Me and U2

Have you ever wondered what it would be like in another world? I mean, wake up in an alternate universe. A dream world. Something so surreal that it can be nothing other than a bizarre dream. That was what Estadio Azteca was like. Tickets for the first of two performances in Mexico City had sold out within hours of going on sale back in November. That night, touts were asking for as much as $1,000 dollars pesos per ticket.

THE MORNING NEWS. As y’all know, I monitor the news everyday and the day of the concert was no different. At 8am, there was a report from the stadium, people were already in line to get in for the concert. Holy canole! Twelve hours before it began! I was at work but realized the magnitude of a line of over 100,000 people beginning at 8am. I had general admission tickets for the heart of the soccer field. But I didn’t leave for Azteca until 3pm.

ESTADIO AZTECA. It is far south. The metro network doesn’t even extend that far. We took the metro to another train and then arrived at the 114,600 seat capacity stadium. It is one of the biggest in the world. It teeters at 7,200 ft. above sea level and is packed full of enough magic moments to make even the most level-headed fans wobbly with delight. It is a supernatural place. The dizzying altitude, suffocating smog, and relentless pressure of the fans that flocked to the Azteca made it damn near impossible to get my bearings and feel grounded. I was left in the clouds.

SECURING SECURITY. U2 hadn’t been to Mexico City since 1997 because they had a security breach and were wary of returning. If you have been living in a bubble since you were born, perhaps you need an explanation. The Mexican Police wear all black, have bullet-proof vests that say POLICIA, carry submachine guns, and are just as corrupt as they are scary looking. I generally feel less safe when they are around. The incident from ’97 occurred between a politician’s son’s body guards and the U2 band security. Apparently the body guards weren’t friendly either. Thousands of troops were there decked out in their gear. They were ready and willing of another confrontation.

GENERAL ADMISSION. We needed to get there early to guarantee a good view. We arrived at the stadium at 4pm. I was very impressed by the efficiency of our commute. Four hours early. But it was not enough. After various security checks, walking around the stadium twice to be let in, we walked down the tunnel. I love walked out of the darkness to the light of the field. Great feeling. Inside the venue, a spate of immense "waves" by the mobs and taunting between the upper and lowers sections of the crowd filled the impatient wait between the performance of the Secret Machines the appearance of the idols from Ireland. This was Mexico. The atmosphere was like a World Cup final: tense, anticipatory, and unpredictable.

CHANTING. Me-ji-co! Me-ji-co! Me-jico! The lights cut out and everyone went crazy absolutely nuts. I mean nuts. You see riots from Latin America online, you see frenzies, but nothing explains the ferocity with which all 100,000 people jumped and yelled.

LUCKY. As I have said, we were on the floor general admission section and packed in like sardines, or appropriately, Mexicans in a pickup truck. I was concerned that my sight would be obstructed by taller individuals. However, I was in Mexico so my 5’ 8” frame gave me a proper vantage point over the thousands in front of me. I love Mexico.

After a few new songs and old classics, Bono snatched up an acoustic guitar and began strumming. It was the beginning of Norwegian Wood! I went Mexican. I mean, totally nuts. Dancing, jumping, singing, throwing elbows, the usual. Apparently Mexicans are not the avid Beatles fans that I am. No one got it. And after my flaying arms ceased, I was thought to be a drunk, even though I was completely sober (seriously). The advantage of being thought crazy is that everyone gives you a bit more space. I recommend at least a few spontaneous dance moves at any general admission concert in the future, if you are feeling a little claustrophobic.

One of the greatest shows I have ever been to. The display and lights were the most incredible examples of the progress of technology that I have seen. Their design was mesmerizing. But I tried to keep my eyes on Bono and the Edge as they strolled yards from us. Bono’s message was convincing, well present, and right on. Love. Love each other, love God, one love.

THE DEPARTURE. As Bob Marley says, “Exodus, movement of Jah People.” Similar to the entrance, this had anything but American efficiency. We were squished, smushed, prodded, smashed, and pushed. Cattle get it better than this. Eventually, we found ourselves in the first train. Unable to turn my head or move my limbs, I took a nap on someone’s shoulder as I reflected on my night. At the metro station, we discovered that it was no longer running at midnight. Me cagó! Bad news. Way south of home and with tens of thousands looking for cabs. It took a bit of walking but we finally tracked down a taxi and I hit the hay at 2am.

THE MORNING AFTER- The Best Way to Get Up in the Morning. Sleeping for less than 4 hours never has beautifying effects on me, and this was no different. I woke up to flash backs to the Tamale guy and sat up quickly. Had I hit snooze? Where was I? Oh, its still pitch black outside, so I should be about on time. I got up feeling a little fuzzy and overwhelmed from the prior nights festivities. I took one big step, into the side of my bed. Cursing quickly followed as the blood started to flow from my toe. Massive amounts of blood before 6am is like a nightmare. I nearly passed out. Could I call in sick? Nope. I patched myself up and hobbled off for work. I am down to nine toes. But as we all know, nine is the magic number.

Happy weekends. ONE LOVE.