Still The Boss
Our seats at the Sports Arena were a lot better last night than they were at the same venue 22 years ago (the Tunnel of Love tourâ€”I still have the t-shirt). But you coulda been in the nosebleed seats and still gotten a hit of concert-induced euphoria. No matter where you’re sitting, when Bruce Springsteen’s in the room, your whole life gets rocked.
I’m hesitant to be hyperbolic in public, but what I really believe is that The Boss owns the planet.
The last time he was in L.A., Tom took one of our daughters. She later commented that she’d never seen so many old people in one place in her life. Last night was a little more multi-generational; fogies carried children on their shoulders, and Jay Weinberg, the son of Bruce’s regular drummer, Max, subbed for Dad.
But the Boss is roughly sixty years old, and Nora’s right: there’s a lotta grey hair in the mosh pit. The good news is that a Boss concert is a place where a person can let down their hair, no matter what color it is. If you’re middle-aged, you’re in the majority, and you can rock with abandon, humiliation-free. Tom and I were on our feet for two-and-a-half hours.
My new t-shirt reads: “Tramps like us, baby, we were born to run.” If Bruce is coming to a venue near you, run and get tickets. It’ll make you feel like you’ve still got a few Glory Days left in you.