Monsters Of Rock

I did not have tickets to see Van Halen at Folsom Field in 1986. At that point in time, I had made a judgement call about what types of music I was going to listen to, and heavy metal was off that list. I was going "alternative" at that time. These lumbering beasts with their screaming guitars and drum solos were on their way to extinction. Or at least that's what I told myself. It was a curious reaction from somebody who had once sat in that same stadium to take in a bill that included the Scorpions, Rainbow, and Ted Nugent, headlined by REO Speedwagon. And yes I understand that one of those things is not like the others.
Perhaps it has to do with the fact that I was attempting to distance myself from all things metal. After all, it was my friend Darren who introduced me to the Scorpions and Rainbow. It was his idea to hike up the hill to the stadium for that ear-splitting day-long marathon of head-banging. Capped off by the moderate rock of the Speedwagon. Did I mention this was the day after our housewarming party? The one where we all drank our weight and then proceeded to collapse in a pile wherever we happened to be standing, only to wake up the next morning having lost the capacity to digest solid food or form complete sentences. But we went anyway, and by the time the Scorpions stormed on stage, we had begun to believe that rock and roll might just save us.
Fast forward four years to the Van Halen show. They were Darren's favorite, only he couldn't make that show. Or any others. He had gone to that big rock show in the sky, and he was probably hanging around backstage with John Bonham and Randy Rhoads. There is little doubt that Darren rocked the afterlife.
But that may have been what kept me at home. That and the need for reconstructive knee surgery that I created for myself the night before the show when I jumped off that swing at Scott Carpenter Park, just a Peavey amp's toss from Folsom Field. I don't know if I would have gone even if I had a snoot full of Jack Daniels or a plate full of corned beef hash. And two good knees. I spent the day of that show laying on my couch with ice and a rigid splint, awaiting my eventual reconstructive surgery. The fact that David Lee Roth and Eddie Van Halen had parted ways the year before may have contributed to my malaise, or maybe it was all that Codeine 3.
There are other concerts that I regret missing more, but this one sticks out like a sore knee. Now I make up for it by shredding "Hot For Teacher" on Guitar Hero, Medium, on two good legs.