A Headbanger's Balls

It was around noon when we decided to head out. My Bosnian girlfriend, Lilly and I waited several weeks to attend a metal show that was roughly a five-hour drive outside of Chicago. What we had discovered was totally unexpected. The whole thing turned out to be a trip in more ways than one...

On the way there, we pulled into this place called "Woodman's" to grab a few beers to tide us over on the rest of the journey. It was a local grocery chain that doubled as possibly the biggest liquor emporium I'd ever seen in my life. The store was so immense, you literally had to drive from one end to other to save on leg work. Apparently, it's a big thing in the Midwest. Liquor stores on nearly every corner, that is. Great for the drunk on the go. While I was there, I grabbed a few cans of the Trooper, since I'm a big fan of Iron Maiden and the nearest place they sell it to me is about three hundred miles away.

Before we bought beer, we stopped off at Wendy's where I managed to spill ketchup all over my jeans. Not just a little ketchup either, more like a full-on tomato bloodbath. There were not enough napkins in the world that day.

The trip continued briskly down the highway. We passed through one hay seed town after the next... along with a lot of dead deer carcasses, curiously torn in half on the side of the road.

After spending the next half a dozen or so hours riding shotgun, my legs were killing me, but I knew we were getting very close to our fabled destination...

Our GPS had led us down "Highway Q." There was no town in sight and there were barely any houses to be seen. There was nothing around us but trees, endless rows of cornfields and animal pastures full of horses. The pungent aroma of horse shit was almost too overwhelming on the senses.

We were close now, about a block away. Still no "Q & Z Expo Center" in sight, only trees in the distance, lining the hill top. It was then that my girlfriend turned to me and said, "I think this is going to be a place where they sell pigs." I suddenly got this weird, sinking feeling that she might be onto something. "Sure, and Don Dokken will be our auctioneer!" I replied. We both laughed it off, but I started to worry that she might be right... The first thing I imagined was sitting on a bale of hay, sniffing a combination of horse shit mixed with pig shit before being sexually molested by a pack of Amish corn-hole farmers.

A few moments later, we finally made our way over the steep hill. We saw what appeared to be an old elementary school with a few mud-stained pick-up trucks parked out on the gravel. "Oh, damn! This IS gonna be a pig auction, isn't it?!" I asked myself.

When we pulled into the parking lot, there was a hand-written sign on the front door that read "Tickets $37" It got even weirder after we noticed the two giant DIO horns guarding either side of the entry-way. Keep in mind, this was literally out in the middle of nowhere. I mean, in a cornfield of all places...

We couldn't help but laugh our asses off. The whole thing was like some kind of bizarre movie, but I guess this was really happening. I began having flashbacks of that scene in 'Deliverance' and was worried which one of us was playing the role of Ned Beatty.

There weren't a lot of people there, so, we decided that since there were only three vehicles parked in the lot that we would find ourselves a hotel room in the meantime. We pulled around back as Lilly rolled down the window to ask one of the guys unloading an equipment truck about the show. He immediately replied with "This is a restricted area; get the fuck out!" I thought "Oh,man! This is not good at all!" Thankfully, it turned out to be a friend of Lilly's just messing with us. It was Erik, the lead singer of the band "Beyond Threshold."

We all shared a good laugh about the venue before taking off in search of a suitable motel to stay the night. The nearest one was about a twenty-minute drive from the Q & Z. We weren't two whole minutes away when the GPS decided to go tits up...

After she drove us a few miles off the beaten path, the GPS finally sprang back to life. Thank god! Our Internet access was spotty at best, but we finally managed to get ourselves a decent hotel in some little flea-speck town known as Rothschild, Wisconsin. Illuminati connection? Who knows?

I turned to Lilly and asked, "Wouldn't it be cool if Don Dokken were staying here?" In case you haven't figured it out by now, we made the trip to see a Dokken show since I consider myself to be a stone-age, metalhead dinosaur. It's really not as cool as all that sounds, believe me.

We pulled up to the hotel, checked in, got ourselves ready and had a few of our traveling beers. We were mentally preparing ourselves to be one of about ten people attending this strange show in the middle of the sticks. "Why would someone like Don Dokken or any metal band for that matter play at such a whacky joint like this?" I wondered.

Once we made our way back to the "expo center," we began to see more traffic flowing into the parking lot. Not a huge, sprawling crowd mind you, but enough people to form a fairly decent-sized audience. My hopes were raised a bit. At least now, I knew we wouldn't be hugging the front row in an empty room like we were attending some pathetic kid's party. Maybe this wasn't a total bust after-all...

