That Guy Standing at the Pit Rim

"EEEEEEEEEEK!! NOOoooooOOOO!!"

You just had to get the best view you could of your favorite band. The years of listening to those extreme metal albums by yourself on the internet and while driving in your hand-me-down Ford Focus all led up to this single, defining moment. You are finally going to see the creators of the soundtrack to your existence, playing your favorite songs live in front of hundreds to thousands of people! You promise yourself before you get there, that you will muscle your way to front and center, so you can get as close as possible to your metal masters in this once in a lifetime opportunity to witness their majesty. Unfortunately, the people who got there before you had the same idea, and they are a lot bigger and meaner-looking than you are...

There's not much you can do about it, so you get as close as you can. You position yourself behind this unwavering behemoth of an angry, long-haired hispanic man, tour dates from before you were born decorate his large, sweaty back in bold, red print. You can get still get a good glimpse of the stage from behind his right shoulder, and all-in-all, you are still pretty close to the stage. Anticipation runs high as you eagerly await for the band to get ready. After what seems like an eternity, the lights go out and cheers ring throughout the venue. When the lights come back, your heart races as you watch your heroes take the stage with instruments in hand, glimmering in the spotlight. A song you immediately recognize blares through the speakers at ear-shattering volume. This is the moment you've waited your whole life for, you finally feel complete as a true metal fan!

Suddenly, a circle of chaos erupts at your back. You break the gaze you convinced yourself you were sharing with the lead singer, and whip around to survey the commotion. All of these men are pushing each other and swinging their arms with reckless abandon! Against the giant Mexican's back you cower, narrowly avoiding the elbows and fists of these maniacs! It's all you can muster to shove away the ruthless brutes who bounce themselves off of you, elbowing you in the face and testicles without so much as noticing! Your fragile toes are crushed under the weight of their heavy, leather boots. You push them off and fight back the tears, thankful that the loud music drones out you wailing in pain like a small girl. For the remainder of the concert, you position yourself facing this free-for-all, no longer able to enjoy the musical act you paid good money to see. You couldn't possibly watch them perform, now that you are convinced you're fighting for your life! You flail your hands, shove, yell and grimace at your abusers.

Even though you feel frail and weak after your constant pummeling and near misses, you cross your arms in defiance. You think that maybe if by crossing your arms, you will look tougher, and it will make these crazy Neanderthals avoid you altogether. It's also a good way for you to inconspicuously clutch your stomach, because after that last guy bumped into you, it really hurts now.


Through your blurry vision, you manage to peer through the tempest of shirtless goons to the other side of the crowd, seeing if you can find a safe way to walk to the back of the hall without harm, and tend to your wounds. To your horror, you see a lone, young female standing at the brunt of their meat-headed massacre of bodies and limbs. You clench your fists in rage as you watch them carelessly spin and dance around her, without any recognition to the frail, fairer sex that stood before them. "How dare they!" You thought, no longer feeling any regard for your own well being. You have to rescue her!

When the next song begins, the gang of troglodytes begin to run after each other in a spinning motion. Seeing this as your opening, you dart across the empty center to the other side, rushing to the safety of your fair maiden. Suddenly, you feel the brunt force of a massive, hairy body slamming against you. His sweat pours into your eyes and mouth as you harshly meet the concrete and howl in agony. Not allowed rest, a dozen hands grasp you and throw you back on to your feet. You loudly object; begging to remain on the floor so you can play dead and hopefully be left alone.

Thankfully, the song ends, and the brutes pace around one another with murderous anticipation. You limp to the other side of the crowd to your true love, who thankfully, appears unharmed. You are not too late! Boldly, you turn your back to her and spread your legs in a defensive stance. Gloriously, you make a fist with your right hand and curl your arm into an "L"-shape, bringing it up to chest level and jutting it outward. They will not break this impenetrable wall you have created for the both of you... Even if it means losing your arm or your life. You could almost feel her falling deeply in love with you at your back, as she witnesses your selfless heroics. Chivalry will not die today!

When the band begins to play once more, you muster all of your might to stand your ground. More bodies pour into the cyclone of torment that whips and spins before you, yet you refuse to yield. The band's hit single is now a triumphant soundtrack to your moment of valor, as you defend your woman with all of your might. No kick is swift enough to falter you, no swinging fist large enough to break your stance. You fend off your tireless attackers with nothing more than your lanky appendage held out before you.The crowd cheers and chants as the song finally ends. It is the conclusion of the band's set, and you didn't get to enjoy a second of it, too occupied with the defense of yourself and your new-found love. With a soft smile and a sigh of relief, you turn to her, eager for her gratitude and the dewy look of lust in her eyes for you and your manmeat...

Yet, she is nowhere to be found.  She relocated herself long before the song ended, without giving you so much as a first, much less second thought. As the fantasy of your life-long romance fades from your mind, there is only anguish and pain from the onslaught you have received. It takes all of your strength to stagger out of the venue. The cold night air hits you with refreshing vigor, and you fiercely sneeze repeatedly as a chilling wind enters your battered nose. Clutching your injuries, you stagger from the entrance to the parking lot, poking yourself where there will be inevitable bruises. You have no idea how you will hide them from your mother's prying eyes. She may never let you out this late again.

You finally spot your mangled Ford, and upon opening the passenger side door, you crawl into the musty seat, grateful to still be alive. You wince and moan as you run your hands over your battered insides, praying that you are not bleeding internally. In the dark parking lot, you take time to sit in your vehicle and silently weep to yourself, wishing that grandma was still alive so she could kiss your little boo-boos.

Go home, wuss.