Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

The Who at Auburn Hills

Mick had never seen The Who live in concert; so, we drove three hours and 45 minutes to the Palace at Auburn Hills, which is somewhere in Michigan. It's hard to say where it is -- someplace near Detroit, but not in Detroit. Because I heard a rumor when I was in Toledo last week that part of I-75 was closed and the rest of it was under construction between the Ohio line and Detroit, I stopped at the Triple-A office to get road construction reports and maps.

I say "maps" because Janet at Triple-A, who told me to sit in the far cubicle and she would be right with me, gave me "maps," one set of maps marked with a pink marker and one set of maps marked with an orange marker, denoting two separate routes to The Who concert.

I thanked Janet for her help. Tacked to the fabric-covered temporary wall of the cubicle was an 8 1/2-by-11 inch piece of paper in a clear plastic project folder. The name "DIANE" was printed in blue and yellow ink on the paper. I stood up and passed the next to the last cubicle, in which an elderly, silvery-haired woman was seated behind the desk. She wore a large plastic name tag, a red AAA logo emblazoned on the white and blue background, announcing "Hello, My Name Is BETTY." Like the cubicle I had visited was named "DIANE," Betty's cubicle had a name, too -- "KATHERINE." I passed three other cubicles in the Motorists' Services section, none of which were named after Betty or Janet; so, I surmised that the cubicles did, indeed, have names, maybe in honor of former Triple-A employees, like public buildings are named after former public servants or craters on the Moon or Mars are named after -- well, maybe not like the craters on the Moon or Mars.

I drove, and Mick was reading the maps. I tried to follow his instructions; and for the most part, I followed his directions until got off some highway at Exit 83, which I was told to do by a sign that was flashing "Palace Traffic Get Off at Exit 83." I saw a bunch of signs along the highway that was supposed to take us to the Palace that had arrows pointing to the right and to the left and straight up, which in sign language in Michigan, I thought meant "Go Straight Ahead," but maybe I was wrong because on the road ahead, the Exit 83 road, there were no signs pointing anywhere for the Palace.

Okay, so, we were lost. I told Mick that maybe I was supposed to have turned right where all the police cars and emergency vehicles, lights ablaze and flashing, had gathered around an SUV that lay on its side, glass pebbles scattered around, in the middle of an intersection and a traffic cop angrily waving his flashlight, commanding me to go to my left around the SUV -- and that's where I should have turned right, which was probably a driveway that went straight to the Palace and the parking spot right near the door, but I was following the orders of an angry officer of the law, angry because he wouldn't get off in time to see The Who ... or not.

We were lost on a dark, unlit road somewhere in Michigan. And then, Mick's phone said, "Turn left." And I said, "What the hell? You have a GPS thing on your phone?" And I didn't turn left, and Mick said, "Yeah. The map shows we're two miles away." He was cheating. I had all these maps from Triple-A, none of which really showed where the Palace at Auburn Hills was located; and all the time, Mick had this secret GPS lady in his phone, who said, "Make the next legal U-turn."

I made an illegal U-turn; and rather than congratulations, she tersely said, "Turn left in point five miles." I obeyed; and, with her meticulous instructions, we arrived at our destination on the right in less than five minutes. The Palace wasn't a palace at all, but more of an edifice -- the Edifice at Auburn Hills.

When we got to the arena floor to check out our seats, Section B, Row 20, Seats 5 and 6, the warm-up act was playing. We weren't, not meaning to be disrespectful to the three guys on the stage, late at all, in spite of Mick getting us lost. Inside the arena, Detroit Pistons banners hung from the steel beams up above. And I noticed another banner ... a "NEIL DIAMOND" banner. And under Neil's name was printed "16 Sellouts." Next to that banner, apparently in second place with 11 sellouts, was "BON JOVI."

We wandered out of the arena after we found our seats to ... prepare for the concert and have something to eat -- cheeseburgers. At the intermission, we headed back into the arena, and we passed the line of those who wanted to ... prepare for the concert was longer than anyone should really have to wait to ... prepare for the concert.

A guy with a handlebar mustache was sitting in the seat next to mine. He stood up, thinking I was going to try to get past him -- he kept going up, as I pointed to my seat, but he kept getting taller and taller, as if in some Looney Tunes cartoon; and, finally, he stopped growing at 7-2, towering a foot above me, smiling broadly, and enthusiastically saying, "This is gonna be a great show." That he was brobdingnagian turned out to be a good thing because during the concert he was clapping and gesticulating wildly, his arms and elbows having plenty of room above my head, with no fear that someone like me would end up choking him. He would bend down to his new, tiny little friend and and yell in my ear, "Pete is fucking awesome tonight," and "Roger sounds great tonight," and "Pete is better than ever," and "Who's the fucker on bass?"

Pino Palladino. He played with Clapton at the end of May. He played with John Mayer at Blossom Music Center July 1. And he seemed a bit embarrassed to be playing solo, standing in the spot on stage that had belonged to John Entwistle for so long until he killed himself with cocaine at the start of the U.S. tour in 2002, even though Pino had been playing with the band since Entwistle's death.

The concert was the first stop on a limited tour. And as The Tall Man pointed out, Pete Townshend played better and sounded better than I had heard him before, with the band starting the night with the traditional "I Can't Explain," the crowd down on the floor standing until Roger Daltrey ended the night with a hoarse "Tea and Theatre," and an acoustic Pete, mixing up old Who standards with a few newer tunes in between. For the two Who-ligans standing behind The Tall Man, they got some relief when The Tall Man sat down a couple times with sore knees; and one of them exclaimed, "Whoa -- there they are!" while laughing.

Mick was thrilled -- he thought the band was great. They were on stage for 2 1/2 hours. And our seats were center stage, not too far back. No binoculars necessary. The young woman in front of us offered us ear plugs, which we politely declined. Sometimes -- well, once in a great while -- there are advantages to being a little deaf.

We came across the car in the vast parking lot and didn't have any real difficulty, a Toyota Yaris in a sea of American autos, trucks, and SUV's, making our way out of the lot, following the orange detour signs to I-75 South, the route The Tall Man recommended back to the Buckeye State and the Ohio Turnpike. I don't remember the route I took, but made a left onto West 9th at 2:45 a.m. and dropped off Mick at his red Ford pick-up.

And I think I did a good job in the oral argument before the court of appeals in Toledo at 10. Didn't fall asleep on the drive there or the drive back or during the hearing. Time will tell.

Posted by Bill at October 23, 2008 11:01 PM