As a kid, you dream of things that may come to matter less when you get older. Some say you grow up, others say that you change perspective. Maybe it is a little of both. My brother had a friend who used to say, “I still got a little kid left in me,” and I never really knew what he meant. I heard it as a verbal conundrum. Was he saying that he was still a little boy, in that he refused to grow up and hoped to remain the proverbial toys-are-us kind of kid? Or, was he suggesting that he hoped to always maintain a bit of kid (as in a “little” amount) within his personality. That way, he would mature but still enjoy the things that make us remember being a kid. I never asked him and maybe will one day. It suggests, however, that each of us should hold onto some strand of what mattered when we were little.
One thing I really wanted as a kid was to be a baseball player. That fell to the wayside when I realized I couldn’t hit a curveball or throw one or even recognize one as a broadcaster. Another thing I wanted was to be a rock star. Not happening! Have you heard me sing? My music skills are even worse. Still, one thing I wanted had nothing to do with my career or my hopes or may lack of talent. Rather, it had to do with being a sports fan.
I was one of the few kids in my Pittsburgh neighborhood who liked hockey. This was before the Mario Lemieux era hit Pittsburgh, the short four year span between the U.S. Hockey Gold Metal at the 1980 Olympics that has inspired talk of miracles, and the day in 1984 when the Pittsburgh Penguins were saved as then-General manager Eddie Johnston announced they had drafted “le nombre soixante-six” or, number sixty-six, known throughout Pittsburgh ever since simply as Mario. Other kids still watched the Lakers and the Celtics or the Steelers and Cowboys. Ever since Mike Eruzione and Lake Placid, I was interested in Maple Leafs, Bruins and Penguins.
Years roll by and by as we age, but as Tom Petty said, “The waiting is the hardest part.” Being a young hockey fan in the 1980s was torturous. The Penguins almost eliminated the defending champion Islanders in 1982, and then made only one play-off appearance in 1989. Throughout my early hockey fandom, they kept losing early in the elimination tournament that is the play-offs. The dream I had and my brother shared was a Stanley Cup Championship. Our goals were simple. We wanted the Penguins to win!
The hockey years tumbled along with the awkward teenage years and I kept hoping for the Penguins to win the Stanley Cup, which for those not in the know, is the trophy given to the hockey champion from the National Hockey League (NHL). The league really should be called the North American Hockey League because Canada is heavily represented. Regardless, I wanted to see the Penguins win The Cup. It seemed they never would. Living through seasons from 1980 through 1990 seemed to be a lot longer than a decade, and much, much longer than the two decades since.
I have long said that every true sports fan deserves to see the team they root for win a championship. It is just that much fun. It is a thrill-ride, it is exciting, it is the fulfillment of the euphoria that makes us fans. I have also said that if you are going to be a fan, you might as well have fun. So, I take this crazy sports fan thing to the level of passion. Who knows why? It has probably been a lot of energy spent that could have been directed toward better projects. Hey, it is what it is and it was fun hoping the Penguins would win. And they finally did so in 1991, twenty years ago this very day.
On May 25, 1991, after a brutal and amazing season, the Pittsburgh Penguins won the elusive Stanley Cup to claim their first NHL Championship. And I had finally realized one of my wishes. At the celebration event, the gritty Phil Bourque raised The Cup above his shoulders and said to us fans, “What do you say we take this thing down to the river and party all summer?!” I had just turned twenty-one and was not a drinker, but I celebrated all summer and fondly recall that year to this day. You have to understand how much this meant to me then. I was dating a girl for what became my first serious and mature relationship. One of the first tings I told her was, “Listen, I think it is important we spend time together, but if the Penguins ever make a run to the Stanley Cup, I will be in front of the television almost every night watching games.” When it happened, she got mad and broke up with me. I walked away clean. I had warned her!
The Penguins have gone on to win two more Stanley Cups in 1992 and 2009, but as they say, the first time is always special. I have also gone on to do a lot of things in the 20 years since. Through so many moves I can no longer count, getting married, having three kids, buying a house, changing jobs several times, going back to school twice and owning ten different cars, it is the night that I blew a fuse for the horn in my first car that I remember most clearly. Sitting on Route 51 in a 1983 Chevy Chevette, cheering with strangers, blaring the horn en route to the airport to welcome our hockey heroes back from Minneapolis with the cargo bay heavier by thirty-four and one-half pounds of hockey glory, I laid on that horn ceaselessly. I was celebrating – fuse be damned!
