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By Root 1669 0

after a Raw that happened to take place during Game 7 of the first round of the 2004 Stanley Cup Playoffs between the Flames and the Vancouver Canucks. The timing was terrible, but we still had a good crowd and we made sure that the game was playing on the giant big screen behind us, so our audience (and me) could watch it during the show. Calgary was holding on to a one-goal lead with ten seconds remaining in the game and the hometown crowd (and me) was going nuts. The last ten seconds played out like the New Year’s countdown. We stopped the show and I screamed out, “Okay! Ten seconds until we make it to the next round! Ten, nine, eight, seven …” The crowd was counting down with me and everyone was screaming and yelling victoriously—until Vancouver scored with four seconds left and tied the game.

The place went silent and the party was over.

Nobody knew what to do and I was so pissed off that I walked straight off the stage and into the street. I stood there for a few minutes kicking vagrants and cursing. Then I remembered we were in the middle of a gig and I went back onstage. We didn’t want to play during overtime because no one was going to be paying attention, but if we stopped playing entirely, the gig would be ruined. So we launched into AC/DC’s “TNT” for the 20 minutes until the game came back on, and sure enough, everyone was ignoring us. So we just kept playing “TNT,” turning it into the Phish extended blues jam version. That’s show business— you gotta roll with it, baby.

But after only a few minutes of overtime, the Flames scored and won the game. The party restarted instantly and the mighty Fozz were there to lead the way. I was so happy that the Flames had won—and even happier that we could finally stop playing “TNT.”

Our next gig was in Giants Stadium—well, it was technically in the parking lot of Giants Stadium, but that’s just nitpicking, isn’t it?

The New Jersey State Fair took place every year on the grounds of the stadium, and we were booked to play a show for the fairgoers. Earlier in the day we had an autograph signing beside the massive stage and the line was huge. Hundreds of Fozzy fans, wrestling fans, and one Anal Cunt fan stood in line to get our signature and take pictures. It was a beautiful sunny day and we were looking forward to a great gig.

Our dressing room was a trailer behind the stage, and an hour before the show, the parking lot was packed. I put on my stage gear and primped as our tour manager gave me the update.

“We’re on in ten minutes, Chris. But it’s raining a little.”

Nothing wrong with a little rain, it’ll just add to the ambience, right? But when I opened the door a gust of wind ripped it out of my hand and I was drenched by a torrential downpour. Raining a little? This was a damn tsunami!

When I got to the stage, our crowd had dwindled down to about twenty-five drenched die-hards standing underneath umbrellas and looking miserable. But the amps were covered in plastic and the fair still wanted us to play. So we had a quick band meeting and decided we wanted to play too. There was a small smattering of applause from the crowd and a big smattering of rain from the clouds as we hit the stage. I always started our shows by running onto the stage and cheerleading to the crowd, whipping them into a frenzy before the first song began. So when the intro tape finished I sprinted out from the wings. The stage was an impressive structure made of stainless steel, and when my feet connected with the smooth surface, it was as slippery as a sheet of ice. I lost control after the first few steps and slid across the stage like Clark Griswold descending down his roof in Christmas Vacation.

I careened past Rich, who mouthed, “Oh shit,” and continued on past the safety of the microphone stand. I clawed at it like a drowning man trying to grab a root growing out of the bank of a river, but to no avail. I saw the edge of the stage approaching as if in slow motion and was certain I was going to plunge over the edge to my death. (It’s irrelevant that the stage was only about eight feet above