Moshing with the Tragically Hip

     We sweated copiously. Satisfied we had sat through 5 bands as we inched closer to the front of the stage, we were now in the sixth row; yahoo! The Tragically Hip were on next and we were hungry, thirsty and delirious in our appreciation of seeing Hawksley Workman so close. This summer festival was a huge event. We had alternately sat, stood and danced in the sand, slightly sunburned and exhausted, but the music had kept us going. Hillside and Massey Hall had been sublime at the time but his new material and patter thrilled my Tara. Bags had weighed us down with precious water and burritos but we were down to two oranges. As we ate, they sprayed sticky juice and oil on our fingers, their sweetness ran down our chins. Freshened up with lemon-scented handwipes we rubbed all over our sweaty, dirty parts, we sighed and waited 15 more minutes, until dusk and the headliner.
     My daughter, Tara was chatting with friends when suddenly, an old classmate swept her on to his shoulder and they all took a few steps back, at the same instant these huge, intoxicated guys looking  like hockey players swept me even closer to the stage. Hip fans are notoriously brutish. The stench of sweat and beer as they lunged closer and closer toward the stage, crushing the people in front as they tried to pad themselves from the fence. These assholes kept shoving me and elbowing me. People were getting out of their way but I felt trapped. Tara and her friends were about 10 rows back now and way over to the left. I was being squished by hulking drunks who were picking each other up and throwing their wriggling tattoo-covered friends over their heads, legs flailing. as Controlled violence they thumped each other and tried to kick bystanders in the head. I had not signed-up for this mosh pit experience but I had not seen the Hip for years and I was not going to take the bruising anymore. I grabbed one culprit’s hair and brought him to his knees and told him to quit punching me as I was  old enough to be his grandmother. The brats stopped for a few minutes until the band started to boom and the crowd went crazy and pandemonium broke out. Again with the moshing,  the shoving. You can not argue with drunk  idiots.

     I yelled to the closest thug, “ I surrender get me out of here.” He told me to relax and fall on my back and as I did these gentle hands held me afloat and I was body surfed through the cheering, dancing crowd over the security fence to the security crew. In moments  I had gone from terrified of being crushed to being lightly lifted  up in the air, as if angels  rhythmically bounced me through the crowd to safety. To tell the truth, I enjoyed that festival, the intense thumping music and the huge  pulsating crowd. My daughter safe with her friends, had not really noticed my disappearance  until the end and I enjoyed the show from the sidelines in front of huge screens and blaring speakers, safe in an abandoned lawn chair.