Hopes, memories, being a kid, being young, being a sports fan. It all mattered then and it still matters today. The Beatles sang, “It was twenty years ago today, Sergeant Pepper taught the band to play.” We Penguins fans can now and forever know that our favorite team won The Stanley Cup, and as of May 25, 2011, it was twenty years ago today…
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Thursday, May 5, 2011
1987 – 2011: My 20 Concert Tour (3 Days / 3 Performers / 2 Friends – What a Tour)
I recently embarked on what may be the last of the great hurrahs in my rock-and-roll life. I am not a performer – unless air-guitar counts – but I really like rock music. As the Beatles once sang, though I think Carl Perkins may have written the words, “It’s got to be rock and roll music, if you want to dance with me.” Not that anyone particularly wants to dance with me, but you get the point. I was raised on baseball and rock music, among other influences. While I have enculturated myself to different levels both above and below rock and roll (let’s be honest, seedy is fun!), the baseline has been there from as early as I can recall, as has the bass line, but that is a different idea entirely.
Like many Pittsburgh suburbanites, I was into what was called “Classic Rock”, music that roughly spanned from 1965 to 1980. From the British Invasion through Post-Modern, I was a guy who just wanted rock music, save the heavy metal hair for someone else. Bad Company and Bob Seger filled my cassette player, and orders from Columbia House (free music scam – Google it yourself) consisted of Foreigner, Billy Joel, The Eagles, Jethro Tull, Fleetwood Mac and the like. Eventually, I found Led Zeppelin and they were a favorite for years. I was a “Ten Years Gone” and “Out on the Tiles” guy as much as I was “Dazed and Confused” and “Black Dog.” Truth be told, I still sit in the car to hear the entirety of “Stairway to Heaven” if a trip ends before the guitar riffs do. Along the way, I discovered Rush.
Hold on! I know a lot of you just rolled your eyes because you are sick of me talking about the band. This isn’t necessarily about Rush, it’s about something bigger. Be a good reader and continue.
Rush and Zeppelin were my favorite bands for years, though Rush officially (As if these things matter!) became my top favorite in 1989 with the release of their Presto album. I figured a band that was still recording and still touring should be a favorite. I have seen the band in concert more than 20 times since 1987, and each has been a unique level of coolness, rock-amazing-ness and good times spread over 11 venues, 7 cities, 5 states, with and without my wife and kids, but mostly with one friend. There have been other people invited over the years, but roughly the other Dan and I have rocked Rush in concert at least 15 times. (We’re idiots – we lost count somewhere along the way.) The most recent, the 2010-2011 Time Machine Tour, was the best.
I first saw Rush in 1987 when I was a straight-edge kid with a huge case of The Big V suffering through an insufferable high school. Since then, I have been educated, fell in love, married, parented, re-reeducated, hired 4 times, fired 2 times, dabbled in and out of theatre, went through a mini drinking phase and, of course, matured. Throughout those years, the Rush concert has been the one constant (other than the Pirates losing).
It has been said that there is no luck, that luck is born where preparation meets opportunity. I think this is true now more than I ever had before. Was I lucky to see Rush 3 times in 8 days in April of 2011? Sort of. The schedule and availability fell in line well because the band’s tour dates were close to Pittsburgh when my school was on break between classes. Perfect! But I had prepared my place in life so that I could attend.
They called the tour “Time Machine” in reverence to their now-thirty-seven years in rock and roll. I can’t help but think that witnessing the tour 4 times in total was like taking my own trip through the backward lens of a life spent. Rush ripped through “Time Stand Still,” a song that inspired the first poem I had published in a college journal. When you’re 19, those things matter. They cycled through the entire Moving Pictures album, which includes a personal favorite called “The Camera Eye.” That song once served as means for bonding, silliness and good-natured laughter with a friend Phil who has since moved far away. The band also tuned up a blues rendition of their classic, “Closer to the Heart,” a song that has a unique place in my life, my heart, my ambitions and my art. I am working on a novel that borrows its title from that song, and every time I hear the line from which the title is drawn, I get shivers of hope and excitement. (Look for more blog postings before anything is revealed about the novel. A writer has his secrets!)
