Badlands boy

On Sunday, I won’t be rooting for the Steelers, or the Cardinals.  I will be rooting for halftime.

On Monday, I have already cancelled a meeting and probably pissed off my business partner.  You see at 10am sharp I HAVE to be in front of my computer with three browser screens open and and hands poised for action.  That’s when tickets for the next Bruce Springsteen & the E Street Band tour go on sale.

No, I’m not one of those people who can recite the playlist from the ’78 show in Fenway, but I’ve probably seen the greatest rock ‘n roll band of my generation between 25 and 30 times.

The irony is that back at Rutgers in the late 70’s and early 80’s, I was likely the only Jersey boy who still didn’t “get” Bruce.

Then on that fateful day in 1981, I got “the call.”  You see my friend Mitch somehow scored tickets to the opening night concert of what was then called Meadowlands Arena.  I’m talking about the opening night of the arena itself.  I think it opened with a series of ten E Street concerts.  I of course said yes because, well, I wanted to see the arena.

They say that once you see the band live, you are hooked.   I definitely fall into that category.  In the almost 30 years that have followed, I have:

• Seen him from the seventh row on the floor at the Hampton Coliseum with tickets that by radio DJ friend had gotten from a caller on the morning of the concert.
• Stayed up all night in a car outside the Capital Center in DC to get tickets the next morning.
• Made my wife climb up to the top row of the then Brendan Byrne arena (how many names has the Meadowlands Arena really had) when she was six months pregnant with our first child.
• Travelled over the years to Nashville, Philly, DC, Greensboro and countless arenas and stadiums.
• Seen him in the world’s most famous arena, Madison Square Garden.
• Had the religious experience of hearing “Jungleland” live on more than one occasion.
• Rented a limo for a ten block drive to the Richmond Coliseum, not only because we had a client in tow for his first Springsteen experience, but because I didn’t want the hassle of having to park near there.

I know, I know.  Most of you just don’t understand.  I know.  But as I have said before, what is your life without your passions?

Why run from meeting to meeting?  Why debate the merits of the latest tactic you are deploying?  Why argue PR 1.0, 2.0 or 3.0?  Why wake up at five in the morning to move the boulder up the hill one more inch if there is not a payoff more than being able to pay your mortage or rent?

For me my passion payoff is the communal experience of being able to fist pump or sing background with almost 20,000 of my new friends who magically all know the right hand gestures and correct harmony for each song.  It is a club of which I am proud to be a member, and unless you join you can’t truly appreciate.

So when some or rooting for Hines Ward or Kurt Warner on Sunday, I will be rooting for Badlands or Rosalita (OK, I know it’s longer than 12 minutes but I can root can’t I?)

And, please.  Wait until 10:05 eastern time on Monday.  By then I’ll know whether I was able to get the tickets to Charlottesville and DC at face value…..or if I have to dip into the bank and buy them from Stub Hub.