I guess I want some ak-shone. I sort of like the night life. But I don't want to boogie, especially on the disco floor. But let's reflect on an event that occurred 33 years ago. A marketing event at a major league baseball game that went horrible and legendarily awry. Local radio jock Steve Dahl convinced the son of Sox ower Bill Veck to stage this calamity. Your humble blogger attended. It was smack dab in the middle of a magical and noteworthy summer. The summer everyone has had that separates the completion of high school and the beginning of college and beyond is (sorry, Uncle Ned!) a milestone. Certainly did not know it then - but that was a summer with the best pals. Work (if you could call it that - life guarding) was a gas. There seemed to be a pool party every night at Ronnie's in-ground backyard pool. Greg was off to Indiana. Carolyn to WIU, me to ISU, and Ron to flight school in Daytona. Butch, a year younger, still had a year left in high school. I guess we hated disco, at least I copped to it publicly. To get into this Sox-Tigers double header, you payed .98 cents (the Loop, WLUP, FM 98, get it?) and had to also donate a disco record at the turnstyle to get in. We were in the upper deck, thankfully. We knew it was weird when in 2nd inning a black Frisbee flew onto the field. Then eight more. No - those are vinyl records! Seems the gate guys decided they had collected enough records - that were scheduled to get blown up (demolition - remember) in a huge crate in center field between games. By the 3rd inning, the Tigers outfielders took the field wearing batting helmets. We did not storm the field like so many others when things got out of hand. We stood in awe - during the melee. All the cops had been diverted to OUTSIDE the park to keep the 20,000 fans still trying to get into the already pack park. Smoke, destruction, and pleas from park officials on the PA to Take Your Seats. Second game forfeited. We left and had issues in the neighborhood parking lot. Our "easy out" spot was totally blocked. Some huge pirate-looking guys picked up and moved a few cars. But this magical event marked for all time the middle of the summer, and that summer was middle of life itself. That summer and that event separated high school from ATR - all the rest. I am sure the album above was in the pile, or at least flew a few times.