The thing about Rush is they have always somehow said in song exactly what I was pondering at each moment of the last twenty-five years of my life. Case in point, this past year I went back to graduate school to study creative writing and with the hope of finishing that novel. Shortly after I signed on, a new song by Rush was released that sang, “In a world where I feel so small, I can’t stop thinking big.” That’s me right there – I just keep thinking something big is out there, and I am working toward it. In 1991, as I was figuring out all those late college / early career ambitions, they released “Bravado,” which tells us to pay the price but not count the cost. I followed some of that crazy old dream. When I became a parent, a Rush song written four years earlier took greater precedent in its meaning: “Take it easy on me now, I’d be there if I could; I’m so full of what is right, I can’t see what is good.” That is no lament! We parents should take pride in doing what is right at the risk of being our child’s friend, or even simpler, just going to a kid’s second birthday (which they will not remember) and passing up on the night at the bar with friends. It sounds like an easy lesson, but count how many friends would actually make that right choice.
So the music continued through the concert and then Rush made the whole cost, the whole travel, the whole two decades worth the time and energy by playing my all-time favorite song. A rare title track for Rush, “Presto” from the aforementioned CD is without a millisecond of consideration my favorite song. That Rush chose to finally play it live in 2010-11 was worth each trip taken. (Don’t tell my wife; she thinks I would have wanted all of the other 20-25 songs for the money too!) As far as I can recall, they had never played “Presto” before. This song has inspired me as an artist and a thinker in ways I cannot express in words in a small space. One has to have such a song in their personal repertoire in order to relate. From “Don’t ask me, I’m just improvising” to “I’m not one to believe in magic, but I sometimes have a second sight,” this is my directing song. I can’t explain it, it just happens. When I am directing a play and looking to move characters along with a playwright’s words, “Presto” somehow creates a rhythm and nuance that dictates the show. It is as if, and as the song goes, “I could wave my magic wand.” And they finally played it after all these shows!
That is why you go again and again and again, not because you drink copious amounts of beer (I never have) or because you hope some stoned chick will take her top off (there are girls at a Rush concert?), but because a favorite band should not just be about music, they should fill your life, enhance who you are, and connect on a higher plain.
Will I See Rush again? If they tour again, sure. A secret hope is to publish that novel and make enough money to follow the band on their eventual farewell tour and catch baseball games in every city they hit. But, if Rush retires without ever taking to the road again, I think I would be okay with that. Hitting the twentieth concert is a cool watermark. That they played so many songs that are part of my life makes it the perfect Farewell to Rush Tours Tour. (I didn’t even mention the beauty of “Faithless” and “Brought Up to Believe” as they relate to my personal views.) My kids are older, my plans are changing but I will keep rocking. We’ll have to see if I catch multiple shows again. I am just damn glad I did when they came around. I was lucky…no, I prepared my life so that when the opportunity presented itself, I could go.
"The caravan thunders onward, stars winking through the canvas hood; on my way at last.” Oh, you don’t know that song? You should! It’s by this band called Rush.
Like many Pittsburgh suburbanites, I was into what was called “Classic Rock”, music that roughly spanned from 1965 to 1980. From the British Invasion through Post-Modern, I was a guy who just wanted rock music, save the heavy metal hair for someone else. Bad Company and Bob Seger filled my cassette player, and orders from Columbia House (free music scam – Google it yourself) consisted of Foreigner, Billy Joel, The Eagles, Jethro Tull, Fleetwood Mac and the like. Eventually, I found Led Zeppelin and they were a favorite for years. I was a “Ten Years Gone” and “Out on the Tiles” guy as much as I was “Dazed and Confused” and “Black Dog.” Truth be told, I still sit in the car to hear the entirety of “Stairway to Heaven” if a trip ends before the guitar riffs do. Along the way, I discovered Rush.
Hold on! I know a lot of you just rolled your eyes because you are sick of me talking about the band. This isn’t necessarily about Rush, it’s about something bigger. Be a good reader and continue.
Rush and Zeppelin were my favorite bands for years, though Rush officially (As if these things matter!) became my top favorite in 1989 with the release of their Presto album. I figured a band that was still recording and still touring should be a favorite. I have seen the band in concert more than 20 times since 1987, and each has been a unique level of coolness, rock-amazing-ness and good times spread over 11 venues, 7 cities, 5 states, with and without my wife and kids, but mostly with one friend. There have been other people invited over the years, but roughly the other Dan and I have rocked Rush in concert at least 15 times. (We’re idiots – we lost count somewhere along the way.) The most recent, the 2010-2011 Time Machine Tour, was the best.
