Posts Tagged ‘Bruce Springsteen’

WOB: The Boss

// June 13th, 2009 // No Comments » // Uncategorized

Whatever you did last night, it sucked compared to my night. Bruce freaking Springsteen.

I was more excited for the show than anything I can remember, partly because of Joe Posnanski writing about how much he loves them. Partly because a buddy told me that I have to see him play. Have to. {His middle name is Bruce, after the Boss, so there’s a slight bias.} But I was scared that I wouldn’t like it as much as I should. I enjoy his music, but wasn’t going in a fan. I probably shouldn’t worry about stupid things such as if Bruce and E-Street were going to put on a show. They can jam.

How good were the tickets? Decent.

How good were the tickets? Decent.

My thoughts on Bruce are completely unintelligible. I respect people who are good at what they do, but I rarely get starstruck. Now? I want to have his baby. I want him to have my baby. {I don’t know how that works, but I’ll raise El Bossito.} Bruce turned me into a little school girl, and I hate him for it. But I’m strangely alright with it because how can you not love a guy strutting around with a goofy shit-eating underbite grin that little boys have when they get caught with their hand in the cookie jar? The entire show, I felt privileged to see 13 friends and insanely talented musicians dicking around and having a good time, loving each other, the music they’re playing.

Now for the kicker that will really make you hate me? I’m going to watch them again Sunday with my own bemused smile full of wonder when contemplating how damn lucky I am.

WOB: Public Urination

// June 11th, 2009 // No Comments » // Uncategorized

This will be the last post relating to the Boss experiences last weekend. I didn’t want to spoil the awesomeness of the experience with the mental picture of me taking a leak. Although personally, it makes the whole deal much more enjoyable. I try and live life so I have good stories to tell. Some of them may make me seem like an uncivilized rapscallion. Some of them may or may not make me unemployable in the future. That’s the way it goes.

I like to think that’s not the case and I’m a responsible, considerate person. So occasionally I’ll do things after running my gums solely to have entertaining anecdotes. Hemmingway said, “Always do sober what you said you’d do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.” I don’t say I’ll do something, I’ll just do it. Although bodily functions necessitating the following actions probably had more of an effect than me being ridiculous.

Needing to pee rather badly during the concert in the middle of the show, knowing that the bathrooms were on the opposite end of the stadium {Apparently restroom convenience was not in the forefront of stadium planning in the early 1900s.} and having an empty 1.5 liter bottle at my disposal, I conceived of the Michael Scott ‘Win, Win, Win’ scenario. I discretely walked to a corner, thinking that the show would distract most of the security staff, and calmly proceeded to nearly top off the bottle. I capped it and dropped it into a garbage can. No one sees my pecker, no one has to deal with the smell of stale urine, and I don’t miss any of the music. Win, win, win.

After joining back up with the group, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Security guard. “Come with me.” Damnit. I would have let my bladder burst before getting kicked out. Luckily, Swedes hate confrontation and love Bruce. Also, I think he was a little impressed that I almost filled the bottle up. He informed me that it’s a roughly $150 fine for public urination, gave me a warning, told me not to do it again {Is that possible to pee 3 liters in just over three hours?} and let me go back to the show. However, that is not the most people I have peed in front of.

During a game at Minnesota I forgot to use the restroom {Or shower drain - you have to take what you can get when you have minimal time and 100 guys are all trying to relieve themselves.} before the game and had the unbearably painful do-the-shuffle-type-dance-to-take-your-mind-off-it bladder pains. This was at the beginning of the second quarter. Being on special teams and a walk on, running into the tunnel was not an option. It may have taken too long and relegated me to DNP - Coach’s Decision status. Plus, that’s not the most discrete option, anyone seeing that knows what’s happening. Some guys had said if they had to go during the game they just go. I didn’t play enough to create enough sweat to mask the kidney water. So I did what any rational human would do: I enlisted the help of five O lineman to form a wall in front of me, emptied a water bottle and used that as a urine repository. And don’t worry, I found a spot in a garbage can to ensure no one received an unwanted surprise.

Moral of the story? I guess there’s not one. This isn’t Aesop’s fables. But me peeing in very public places proves I’m not gun shy as well as leading to me having stories to tell and you ostensibly being entertained. Win, win, win.

WOB: The Boss Redux

// June 9th, 2009 // 2 Comments » // Uncategorized

I shook Bruce Springsteen’s hand. Typically things of this nature don’t interest me. Handshakes, pictures, autographs: if there is no meaningful interaction, I don’t see the importance. Joe Paterno is the only person that I’ve been awed by during a cursory post-game handshake. There is no way that I can write this in a logical way, and this is the biggest platform from which I can brag.

Anyway, a group of ten-fifteen guys were waiting behind the stage in the stands for directions following the show. After the E-Streeters finished the encore and walked out, a seven foot gap was all that separated them from the tunnel to the dressing rooms. That was crazy enough. When The Boss walked out, everyone went crazy and looked around in semi-disbelief. Then a shout came back from below. Bruce had come back out of the tunnel to acknowledge a bunch of jokers there to clean up after him. Luckily a couple guys quickly ran down to shake his hand that allowed me to shake off my stupor and get down there for a put-er-there of my own. I screwed up the settings on my camera, so I don’t have photographic evidence.

Also, during clean up on the stage I managed to snag a dropped guitar pick, set lists from the Friday and Sunday shows as well as his phonetic Swedish, thanking the Swedes that left them momentarily confused and then in hysterics.


I’m not trying to go on about my Bruce experiences. But my weekend consisted of attending a concert Friday night, dealing with a hangover of awesome {From the concert that ying-yanged with my awesome hangover.} on Saturday, another show on Sunday night and loading out the stage following the Sunday show. I’ll try and eliminate all unsolicited references to the Boss by midweek. However, I make no promises.

I mean, he shook my freaking hand…

WOB: The Boss

// June 6th, 2009 // 1 Comment » // Uncategorized

Whatever you did last night, it sucked compared to my night. Bruce freaking Springsteen.

I was more excited for the show than anything I can remember, partly because of Joe Posnanski writing about how much he loves them. Partly because a buddy told me that I have to see him play. Have to. {His middle name is Bruce, after the Boss, so there’s a slight bias.} But I was scared that I wouldn’t like it as much as I should. I enjoy his music, but wasn’t going in a fan. I probably shouldn’t worry about stupid things such as if Bruce and E-Street were going to put on a show. They can jam.

How good were the tickets? Decent.

My thoughts on Bruce are completely unintelligible. I respect people who are good at what they do, but I rarely get starstruck. Now? I want to have his baby. I want him to have my baby. {I don’t know how that works, but I’ll raise El Bossito.} Bruce turned me into a little school girl, and I hate him for it. But I’m strangely alright with it because how can you not love a guy strutting around with a goofy shit-eating underbite grin that little boys have when they get caught with their hand in the cookie jar? The entire show, I felt privileged to see 13 friends and insanely talented musicians dicking around and having a good time, loving each other, the music they’re playing.

Now for the kicker that will really make you hate me? I’m going to watch them again Sunday with my own bemused smile full of wonder when contemplating how damn lucky I am.


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