I was waiting in line to get into a Milwaukee Brewers game with my pal Louie when he starting arguing with a big jock-type guy over who was a better second baseman: The Dave Clark Five or Johnny from The Karate Kid.
Rather than try and talk sense into the two of them, I laid into the jock guy with a flying kick. He immediately went down and Louie and I began to pummel him with a series of punches and elbow drops.
We then tied him to a lamppost and followed up with a barrage of kicks to the face.
It was gruesome.
After the beat down, Louie and I went into the game and found our seats. We weren't seated for 2 minutes when my father came and grabbed me, "You're on in 1 minute!!" He yelled... "Let's go!!"
Having no idea what he was talking about I got up and followed him through a tunnel and onto a stage.
Next thing I knew, I was playing bass for the terrible band Wolfmother during the halftime performance (and yes, I'm well aware that there is no halftime in baseball).
We rocked through a few songs and the crowd was going nuts, which was weird considering the curtains never opened.
My dad peaked his head through the curtains to tell me that my vocals were bleeding... whatever the hell that means.
Weird.
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