Pt 13
FUCK! I can't fucking find my ticket. I have been checking every five minutes ever since picking it up at 9 that morning and here it is ten minutes before the start of the Police's set and I've fucking lost it. I start to believe that even Pecos can't help me this close to the start of the show.
But then I remember the yellow wristband. Duh! "That should be enough to get me in the pit, right?," I tell myself. So I go up to security and present my wrist. But I forget which wrist my pit wristband is on and show the guard my CHA! bracelet instead. Surprisingly, the guard is very surly when I do this and looks like he is about to throw me out. And not very gently. Luckily I have the presence of mind to quickly show my other wrist, and I am let in quickly.
So I go back to my spot between Conroy and BongoBoy. St. Jeff comes out and adjusts Stewart's drums, or whatever he does. He waves to the Nutters as he does so and the Nutters go NUTS. He then throws out some points and the Nutters EAT IT UP. Everyone is ready for a really great time.
I look at my cell phone and start yelling out the time before the set. "Seven minutes!!!" No one is listening to me. But I am getting so . . . nervous? anxious? that there is nothing else that I can think of doing. At that point, I check the pockets of my shorts again. I remember that I am wearing kind of cargo type shorts which have pockets lower down on the thigh as well as in the standard spots right below the waist. I check this pocket and there is my ticket. Where it had been ALL day so that I would not accident pull it out when I took put my phone. Where I had checked on it a thousand times that day before entereing the venue. D'oh!!!
"Two minutes!" Still, no one listening. For some reason, I think, "Wouldn't it be cool if The Boys started the show with a cover of 'Get Up, Stand Up' rather than coming onto stage to that pre-recorded song?" Shortly after, "Get Up, Stand Up" plays over the PA.
THIS IS IT!!!!!
BongoBoy is still cool, dancing in place to Marley. I, on the other hand, wonder if I still might piss myself even though I had used the restroom 90 times in the last 3 hrs despite maybe only having 1 drink during that time frame.
The lights are down, and The Boys come onto the stage. Stewart is wearing his blue GITM jersey. I would have bet money that he was going to wear his Leroy shirt. The blue GITM shirt was my second guess.
But something is odd. Stewart is at his drumset and the percussion rig (including The Gong) is not raised. Hmmmm. Doesn't seem like the first song will be MIAB. I then look towards Sting. He's got his bass strapped on and no acoustic guitar in sight. Hmmmmm. Doesn't look like it will be Bring on the Night as the first song.
Probably for the first time this entire tour, I have no idea what song they will be playing. Not a clue. For some reason, I suspect that maybe they'll belt out Synch I. But Andy doesn't have his 12 string and I just don't feel like that the song they will play.
Meanwhile, Stewart eyes the crowd. It appears apparent to me that Stewart did not know what the Nutters' plan was for the final show.
What the Nutters would do during the final show was the subject to great debate and discussion for quite some time (months?) both on SC.net (briefly) and off. The idea to have all the Nutters in attendance hold a mini-paper flag was brought up pretty early, though idea did not always get the warmest reception. I gotta admit, I had reservations about the idea. My concern was that the Nutters would be dispersed too much through out the venue to really be THAT noticeable and thus not very effective. However, the ticket lottery fixed that. Sections 111, 119 and the very front of the Pit was a solid, in your face green.
When Stewart came onto the stage, it was like he was hit upside the head with a wave of Kryton love. Stewart's eyes were popping out. He was stunned. He was happy. Dare I say, he was amazed. He was not expecting something like this. The goal of the Flag all along was to let Stewart know he had his fans that were loyal to him and supporting him whole heartedly. These miniflags accomplished that goal. At that point, I could not think of somthing that could have been a more effective statement of our love and devotion.
But still one thing remained. What the hell were the going to play?
TO BE CONTINUED . . .