I don’t recall if it was Thursday, July 6, or Friday, July 7, but I know it was 1978, and I do know what I was doing on either one of those two nights — catching Van Halen on their inaugural world tour.

If it wasn’t in July I’d guess it would have been the Friday night show, cause I wouldn’t have been allowed to catch Thursday’s show; would your mom have let you go to a concert on a school night? But it was summer vacation, and I had just finished 8th grade, and I was about to become a freshman in high school, and I was in a car with 5 of my best friends with someone’s mom behind the wheel (I don’t remember whose mom), and we were all on our way to our very first live concert.

We were so fucking cool.

Until we got there.

KDKB (93.3 FM) is a local FM station in Phoenix, and they were having a “$3.93″ special concert featuring Van Halen; a band called Borealis opened. My mom gave me a ten dollar bill, which not only got me into the show, but got me a frosty beverage or two.

Maybe even a hot dog.

Ten bucks was a lot of bread back then, and I’m starting to sound like a grandpa.

I remember thinking it was cool that the stage at Celebrity Theater spun in a slow, lazy circle as the bands play there…making every seat a good one. I remember thinking why doesn’t everyone know about Borealis? I remember my mom wasn’t one of the moms who drove us to the show. I remember wondering why David Lee Roth would wear women’s make-up around his eyes. (Does that mean he’s gay?) I remember being convinced — beyond a doubt — that Michael Anthony was Gene Simmons sans make up. (Sound silly? Look at the credits on the back of the album for the obvious clue).

Other things I remember:

1) I spent every dime my mom gave me — not on food or drinks — but on a VH t-shirt.

2) There was a fist fight in the parking lot after the show which, to this day, is the most brutal fist fight I’ve ever witnessed.

3) My pal Brian got served booze (drinking age was 19 then, and checking ID’s wasn’t as prevalent as it is now) and after drinking up a few rum and cokes, Brian blew chucks all over the people in front of us…none of which were amused at all by his behavior.

So now they’re back, and Wofgang’s on bass, and their reunion is a big ol’ hullabaloo.

I like Dave way more than Sammy, but I understand why no one can stand being around Dave.

I just got back from traveling to see Wilco play in Berkeley last week. I caught their show in LA Wednesday night, too. I’ve never actually traveled more than, say, 30 minutes to see a band play live, let alone catch a band twice on the same tour.

Van Halen to Wilco…what’s my point here?

As usual, I have none.

Once upon a time I was a jock.

And a very, very good jock.

Like all good jocks I scored points for my team so they’d win win win, and I’d practice hard, and I’d take my studies for granted because I didn’t pay for them, and I’d fuck around and never take anything seriously except for my sport, and I’d take “jock classes” cause they were classes for jocks cause they were easy and the professors were softies when it came to handing out grades to jocks while they were enrolled in their jock classes and it was in one of these classes for jocks I sat down almost every day next to Barry…well, I sat next to Barry when me or Barry actually decided to come to class, and when we both actually came to class on the same day.

Barry and me were cool.

We weren’t on the same team, but we were both jocks, and when we didn’t see each other in jock classes we’d see each other in jock places: locker rooms, training rooms, weight rooms, and bar rooms where the jocks hung out and did things like drink beer and chase girls.

Come to think of it, we didn’t see much of each other in class rooms, cause we didn’t go to class a whole bunch.

What a shame it is to look back on that foolish young man who squandered away a free college education so he could be the very best jock he could be.

Hey — at least I graduated.

My coach always said, “C’s Get Degrees!” and he was certainly correct.

Last time I saw Barry and he acknowledged me was at Costco, right after he signed with the Pirates. It was ’87 or so, and we walked right into each other at the check-out line, and we caught up on things, and he was with his chick, and I can’t remember who I was with, and I congratulated him on being a Pirate, and we reminisced about our jock days, and that jock class, and how he got booted out of jock class one day for bad behavior, and we laughed when I said something like dude, you’re the only guy I knew who was ever tossed out of class at the University level for acting like a jack ass.

Last time I saw Barry and he refused to acknowledge me was at the 1998 All-Star Game in Denver Colorado. I was standing about five feet from him during home run derby, and he had just struck out, and I was kinda drunk and yelling for him to come over so we could reminisce about the time he was tossed out of a college class for acting like a toolbox; he looked right through me before he descended into the National League’s dug out, and looking back at it now, I don’t blame him, cause in all actuality I was really drunk and acting like a tool box.

When I was a jock I took steroids and I don’t regret it…not for one second. I did what I had to do to be competitive and that’s that.

I have no idea if Barry’s ever taken a steroid in his life, and to tell you the truth, I could give two shits; with all the juice I was on, I shoulda hit a baseball into the next county…or at least into the Salt River.

But I couldn’t hit a ball out of the infield, and that’s something people just don’t understand: steroids don’t make anyone a better athlete.

I just wish my undergrad GPA was higher than 2.02…but hey, C’s get degrees.