As we entered the building, some overweight, shop teacher looking dude, wearing prescription glasses handed us our tickets, carded us for booze and gave us a wrist band to indicate that we were over 21. The interior of the place looked odd, like a Sunday school with stage lights and a loud speaker. There weren't a lot of people inside, but there were at least enough to fill a sizable mosh-pit if need be and plenty of the attendees surprisingly looked the part.

Lilly and I decided to grab some beers and have a smoke out on the "patio area" which was really more like a playground with picnic tables. This was where all the older metalheads and pot-bellied farmers in thier sixties and seventies were hanging out. The D.J. inside was playing the "Mexican-American" song from "Cheech and Chong's Next Movie" on the house P.A. system... I couldn't help but do an eye roll at how bizarre and out of place all of this seemed. Still, I remained positive about the experience so far, as strange as it was.

After roughly ten minutes had passed, the first band, "All Out Mutiny" hit the stage. They started strong, showing that they had a lot of energy throughout their set. It wasn't really my thing since, like I mentioned earlier, I'm more old-school, but I could see that they had a lot of talent and oddly enough, I honestly didn't hate it at all.

Once the band had finished their set, I pounded down several more beers and met some really cool people out on the "patio area." One lady in particular (I'm sorry, I can't remember her name due to the massive buzz I was having at the time) introduced us to the owner of the place. A Mrs. (Miss?) Peggy Olsen. She was an older woman, not someone you would expect to be exclusively into metal at all. Though the meeting was brief, she was very polite and cordial, but a little busy at the time serving up drinks in the V.I.P. area. Unfortunately, I didn't have much time for being all chit-chatty with her.

After speaking to a few more of the locals, I soon discovered that I was in fact in a converted school-house. One of them even claimed to have attended school there as a kid. Come to think of it, the bathrooms were labeled "boys and girls..." Alright, whatever.

As the next band took the stage, I had to admire the costumes they were wearing. The lead singer looked like the spitting image of a young Rikki Rockett; the bass player was wearing a full suit of spiked leather armor, reminiscent of Gene Simmons in his heyday, while the drummer had the style of a nu-metal Bohemian beatnik. It was as if all genres of metal were rolled into one neat package. The music they played up on stage that night was very much in league with that same glam/slam context. It was great! I turned to Lilly and said, "Ya know? I bet these guys are gonna be the best band of the night..."

By now, I was getting wasted from all the cheap $3 beers. I kept forgetting the band's name, but thankfully, the world's biggest "Killing Rapunzel" fan was standing next to me and all I had to do was glance at the shirt he was wearing without having to ask Lilly over and over what the name of the band was. She hates when I do that.

Once their set was over (and an excellent one it was,) I headed back to the bar after having another cigarette on the outside "patio area." The lead singers from the first two bands were there and I got to speak to them. They were somewhat impressed that I travelled as far as I did to see a show out in the middle of Bumfuckt, Egypt. Once again, very cool people and not what I expected to see at all that night.

Beyond Threshold was up next. These guys were kind of a new age thrash band and they did it right. Hair was flying from every possible direction up on that stage and I loved every. single. second of it.

As I was rocking out with the crowd, the drummer, Robby from "All Out Mutiny" ( a guy I kind of knew of, but I've never spoken to before) approaches me and says " Let's go to the front!" By then, I was so drunk, I was wasted "Beyond Thunderdome!" But I still kept my head together. " Sure. Why the hell not?" I replied.

The crowd had nearly grown to about two hundred in all, with more people pouring in by the second, most likely there to see Dokken. A majority of the head bangers were up in front. Everything was going great and I knew I'd have a pounding headache that following morning, but I also knew it would be well worth it.

The third act was absolutely punishing on my neck and lower back. I started to feel old all of a sudden, but I pressed onward. If I still had my long hair like I did twenty years ago, someone might have seriously lost an eye that night.

Just as I was really getting into the band's performance, I felt someone tapping me on the shoulder. I figured it was Lilly, trying to grab my attention. When I turned around, I found myself facing possibly the ugliest woman I had ever seen in my life. I could've sworn it was Broom Hilda incarnate. She had this face that was covered in nasty-looking warts that would put Lemmy to shame and the cracks around her wrinkled mouth reminded me of some bloated anus. Her hair was straight and flattened down on the sides like an old, Hungarian witch...

I felt my heart race for a split-second "What the hell could she possibly want to speak to me about? I hope she's not about to start coming onto me." I thought. It wouldn't be the first time I've been in that situation, believe me. "Could you stop sloshing beer all over my little angel?!" she screamed. She was refering to her triple-chinned daughter who must have weighed in around three hundred pounds and was wearing a cotton tank-top of all things. I knew I hadn't spilled any beer, but likely brushed up against one of her fat arms with my sweaty beer can.

