There was no way out.
We were trapped.
My left hand reached forward for the husband. My right hand reached back for the teenage
boy.
My God, I thought. One wrong move and bad things could happen.
It was six thirty in the morning when he painted a bird on his
face.
He dressed carefully, layer by layer, each
piece colorfully cementing his commitment to the cause. As he walked to the train station he had to
take a deep breath. He needed some way
to control the excitement bubbling in his blood.
When he arrived downtown it was a sea of blue and green as
far as he could see.
It was no surprise.
He knew they would
show up.
He waited a long time for the
team to come by. But when they did he
yelled as loud as he ever had. He raised his
arms and chanted with the crowd. His heart was pounding. He thought this might be the greatest moment
of his life.
He knew it was just a
game. But by God, these boys, these men,
had managed to make him deliriously happy.
They had won the Superbowl. He was sure he’d remember it forever.
He knew he was just one of thousands that day
on the parade route. He knew he was just
a normal, average guy with a bird painted on his face. But this football team? - They were inspiring. They had done something great.
The crush of people began as soon as the parade was over. Within minutes the husband, the teenage boy and I
were seized and engulfed. The pack
tightened. The choking crowd swayed as one. The gridlocked individual was powerless as thousands of bodies pressed up hard and tight against each other. The initially intoxicating and exhilarating
experience of being a part of it all had taken a turn toward the frightening
and alarming.
It was, without question, impossible to move.
I turned to find a man with a bird painted on his face
bellowing over my head at the top of his lungs.
His belly pressed hard into my side, I could feel him take in another
breath and bellow again, “There are little children here! There are little children here!”
The crush of 12s turned their heads in real concern and looked
toward the man with the bird painted on his face.
“Come on people! “ he firmly roared. “We are going to make some
room! We’ve got to get these little
children out of here!"
Impossibly, the 12s pushed back and parted the sea of
congestion. Impossibly, a space was
created. Impossibly a mother holding a baby and pushing a stroller with a
toddler in it nervously made her way through the crowd.
The man with the bird painted on his face yelled again,
“Good job people! Good job! We don’t
want anyone getting hurt-especially the little children.”
And with that the crowd closed in on each other.
Again, it was impossible to move.
When the crowd finally broke free, I watched him walk away. He thought he was just one of thousands that day on the
parade route. He thought he was just a normal, average guy with a bird painted
on his face. But this guy? - He was
inspiring. He had done something great.
Check This Out!
Most of what I knew about Bruce Springsteen came from his Born in the USA years and the fact that my high school choir teacher was one of his biggest fans.
I have just finished the book Bruce by Peter Ames Carlin.
A fairly honest account of Bruce's life and music, this book has caused me to become one of the Boss' obsessive superfans. At least for now. It's worth checking out, for sure. It's no surprise he's still creating and touring. I recommend having some of his albums around while you are reading. Listening to the music the author is describing helped in understanding the book, and Bruce.
I've become particularly fond of his early music, something I was fairly unfamiliar with before reading the book.
One of my new favorites: Prove It All Night