Just Another Blog
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
 
Song and a Story

Song.

I don't recall if it was high school or college (I'm thinkin' college, early) when I saw these guys play and gotted knocked down myself.

I had seen Naked Raygun play before, and I would see them play again later. This show was in Chicago at the Riv. It may have been the first time I ever went to a show alone - a trend that followed me all through college and follows me still.

This was the early 90's and, frankly, downtown Chicago was pretty tough. Lots of skinheads in boots and bombers were at the show. I was a boots and leather guy, myself.

The pit was a go from the opening band. I was a slighter lad in those days, but I was always game for banging in the pit. This was a tough one - lots of flying forearms. Keep your head down and your feet flailing and kicking ahead of you though, and you'll be fine. If you fell down the sea didn't open up around you. Sure, it was generally considered bad form to actually stomp somebody, but that didn't mean you might not get trampled or kicked.

I found myself standing over some guy unlucky enough to go down and to get trapped as the sea surged over him. I found myself kicking along to the music. Over and over. Never with any real intent to harm or maim but rather in some sort of macho display of dominance, I suppose.

Suddenly the sea surged again and I went far to left of the guy still unable to get his feet under him. I never really saw whom I had been kicking: just boots and a bomber. I stayed in the pit through the next song and then drifted to the back to take a break and catch my breath. At the back edge I turned around and took one step toward the bar.

BAM! I was on the floor. I - flash - caught just a glimpse: bald head and bare knuckles. I walked straight into a right hook that caught me square in the left eye and dropped me before I even knew what hit me.

I was up quickly. I looked around, but whoever it was was gone. There was just a sea of bomber jackets and the rocking of the pit.