Editor’s note: The names have been changed to protect the guilty.
Now that I have your attention: My Motley Crue concert story. I have seen them twice back in the 80’s – first time I and three other guys went up early and hotel-ed it so we could pre-game the show like professionals. When it was time to leave 3 of us split a 26 of Jack in 3 Super Big Gulps (the fourth guy was a “Herbal Magic” guy and felt himself to be morally superior to us drinkers) and then hit the C-Train. It was a festive ride to the Saddledome (we weren’t the only metal heads on the train) – except for one dour old lady seated across from us who looked at us with absolute contempt. I raised an eyebrow and offered up my super-biggie. Share and share alike right? We are all bothers/sisters in metal. Her eyes narrowed to slits and her lips were pursed in a tight line. No go. Ah well. Eventually I went on to become an obscure writer of hard-to-categorize stories and she died and was reincarnated as a stringy little weed.
Post C-Train rolling soiree with Grandma No-Fun we get out @ Saddledome and walk on in with the horde of happy headbangers. There’s me, Herbal Magic, Angry Guy (He’s always po’d about something), and Bruisermania – Bruisermania is about 5’10” and weighs a buck-twenty-five soaking wet – thus the nickname. We’re rollin’ – and there are a lot of girls with big hair, tight jeans, air-brushed make-up and those little boots with the tassles. And you know what? I fuckin’ love it. The only bad news is that Herbal Magic has gone full Rasta – he’s catatonic. He’s like Elvis Presley on a foggy night. Fucked up and far from home. Gut shot. East bound and down. All of it. “I need to sit down” he says. It’s the last thing he says all night. I lead him by the crook of the arm to our assigned seating. Angry Guy and Bruisermania head on down to the floor (rush seating) ready to rock with the girls with big hair and little boots. Hey – it’s the 80’s.
Autograph is first up and you know what? They’re pretty good. TURN UP THE RADIO … still one of the best guitar solos of all time) and all that and it’s looking to be a great rock and roll show.
They get the crowd pumped for the Crue, who in due course hit the stage.
Three songs in a St John’s ambulance guy comes over to me and tells me, “We have your friend, Bruisermania – he’s hurt and has to go to emergency.” Thank God for Herbal Magic’s coma because that’s the only reason we are in our assigned seats – matching up ticket info to location was how St. John’s found us. I leave Herbal Magic and follow the St. John’s guy and there, in a little room, is Bruisermania and Angry Guy. “What happened?” I ask.
“Basically, some c*cksucking m*otherf*cking c*nts suckered me” Bruisermania says.
“I think he fell off of a chair” says Angry Guy.
“We called a cab.” Says St John’s guy. “He’s gotta go to emergency. I think he’s got a broken collarbone.”
I look at Angry guy. He shrugs and wanders away.
Bruisermania and I get in the cab – the cabbie says he got a call to take a guy to Holy Cross with a suspected broken collarbone. What happened?
“Basically, some c*cksucking m*otherf*cking c*nts suckered me!” Bruisermania says.
“He might have fallen off of a chair,” I say.
“Better you than me,” says the cabbie and it’s off to Holy Cross.
The physician at Holy Cross is prompt. No sooner is Bruisermania admitted and poured into a wheelchair than she is there. “What happened to you?” she asks.
“Basically, some c*cksucking m*otherf*cking c*nts suckered me!” Bruisermania says. The concert was loud, he’s shouting this to be heard over the speakers back at the ‘dome.
“Some other people say he fell off of a chair,” I say, helpfully.
“How much has he had to drink?” She asks me.
I answer truthfully.
A half hour later he’s out – broken collarbone – and in a sling fortified by some T3’s. Yes – T3’s – For a 125-pound guy who has had 1/3 of a 26 of Jack Daniel’s and a few super cans of Molson Canadian.
We cab it back to the hotel where we decide fuck it, if we are screwed out of Motley Crue we can always have a few post game beverages at the club in the hotel. Unfortunately I am wearing a Jack Daniel’s long-sleeved t-shirt and am denied entry for “wearing biker regalia”. I shit you not. “But you serve Jack right?” I ask. “Not to bikers” the bouncers say in unison. For the record, I have never ridden a motorbike in my life. Not then, and not now. Bucket list I guess. But I digress.
Bruisermania and I shrug it off and hit the lounge (I guess they admit bikers) for a couple of Pilsners (aka Green Diesel/Saskatchewan Champagne) and some sports highlights.
The next day, on the ride home, no one said a word until we made a pit stop at the Claresholm 7-11 – the most famous 7-11 in the whole world. We all got out and started to walk in when Bruisermania stopped and said “Did I really fall off of a chair last night?”