitar in its purest form, and it’s just goddamned beautiful.
I’ve talked a lot about mountain climbing in a metaphorical sense before...it’s easy and I like it, so there...and when you’re talking about guitarists, something fits. Rock stuff is like Everest...glory, name recognition, difficult but attainable with enough money and hard work. Jazz is like K2...you don’t fuck with this unless you know what you’re doing.
Classical guitar at its best is like The Ogre. A mountain that takes so long just to reach the base of, that’s so preposterously difficult to climb just to get near the final 1k meters, and then you’re facing a vertical climb where the mountain’s rock is like kitty litter all with about 1/3 the oxygen you need to survive...and that’s without talking uncontrollable freak variables like weather (string issues - you can’t just restring, they take a week to break in -, humidity impacting or breaking nails for gutiar) and shit like that.
If you read this and asked yourself “why would anyone even bother?” you hit the nail on the head...classical guitar is a place reserved for freaks, and I mean that in both complimentary and insulting ways at the same time.
As a guitarist who’s bothered, let me tell you...if you listened to that clip above, the purity and beauty and perfection...that’s why you fucking bother.
***
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A lot of classical guitar relates to that metaphor of mountain climbing. If you want to be the best guitarist you can be, if you want to climb that mountain, you have to push yourself to places you normally wouldn’t go. You have to work and learn how to make things that are extremely uncomfortable from a musical technique standpoint, and make them second nature...and then keep going.
I like the metaphor of The Ogre’s kitty litter-like rock because it’s hard to impress how fickle a nylon-stringed guitar is. That consistency of note quality you’re hearing in these examples is from decades of practice....because in reality, getting that consistent of a strike alone is something to be incredibly proud of. Two notes struck in sequence can have completely different levels of volume, projection and quality based on a variety of factors...chiefly being technique.
That’s why I’ve talked a lot about fingernails and used them as an image at the top...the right hand, and specifically the nails, are the engine for all of this. The nails allow precision, speed and consistency, which is why classical guitarists obsess over them.
I still remember my last day of collegiate classical guitar. I bit my nails growing up, and each semester was hell because I couldn’t gnaw on them for three months at a time...man, once I was done, I lit into my right hand like nothing else.
But that inconsistency is exasperated without nails...in the worst ways. With nails, you could get lucky and strike a perfect note. Without them, even a “perfectly” struck note will sound like a quiet thud.
I’m not even joking about this...a lot of extremely talented guitarists avoid playing classical guitar simply because they don’t want long fingernails on one hand. They do things like hybrid pick (use a pick and then the free fingers for other stuff...this is like 70% good) or a thumbpick (Chet Atkins) or find a way to switch back and forth.
None of those methods can match the sheer potential a guitarist has with their hands.
***
The reason I’m writing this isn’t because I’m getting into classical guitar again. I mean, I kind of am...but my teacher is pushing me to go this direction for improvisation in jazz. It’s very difficult, but the payoff is having a piano-like impact, which is huge (and relatively unique).
And we wouldn’t be going this route if I didn’t have a classical background to begin with.
But I have fingernails now, and they’re really well shaped and very strong. I’m about two months into this and am fully on board with it being worthwile because let me tell you, the growing pains have been tremendous. It just has so much potential.
And practicing a lot of Bach and Scarletti and Taregga is really hard. I feel like my right hand is letting my left hand down big time...it’s just such a high bar to overcome without dedication and time, it’s a huge struggle. Just to give you an idea of the differences, the first video is one of the all-time jazz gods Joe Pass, pretty much the only guy in the conversation that deserves mention alongside any classical guitarist worth their shit.
Pay attention to his right hand...
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...now pay attention to this right hand.
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It’s night and day, which is incredible saying about someone as legendary as Joe Pass...but it’s true. Here’s the deal...Joe can play like that because he has an amplifier. I can’t impress how much that helps...all that shit I talked about fingernails helping with is taken care of by the amp. Projection, consistency, volume...not an issue if you have something literally called an amplifier.
You don’t have to be a guitarist or know jack shit about music to see those two right hands and notice the differences in quality of technique. Joe takes small strokes at the strings, knowing he has an amp to help.
Parkening tho...my god he is getting every last decible out of that guitar through sheer technique and biomechanics. His fingers have all the room in the world to powerfully stroke through the string and just bazooka those soundwaves out into the crowd.
***one thing I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned when talking about playing guitar is ergonomics...note in the screenshots of each video, both Joe Pass’ and Christopher Parkening’s guitar necks are at essentially the same angle, roughly 45*...this isn’t a coincindence or camera trick, this is the proper placement for a guitar, standing or sitting.
Here’s a great angle too. He’s intentionally only using two fingers here, but look at how much room he leaves himself to generate maximum speed, power and precision.
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***
Guitar has so many possibilities and so much potential as an instrument, it’s kind of a shame that modern applications have revolved around buying toys (pedals) and making noise (loud amps).
That’s the rationale my teacher has been leading with, and it’s really hard to argue. Fortunately for me, he’s been a longtime staff memeber at the Cleveland Institute of Music (classical guitar, they don’t do jazz) and I’m really just honing the same technique I let rust, but I can’t stress the learning curve it takes to use your right hand like this.
And it’s that learning curve that makes classical guitar such a niche of niches. Anyone on the street would be impressed if you climbed Everest, and a lot of people would be like “oh yea I’ve heard of K2.” But nobody has heard about The Ogre.
But that’s the perfect metaphor for what it takes to climb the classical guitar mountain. That’s the challenge right there. And that’s why I fucking love it.
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My blog is basically IT now so welcome to the thunderdome mother fuckers
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