I first saw Rush in 1987 when I was a straight-edge kid with a huge case of The Big V suffering through an insufferable high school. Since then, I have been educated, fell in love, married, parented, re-reeducated, hired 4 times, fired 2 times, dabbled in and out of theatre, went through a mini drinking phase and, of course, matured. Throughout those years, the Rush concert has been the one constant (other than the Pirates losing).
It has been said that there is no luck, that luck is born where preparation meets opportunity. I think this is true now more than I ever had before. Was I lucky to see Rush 3 times in 8 days in April of 2011? Sort of. The schedule and availability fell in line well because the band’s tour dates were close to Pittsburgh when my school was on break between classes. Perfect! But I had prepared my place in life so that I could attend.
They called the tour “Time Machine” in reverence to their now-thirty-seven years in rock and roll. I can’t help but think that witnessing the tour 4 times in total was like taking my own trip through the backward lens of a life spent. Rush ripped through “Time Stand Still,” a song that inspired the first poem I had published in a college journal. When you’re 19, those things matter. They cycled through the entire Moving Pictures album, which includes a personal favorite called “The Camera Eye.” That song once served as means for bonding, silliness and good-natured laughter with a friend Phil who has since moved far away. The band also tuned up a blues rendition of their classic, “Closer to the Heart,” a song that has a unique place in my life, my heart, my ambitions and my art. I am working on a novel that borrows its title from that song, and every time I hear the line from which the title is drawn, I get shivers of hope and excitement. (Look for more blog postings before anything is revealed about the novel. A writer has his secrets!)
The thing about Rush is they have always somehow said in song exactly what I was pondering at each moment of the last twenty-five years of my life. Case in point, this past year I went back to graduate school to study creative writing and with the hope of finishing that novel. Shortly after I signed on, a new song by Rush was released that sang, “In a world where I feel so small, I can’t stop thinking big.” That’s me right there – I just keep thinking something big is out there, and I am working toward it. In 1991, as I was figuring out all those late college / early career ambitions, they released “Bravado,” which tells us to pay the price but not count the cost. I followed some of that crazy old dream. When I became a parent, a Rush song written four years earlier took greater precedent in its meaning: “Take it easy on me now, I’d be there if I could; I’m so full of what is right, I can’t see what is good.” That is no lament! We parents should take pride in doing what is right at the risk of being our child’s friend, or even simpler, just going to a kid’s second birthday (which they will not remember) and passing up on the night at the bar with friends. It sounds like an easy lesson, but count how many friends would actually make that right choice.
So the music continued through the concert and then Rush made the whole cost, the whole travel, the whole two decades worth the time and energy by playing my all-time favorite song. A rare title track for Rush, “Presto” from the aforementioned CD is without a millisecond of consideration my favorite song. That Rush chose to finally play it live in 2010-11 was worth each trip taken. (Don’t tell my wife; she thinks I would have wanted all of the other 20-25 songs for the money too!) As far as I can recall, they had never played “Presto” before. This song has inspired me as an artist and a thinker in ways I cannot express in words in a small space. One has to have such a song in their personal repertoire in order to relate. From “Don’t ask me, I’m just improvising” to “I’m not one to believe in magic, but I sometimes have a second sight,” this is my directing song. I can’t explain it, it just happens. When I am directing a play and looking to move characters along with a playwright’s words, “Presto” somehow creates a rhythm and nuance that dictates the show. It is as if, and as the song goes, “I could wave my magic wand.” And they finally played it after all these shows!
That is why you go again and again and again, not because you drink copious amounts of beer (I never have) or because you hope some stoned chick will take her top off (there are girls at a Rush concert?), but because a favorite band should not just be about music, they should fill your life, enhance who you are, and connect on a higher plain.
Will I See Rush again? If they tour again, sure. A secret hope is to publish that novel and make enough money to follow the band on their eventual farewell tour and catch baseball games in every city they hit. But, if Rush retires without ever taking to the road again, I think I would be okay with that. Hitting the twentieth concert is a cool watermark. That they played so many songs that are part of my life makes it the perfect Farewell to Rush Tours Tour. (I didn’t even mention the beauty of “Faithless” and “Brought Up to Believe” as they relate to my personal views.) My kids are older, my plans are changing but I will keep rocking. We’ll have to see if I catch multiple shows again. I am just damn glad I did when they came around. I was lucky…no, I prepared my life so that when the opportunity presented itself, I could go.
"The caravan thunders onward, stars winking through the canvas hood; on my way at last.” Oh, you don’t know that song? You should! It’s by this band called Rush.
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