i REMember U2 in Croke Park

Posted in Old blogger, de-punz by Twenty Major on January 26th, 2005

So U2 are going to play Croke Park again. I was there many years ago, 1985 I think it was. I stayed near the middle of the crowd. I didn’t want to go right up the top because my mother always told me not to get to close to the edge.

The support bands that day were In Tua Nua, the Welsh version of Big Country who were called The Alarm, Squeeze and REM. Back then REM weren’t anywhere near as well known as they are now and after their slot the band came down and mingled with the crowd to take in the rest of the gig.

I was in a queue for the toilets when I spotted Michael Stipe wandering around looking for someone to talk to. Most people were avoiding any kind of eye contact with him whatsoever and I felt a bit sorry for the geeky young singer so I gave him the nod and we soon fell into deep conversation. I grabbed a couple of beers and hotdogs (yes, he was a vegetarian back then but he’s always liked a nice sausage) and he told me all about his plans for the band.

He said he wanted to write the perfect pop song but not sell out to ‘the man’. He wanted his lyrics to retain their poetic mystery and curious pentameter but still be accessible to the common man. He told me he’d had Peter Buck kidnap English professors from local universities and they had them held captive in the band’s underground studio in Athens, Georgia, poring over his latest lyrics. He even said he’d once travelled to the deepest South American jungles and after smoking some local plants had been told how to write the perfect middle eight by an ancient talking condor named Aubrey.

I couldn’t help but be impressed. We talked for nearly two hours, sipping our brews until all of a sudden Michael’s face went puce. I thought he was choking on his foot-long but I turned around and saw actor John Thaw. What could be the problem, I wondered.

I was about to ask Stipey when I saw a trickle of liquid hit the ground. Michael Stipe was wetting himself in front of me. How embarrassing, not just for me, but for him as well. Now people were beginning to notice. Whatever the problem was between him and Thaw it would have to wait. I had to do something to help my new chum conquer his fear.

“Michael,” I said grabbing him by the shoulders. “Pull yourself together man. There’s only one way to stop this. You have to look straight into his eyes and realise that he’s just a man. Whatever it is that makes you frightened is some kind of highly irrational fear and if you can beat it now you’ll beat it forever.”

He looked at me, whimpering slightly. I could see him trying to control his bladder. What could I do? I had to say something decisive, so I slapped him in the face and blurted out:

“Stand in the place where you piss. Now face Morse.”

It seemed to do the trick and he pulled himself together quite quickly.

“Thank you, Twenty” he said. “I’ll never forget this, your kindness, your help in making me face my demons.”

Although I never saw him again I heard he often tells the story of how a grey-bearded gentleman from Dublin helped him write one his breakthrough hits. But did I get a song writing credit?

Did I bollix, the baldy cunt.