Her ugly, scowling face was enough to piss me off, let alone her shitty attitude. As I looked the wildebeest dead in her fat eye, I declared, in my best possible Al Bundy voice "Lady, there ain't nothin’ "little" about that little angel." She scowled at me even harder but was left speechless.

The next thing I knew, someone else began tapping me on the shoulder just seconds after telling the hag off. I turned around to see a young woman with a beak-like nose, standing there ordering me to "move out of her way" or there was going to be an "incident." I didn't say anything, especially since I was already mad over the nasty "witch scenario", but I also refused to give in to her demands. Who the hell did she think she was anyhow? I had been standing in that same spot for over twenty minutes. It wasn't like I was being an asshole about it. Damned Yankees...

About ten more minutes had passed and Erik's band was about to wrap things up. Once the last song had ended, Dokken took the stage. I could feel someone pushing me aside really hard with their boney ass. Sure enough... It was the "hawk-girl" again...

Now lemme set the record straight here for a moment. I don't believe in hitting women, like EVER! But if I did, this one would have had it coming, easily.

She wound up nudging me into some bald dude. Keep in mind I'm already drunk here and a little woozy. You could have tipped me over with a feather at this point, but I wasn't about to take any crap off of some drunk, psychotic Yankee chick with a hook for a nose and a nasally voice.

So, I decided to play her little game as I pushed her (with my fat ass) back into the row. I think she fell pretty hard, but whatever, she deserved it. The next thing I know, the aforementioned bald dude (Mr. Clean?) informs me that he's getting security. "Good! You do that." I said. "Tell em there's a crazy bitch on the loose and she needs to be put down."

I told my new drummer friend I was taking off towards the back. I did not want to miss seeing the rest of Dokken over this mess. Speaking of which, it was an OK performance. The guy's getting old, his voice is kind of shot and he's lost a lot of his passion for the music, but who cares? It's Dokken right? Plus, it was the drummer's (Mick Brown's) 60th birthday that night, which I thought it was cool that he spent it with the fans in the middle of practically nowhere.

At the end of the show, we left that school-house and I remember feeling deeply disappointed that I didn't get to meet Don Dokken. I've been to two of his shows so far and he's never did the meet and greet with his fans. At least the ones I went to.

After we left, the GPS was working just fine, even after our internet took a second shit on us. From there we hit up the local McDonald's where I wound up getting ketchup all over the same pair of jeans, AGAIN!!! These were the only jeans I had brought with me, but fortunately, they were black and didn’t stain too easy.

From there, Lilly and I eventually drove back to the hotel. I couldn't wait to get my boots off. We had a few beers and I cracked opened a few cans of the Trooper (which I was trying for the first time ever) and we decided on going outside to smoke. If there's one thing I hate more than anything in the world, it's not being able to smoke indoors (or cars,) but it was a nice night out and I didn't mind it as much this time around.

So, here I am in my socks, pants completely covered in ketchup, wearing my Iron Maiden shirt that my pal Cary got for me on the tour and I'm drinking a can of Trooper beer. I was a total mess, but still looked the part of a true metalhead. I rounded the corner, passing the desk where some farmer looking guy in a leather hat was checking in, when lo and behold Lilly points at this guy and says "There's Dokken!" I thought she was putting me on, but sure enough, there he was, wearing the same hat from the "Heaven Sent" video.

I mean, I got a quick swipe of the hand from the front row while he was on stage, but there he was, in the same hotel I joked about him staying in. Did I mention that we were surrounded by random hotels at the time?

I waited until he was finished speaking with the concierge and I promptly introduced myself. I must have looked like a murdered bum after all the ketchup, but I didn't care, It was Dokken! In the flesh!

He shook my hand, said "Thanks" and to "Have a nice night." and that was about it. He had to go, and I knew the dude was tired. He is 63 after-all.

I have to admit, while the moment was brief, that, for me was one of the most metal experiences I've had in a long time and I've had hundreds over the years. I even met Dimebag Darrell once just to give you some level of indication on how I was feeling at that moment in time, comparative-wise (I hope that doesn't sound like I'm bragging here.) Nothing could've topped that short few seconds for me. Nothing.

So, after Don heads to his room, I continued on my way outside to the smoking area. Not even a plastic surgeon could have removed the smile off my face at that moment. Outside, I spotted the owner of the club, Mrs. (Miss?) Olsen. She remembered me as that "guy from Tennessee." We talked a bit about the "Q & Z" and she explained to me all about the stone DIO horns; that they were donated by one of the locals. She was a very friendly, cool, old chick indeed. I only regret that I had so little time to speak with her. But, our batteries were drained, and I knew it was time to call it a night...

By the way, If you ever find yourself in the middle of a cornfield in Ringle, Wisconsin, stop by and give her a visit. And don't worry, I'm pretty sure it's not a pig auction.