Necessary Roughness, Week 8: Brockie Had a Rough Week
What’s up, everybody? Get ready for what is probably — wait… no DEFINITELY — going to be the lamest column in this series for the year. In fact it’s going to be the lamest entry into this series EVER. Why? Because we have be going through band hell, playing monster shows every night, and I have been doing my best to keep this 50-year old carcass moving forward. Which means LOTS of booze. Every day I am pushed to the point of near-death as I fight my way through a plethora of rubber enemies, swinging and singing all the way. Then of course comes more booze which, truth be told, is the only thing that gets me through some shows. Somebody once asked Frank Sinatra what his vocal warm-up was and he replied “three shots of Jack Daniels right before I go on.” If it works for Frank, it will work for me, and it does… except it’s usually Jager, or Jager bombs if I am feeling a little tired.
Of course it’s a ton of fun but when I say “band hell” I mean there are stretches of hell where unfortunate things happen. Buses break down in the middle of the night, vans have to be acquired somewhere between Albuquerque and Tucumcari at five in the morning (which is, btw, impossible), and you end up driving to Texas when you should be getting some much-needed rest. All of our stuff is back on the old bus, which is supposed to catch up with us at some point, and this causes untold chaos and and confusion. Then there is the publicity, of which I am 100% responsible for. We are getting ready to go to Australia for the Soundwave Festival and that means INSANE press: endless interviews, like ten in a row, one every half hour, sometimes for hours and hours and days in a row.
Am I complaining? Hell no! This is the life I have chosen and I love it. But what is the point of all of this, and what does it have to do with football?
With the schedule I am on and the fact that GWAR seems to be blowing up on everything from Oderus reading children’s stories to that ridiculous Super Bowl petition to the dime-sized hunk of my chin that got ripped out of my face by Mr. Perfect all the way back in Boise (which gets ripped open again every night) you have one fucked-up dude! One that has virtually NO time to keep up with football, even his favorite team! Sunday was a day off and I was so tired I barely watched the Broncos crush the Skins. I didn’t pay attention to any of the games and really don’t even know what happened. Monday was another press-packed day, and I played a show Monday night (in Pensacola, which ruled), so I didn’t pay any attention to the game and in fact don’t even know who played.
THAT is why this is the lamest column ever in the history of this series. I don’t know what happened, like who won or lost, and I don’t even care that my favorite team got its ass kicked. I’ll try to do better next week. I REALLY need you guys to save my ass this time.
