Benny Jay: My Time Of Year

It's Daddy Dee who tells me about the concert at Martyrs. He says he's singing with Tributosaurus, this cover band that sings the songs of the legends, and on this particular night they're singing War.

For a minute I think I'm not going cause it's raining, number one; and, number two, I don't want to play the part of the old timer gathering with other old timers to sing old songs from the past.

But forget that. I am old -- no use sitting at home about it. And I love War. Always have. Always will. Plus, my wife got me this new umbrella -- cherry red and everything -- which covers up the whole sidewalk, it's so big.

So my wife and I go. And they knock us out. There must be ten guys in the band, including a horn section, a keyboardist, a bass player, a drummer and a percussionist. One of the singers is a big feller named Matt Spiegel, who's deceptively nimble. Moves like a cat. Reminds me of Nathan Lane. And he's got almost operatic range -- he really sounds like the singer in War. The trumpet player is, of all people, Mike Cichowicz, who happens to be the older brother of The Tit, the kid who snuck me into see "The Godfather" about, oh, two billion light years ago. And the coolest of the cool is the guitar player, who sits on his stool and barely blinks an eye. Daddy Dee calls him Big D, but I think of him as Baby Buddha cause he radiates a peaceful kind of mellow.

Daddy Dee and Matt are trading solos, singing every song in the book -- "Spill the Wind," "The World is a Ghetto," "Why Can't We Be Friends" and so on. I'm on the dance floor, not so much dancing as tapping my umbrella to the beat. Got a couple of beer-bellied old timers in Hawaiian shirts standing behind me. They know every word and they're singing along, bringing back phrases I haven't thought about in years: "Let's have a picnic go to the park, rollin' in the grass `til long after dark...."

The band does an off-the-charts version of "Slippin' Into Darkness." In my mind, it's the summer of `78 and we're down by the boathouse on the North Avenue beach around midnight. Some one's passing the wine and the weed -- must be two dozen people crowded around a boom box that's playing this song. A police car cruises up and everyone scatters cause it's after curfew. I run all the way to Fullerton and double back after the police car's gone. Every one's returned. Got the song playing right where we left it -- "Slippin' into darkness, takes my mind beyond the trees." Didn't miss a beat....

The band moves into "Summer," one of my all-time all times. Now I'm singing with the boys in the Hawaiian shirts: "Ridin' round town with all the windows down, eight track playin' all your fav'rit songs...."

The concert ends and we head outside, walking down Lincoln Avenue in the dead of night. Rain's stopped. Clouds gone. Seems warmer. I take off my jacket. A cool breeze strokes my arm. I'm tapping my umbrella against the ground like it's a cane. Feeling all sprightly -- like Fred Astaire. Summer's coming. I can feel it. Gonna ride my bike up and down the lakefront. Check out the outdoor concerts in Grant Park. Dance under the stars `n everything. From the corner of my mind the refrain returns: "Yes, it's summer, summer time is here/yes, it's summer, my time of year...."

Benny Jay: Monday Night Fights

Bowling starts at 7:15, but my team's running late. We're always running at least ten minutes late -- always rushing to keep up.

Most of the other teams are cool with it. In fact, some of them (the High Rollers and Hawaiians, come to mind) are usually late themselves. But this one dude, he's got a hardon for us. Lumpy guy, looks like Curly from the Three Stooges. Always wears the same purple shirt. I'm starting to wonder if he washes it. He's a really weird duck. Always making snide comments when we miss a shot. He doesn't say them directly to your face, but just loud enough for you to hear. Another thing -- he's a snorter. I'm not sure why. But he stands over me while I'm keeping score and snorts. Okay, I understand if he's got some sort of nasal defect -- but why's he got to snort in my ear?

Anyway, he hates waiting for us. Drives him crazy. He's walking around the bowling alley looking at the clock and muttering to himself and talking about us to anyone who will listen.

So it's already a little tense and then he goes ahead and marks our names on the scoring sheet. Norm takes exception and says something along the lines of: Don't mess with our sheet.

And Curly says something back, which I can't hear.

And Norm's in his face, saying: "What did you say?"

And Curly says: "Let's take it outside."

And I'm like, oh, no. The last thing Curly wants is to take it outside with Norm. For one thing, Norm's way stronger and tougher. For another, Norm's not taking no shit from nobody -- especially Curly!

So next thing you know, Cap's the only thing keeping Norm from getting at Curly. And Norm's banging up against Cap's chest, fire streaking from his eyes, saying: "You wanna go outside, let's go. C'mon, you the big man, and all...."

Curly's backing up, but he's still talking shit, like he figures that push come to shove, Cap will hold Norm back. I fear we're on the verge of a major incident cause Norm's almost mad enough to push past Cap and really beat the crap out of this guy. So I step in -- yes, me -- and I put my back to Cap and tell Curly: "Just get out of here...."

He moves away, grunting, snorting and shaking his head. And I walk with Norm over by the TV and we stare at the Bulls (who, by the by, are losing to Washington, damn it). I tell Norm: "You're my guy. I love you like a brother. And I can't stand that piece of shit. But I'm not gonna let you hit him...."

And Norm says: "I ain't gonna hit him, Benny. I got too much respect for Bob [who owns the bowling alley]. But he's pushin' me...."

As we watch the game, I try to remember the last time I got into a fight. It had to be years ago. I've never been a fighting man -- too afraid to get hit. But when I was a kid -- I'm talking grammar school years -- I had this notion that I had to win a fight to survive. I figured that if word got around that I won a fight no one would ever want to fight with me. So I picked a fight with this girl, figuring I could beat her up. She slugged me in the stomach and I ran home crying like a baby. After that I learned my lesson. If you don't want to be beat up, don't look for someone to beat up. And I found other ways to avoid fights.

Norm and I go back to bowling. I hit a strike. So does Norm. Then Cap. Then Young Ralph. Soon we're stomping on Curly's team. And the hotter we get the more irritated Curly gets. After each strike we stand in the alley and exchange high fives. Sometimes Young Ralph and Norm will exchange high fives two, three, even four times. They block Curly from getting to the lanes. Pisses him off even more. Not that we care.

We're really loose -- all fired up. Cap heads to the juke box and plays one great song after another -- The Dells, Tower of Power, Mary Wells. Young Ralph puts on "Atomic Dog" -- the fifteen minute version -- by George Clinton. We're jumping up and down, doing the Dog Dance, and chanting: "Bow wow wow, yippie yo, yippie yay...."

I show my guys my new dance moves and they can't get over how good I'm getting. We make plans to take our wives and girlfriends to Summer Dance over in Grant Park, where we will dance under the stars to live music.

We pretty much forget about Curly, who's walking around muttering to himself and snorting. Like I said, he's got to be the weirdest dude in the league, and, trust me, that's saying a lot.

As I head home, I'm thinking what a great night. We annoyed him more than he annoyed us, basically winning the fight without taking a swing.