But Anyway

Last night, Doc and I engaged a babysitter, my cousin's daughter, and took off to enjoy what the Pro Football Hall of Fame Festival had to offer. In the past, I usually tried to be out of town when the festivities hit, but this year, I was compelled to join the revelry. Blues Traveler was playing at the Stark County Fairgrounds and the price of admission was "free".

We arrived at the fairgrounds at about 7:45 for an 8:00 approximate start time. We paid five bucks to park in a lumpy field about a mile from the stage and hiked through the heat and over dusty trails to the grandstand area. We reminisced as the fairgrounds smells threw us back in time to our country living days; the now empty swine exhibits are still haunted with the aroma of long-gone inhabitants.

When we arrived at the entrance, we debated whether or not to buy grandstand tickets at seven bucks a pop. We decided against it because standing in the groundlings section gave us much closer proximity to the stage. We made our way into the fenced in pens for the "standing room" viewing area. Doc directed me over to the beer tent where we bought two plastic cups Molson for seven bucks. It was money much better spent than on those distant, hard seats in the grandstand.

We wandered over to the audience corral and sipped our beer. The sun was low in the sky and the smell of bacon surrounded us. The ribs burn-off was happening in the fairgrounds somewhere, but for some reason, all we could smell was bacon. By 8:15, the air started to cool and a nice breeze brushed through the crowd. I was starting in on my second beer and beginning to get cranky.

I had begun my mullet count (three so far). I began to wish I'd worn my Doc Martins; I was feeling like stomping someone's ass. At around 8:30, the morning, lunch and drive time dorks from WHBC, the host of the concert, came out on stage. They each had a turn at the mic and plugged their shows. John Tesh, a frequent jock on this station was conspicuously absent.

"Where's John Tesh?!?" I shouted, to Doc's horror. "We want John Tesh!"

"Where is he?" I turned to Doc and asked.

"He was probably too busy to come to this little show," Doc explained.

"Was he called back to the mothership?" I asked.

"Yeah, I think he was due for a probe."

So, thinking these dorks, minus the King of the Dorks, where there to introduce Blues traveler, the audience were a little dumsquizzled by the fact that Morning Dork ended his speech with "...Blues Traveler!!!" and nothing happened. Being a social drunk and being bored, I turned to the three young guys behind us and struck up a conversation. This is what I found out:

• They had never seen Blues Traveler before.
• They didn't pay for parking; they found a spot on the street and hiked probably less distance than we did.
• Two of the three of them were not quite 21, the one who was 21 was buying the beer.
• The one guy was studying to be a doctor (psychiatrist).
• This summer, they had seen Wish You Were Here, a Pink Floyd (gag) cover band. They were planning on seeing Tool

This got me thinking about the bands I had seen in my lifetime. I turned to Doc and started listing them:

• Mama's and the Papa's
• Anne Murray
• Air Supply (twice)
• Adam Ant
• Depeche Mode (twice)
• Violent Femmes
• They Might Be Giants
• Lou Rawls
• The Monkees (twice)
• Huey Lewis
• Billy Joel
• Barry Manilow
• Randy Travis/Alan Jackson
• Dizzy Gillespie
• Santana
• Mel Torme
• The Further Festival including: Warren Zevon, Los Lobos, Mickey Hart, What's left of the Grateful Dead (I don't get the Dead, but everyone else was fun)
• Jimmy Buffet
• Woody Herman Orchestra

By this time, the crowd was getting cranky. We all stood around craning our necks looking for the band. Shouting, "Where's Popper?" About fifteen minutes later, we saw his black hat and cherubic face peeking out from behind the stage. A roadie was holding him at bay, for some reason.

After a few more minutes, the speakers stopped playing the random warm-up music and began to blare "America, Fuck Yeah!" from Team America World Police (one of my all time favorite movies). I started screaming and singing along. As soon as the Travelers took their places, they started to jam. It was loud and pounding. Being so close to the stage, I could feel the music better than I could hear it. We kept pressing closer to the stage.

The sun had set and the moon was out. The Travelers were playing songs one after another, none of which I recognized. Eventually, they took a break and John Popper talked to the crowd. He had a Drew Carey thing going on with his delivery. When he finished drinking his drink and smoking his cigarette, the band jumped right back in with "The Devil Went Down to Georgia", only they replaced Georgia with Canton, the name of my hometown. Everybody roared and sang along. It was amazing. The whole show was.

Eventually, we got about 15 feet from the stage and white lights were shining down on John Popper as he wailed on the harmonica. I turned to Doc and said, "He looks like God!"

"Well, I hear God plays a mean harp," he quipped.

Eventually, the beer and the loudness (we're old) got to us. Doc took off to find a bathroom and I moved to the open area at the back of the corral. I danced along with the dead heads until Doc came back. He returned just in time to hear "But Anyway." By this time the half moon was shining in the sky. We were sweaty and dusty. The travelers began to play a slow song about mountains that I recognized but couldn't name and we swayed together under the moonlight.

The next song they played was their biggest hit "Run Around". You know the one about liking coffee and tea and drinking it and always being full? We pressed forward again and began to dance with the other drunken old people. It was delightful. The band finished the song and left the stage. We stayed to cheer for an encore. The band came back and I looked at Doc and signaled that we should go. He agreed.

"You never want to be the last one at the party," I said. "It's better to leave when things are in full swing than stay till everything dies down. Leave them wanting more, leave wanting more."

"Really? I always thought you do want to be the last one at the party; that means you probably get breakfast." he countered.

Struck by this revelation of our fundamentally different partying philosophies, we made our way over the river and through the woods to our jeep.