Horsehide Before Feathers (Black Crowes At The Fillmore Part 5)

We crashed pretty hard that night after the Karaoke bar. So much for taking it easy thus far. Our alcohol consumption was already at least twice what my internal pacing gauge had mapped out for us for the weekend.

Late Saturday morning, Mary and I struggled out of bed and called over to Jean and Keno's room. They weren't faring much better, having just woken a few minutes earlier. We all agreed to shower and call each other again to rally towards the Giants game, which had a one o'clock first pitch.

Keno was ready first and volunteered to get us all some decent coffee. In-room coffee generally sucks and when I drink it against my intuition, I end up getting more coffee somewhere later to make up for the quality and then overdo it with the caffeine. That couldn't happen that day; we had a marathon ahead of us with the game and then the Black Crowes concert at the Fillmore. If I peaked too soon with the caffeine and then confused my system further with alcohol at the game, I'd be putting my body through some sort of biological moguls course.

I was just getting dressed when the knock at the door came from Keno. He and Jean were good to go, so I threw on my Spring Training '05 shirt and my new orange Giants cap and we were off. We walked to the park, which helped shake the cobwebs out of our heads. But none of us had eaten and that became a priority. We were to meet a friend of Jean's for a quick drink before the game. We chose a restaurant across the street from Pac Bell Park called Momo's because they always seemed to have a lively pre-game crowd and it was close enough to drink cheaply right up until first pitch.

Lunch hit the spot and we all immediately felt better. The first sip of beer that day at Momo's was a harsh reminder of the previous night's consumption, but half-way through that bottle, the little Tom and Jerry battles in my head ceased and I could have sworn I heard a gunshot signaling the beginning of the marathon.

Walking into the stadium, Mary and I told Jean and Keno our plans to leave early and catch a cab back to the room to squeeze in a nap if possible before the show. If the game were tight, we'd probably stick it out, but if it looked like it were in the bag for either team, we'd jam for sure. I targeted the seventh inning. As we picked up our first draft of the day, we offered to meet them at the after-show performance by a young band called Rose Hill Drive, which would be at the Boom Boom Room across the street from the Fillmore. They said they'd probably go to dinner and if they were up for it, we'd do the cell phone thing and meet up. Of course they'll meet us, I remember thinking. This is San Francisco--they'll be up.

Our seats were pretty damn good, about 25 rows up behind the first base side on-deck circle. In the sunshine to begin the game, I worried a little about having to continually grease up with Sunblock 1000, but the shade would creep up behind us as the sun passed over the upper deck. I have to admit, the sun felt good on a breezy summer day by the bay. As the Giants recorded the first three outs and the Astros took the field, my cellphone rang. I was surprised to get a call as I was sitting next to anyone that would need my attention that day. It was a friend of mine from one of my business accounts that knew I was at the game.

"Hey Mark. What's up?", I said. I tried to keep my voice at a normal level despite the noise of the crowd and pumped up between innings music. I didn't want to be one of "those people" yelling into their phones like it was a cheerleader's megaphone.

Mark replied, "Hey man, I just wanted to check to see if you're in a spot to be seen on T.V. I'm gonna kick back with a brew and watch the game today."

"Cool. As a matter of fact, I just might be in prime foul ball territory", I told him. "Throw a tape in the VCR for me, huh?"

"No problem. Say, tell me what you're wearing".

"Fag".

We both laughed. "No. Just so I know what to look for", he said.

"Yeah, yeah. Just look for the guy with a white t-shirt and a Giants cap", I told him.

Keno looked at me and guffawed, "Tony, look around. Everyone is wearing a t-shirt and a Giants cap". He was right.

I laughed a bit as I continued with Mark. "It shouldn't be too hard. There are only about 37,000 of us here today, so keep your eyes open".

The game was fun, if not uneventful. It's always nice to be out at the ballpark and that day was no exception. Cold draft beer went down smooth as it chased down hot dogs and freshly shelled peanuts. Mary and I watched our drinking pretty closely, but again we pulled away from the pacing gauge's recommendation. As the seventh inning approached, we said our good-byes and headed out. We caught a cab easily enough with the game going on and for a couple of bucks, we saved about 30 minutes of walking time that could now be deposited in the nap account.

I slid the keycard and opened the door to a made-up room. It was cool, dark, and inviting. We both collapsed on the bedspread. Just as the clouds started rolling over my mindscape, surely to make for a deep slumber, I rolled over and decided to set the alarm for a just an hour away so we didn't completely oversleep. We were just tired enough to take an advance on that night's sleep, and not getting to the Fillmore on time, let alone early, was not acceptable.

I rolled back onto my back and looked over at Mary. She was already breathing slowly and deeply. But my mind wouldn't shut off now. I became aware of my own heartbeat. I now was under pressure to gain rest before the show. It was a showdown between my will and the clock. I had to force myself to sleep. In these circumstances, some people count sheep. I use an exercise in which I try to remember a situation when I simply couldn't stay awake. The memory I pulled up was the time I fell asleep slumped against a slot machine in the Horseshoe in Las Vegas while a buddy played craps for hours. I woke up when that asshole put three quarters in and pulled the handle. The clunking of the reels made me bolt up like I had been electrocuted. While the memory played out in my head, I recalled the hopeless feeling of not being able to fend off unconsciousness. On the bed in the Miyako in San Francisco, I folded my hands across my chest and smiled.

In what I was sure was just one minute later, the alarm barked incessantly. I was in such a deep state of sleep that I was trying to answer the phone. "Hello? Hello! Godammit, what the fuck?", I croaked into the receiver. Mary hit me in the back and told me it was the alarm. I reached to turn it off and knocked most of my shit off of the nightstand, including my glasses. Now I couldn't see to figure out how to turn the thing off. I pawed at the infernal device blindly until I flicked the right switch. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I put my palms flat by my sides, hunching my shoulders. I breathed deep and pushed myself up and walked towards the curtains. I swung the heavy drapes open and Mary whined a little and turned her head away from the intruding rays of the late afternoon sun. The room was bathed in orange light. I turned on the television to catch the score of the Giants game on Sportscenter and grabbed a couple of Red Bulls out of the tiny fridge.

I sat back on the edge of the bed and passed a Red Bull back over my shoulder to Mary. I took inventory and didn't feel too bad. Tired, but with no sunburn and no mid-day hangover, I was pleased with the results. A shower and some food would do us both some good. We had also timed our day just right so far. We had plenty of time to eat and get to the show. Hell, we even had time to get a drink.

With that thought, the needle broke off of the gauge.

Next: Actual concert info in the next installment!