So late last afternoon—well after any loose words “went to press” on this haphazard offering of hot air, threats and tall tales—conversation turned to the fact that The Boss was in town for the night, and whether or not it was worth going to see.

I mean, of course it was. It was The Boss, right? American Icon, legend, Jersey Son.

Something clicked in me. Maybe it was my frequent listenings of Born To Run, The River, Nebraska and Greetings From Asbury Park, N.J. over the last couple months? Had something to do with it.

Like so many things, I settle in to the larger-than-life characters a little late, or, have just sorta overlooked so many of the big entertainment icons who still fall through the cracks on some sort of integrity with their monolithic status. I came to Willie, Johnny and Waylon well into my mid 20s. Punk Rock and all its trimming narrowed my sights. Same goes for The Boss, Dylan, The Coug, Gordon Lightfoot and whoever else might be considered sorta ironic when raised on a pedigree of punk rock bullshit.

I can’t/won’t step to The Nuge. Too much baggage with that turd.

Anyhoo, so we went and saw the show, and, it was great and moving for the most part. The big box shows are just fascinating in itself. I mean, there’s a part of me that can’t help but just be excited to see an icon up there hammering around. What goes through their mind? We’re both flesh and blood, right? Their art/talent/magic has assembled some 10,000 Portlanders for a night to see it all. It’s powerful stuff.

But what isn’t too powerful is the “Big Night Out” set of business schlups and their soccer mom wives who seemed to be filling up every seat in the joint. In fact, we had a couple of these “wild mares” “dancing” in front of us, “whooo-hoo’ing” all night long and really “letting loose.” Two couples. The “boys” were high-fiving and doing the twist to each other. The “girls” were hugging and keeping no beats to nothing. Kill me.

“Hell, we took the kids to Green Day and the seats were just as expensive!,” said one of the dicks. Dale and I just sorta nodded in complete sympathy. I mean, what’s a guy gotta pay for a night of entertainment, right? We feel your pain. Jeez.

Anyhoo, I just hope I don’t ever suck that hard. There you go. I said it.

Back to The Boss. He looked great and sang great and I feel honored to have seen it all for one night. Max Weinberg looked pretty winded when the camera would pan up to his face. Little Stevie had super tight jeans on with pointy boots. Clarence Clemons moved very, very slow around the stage in between blasts of sax air. Nils Lofgren shredded and moved pretty well.

All in all it was a success. Thanks to Leigh and Dale for going.