Sweet Jimmy Fitz
Like a duck to amphitheater water, we watched Jimmy Fitz tackle his first concert that day. If the Radio 104 Big Day Out was a pool, Jimmy jumped into the deep end, fully clothed, black-out drunk
As spring blossoms, and summer looms, one’s heart invariably turn to music. The warming of the seasons beckons to us, seductively, an irresistible whisper from a sylvan tongue:
Psst. Time to shell out hundreds, if not thousands of dollars on concerts, because Ticketmaster defeated Pearl Jam, and evil always wins.
And we must listen to that susurration.
So, as we march boldly into festival season, I feel compelled to share with you the story of Jimmy Fitz.
Sweet Jimmy Fitz.
I went to college with Jimmy. I don’t know exactly how we became acquaintances, but he was on the hockey team, so I imagine it was through that. A hockey player lived on my hall freshman year, we became fast friends through shared alcoholism and drug addiction, and like that I was welcomed into the ecosystem of the goons.
Hockey players are by far the most fun athletes to party with. They’re silly, they’re gross, they’re tough as nails, sure, but as terrifying as they are on the ice, they’re also mostly nice. Perhaps it’s the overarching influence of Canadians on the sport, but I’ve always found a pervasive kindness in the species, which makes for a good hang. Hockey players seem to be here for a good time, not necessarily a long time, and in college that was most decidedly my attitude as well.
Which is probably why as spring blossomed, and summer loomed, in the year of our lord, 1999, a group of us decided to trek from Middletown, Connecticut down to Hartford for the Radio 104 Big Day Off, an all-day music festival taking place in the state capital.
Check out the bill that year. I just Googled it. Face to Face, Public Enemy, The Verve Pipe, Guster, Everclear, and headliners 311.
Talk whatever shit you want; I’d see that lineup today. Sure, stylistically the bill made zero sense. It was a smorgasbord of late-90’s glory, a genre all-you-can-eat buffet. Call it eclectic, call it schizophrenic, just call me when that shit starts, because I’m there, gurl. I’m there. Just like I was in 1999. The year of our lord. Fred Durst.
We bought a car-full’s worth of tickets, and as we were rounding out the expedition, someone extended an invitation to Jimmy Fitz. And do you know what Jimmy said? Jimmy said, yeah sure, why not. I’ve never been to a concert.
Never been to a concert.
We were sophomores. How someone lives to the age of 19, 20, and never goes to a concert is beyond me. Although, to be fair, these were college hockey players. Jimmy could have been 36 at that point, but that just makes it all the more inexplicable!
I don’t recall enough about Jimmy to know why he had never been to a concert. I remember he was from Rhode Island, so perhaps concerts had not made it there by then. Maybe he was just a hockey goon and the arts never crossed his path. Maybe music wasn’t important in his family, hockey was all that mattered.
Or maybe he just needed his hand held.
I do recall that Jimmy was a little guy, very quiet. He seemed awkward and uncomfortable in one-on-one conversations. But when you put alcohol inside of him, an inner-Jimmy escaped his body. This shy guy who mostly kept to himself was suddenly electric. Talking shit as good as he got it. Destroying people at beer pong. Downing handles of Captain Morgan. Up for whatever silly nonsense. A real good time guy. So, I was excited to help usher Jimmy into the world of live music. I knew his Mr. Hyde would love it.
We trekked to the Meadows Music Theater—now called Xfinity Theater, evil always wins—and as we headed in, a look coming over Jimmy’s face. It’s the look you see on rehabilitated animals when they’re released back into the wild. Watch any video, it’s always the same: an initial timidity begets a dawning realization: this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Everything up until this point has been wrong. But this, finally, is right.
And so, we brought Jimmy Fitz to the Radio 104 Big Day Off, and we released him.
Jimmy asked something like, so we just hang out here all day and watch bands play? And we told him yes, Jimmy, that’s exactly what we do. Quickly getting the hang of it, Jimmy set off to buy a round of beers with his fake ID. This may have been his first concert, but it was not his first rodeo.
We settled into our lawn chairs and in no time, Jimmy was back with the beers. He seemed upset to find us just lazing on the lawn. This was a general admission affair, and Jimmy pointed to the throngs crowding around the barrier in front of the stage. Let’s go there, he said. We explained that this was an all-day event, one must pace oneself. We told him we would try to crowd up there later, maybe, for the bigger bands, but it was good to have a base from which to operate, spread out. Jimmy was having none it. Fuck that, he said. And then he was off to the front of the venue.
Good for him, we agreed.
After we had each drank, oh, I’d say a third of our beers, Jimmy returned with another round. Okie doke. Thanks, Jimmy! Then he headed back off towards the stage.
And so, it went. Jimmy would wander off, circle back to make sure everything was okay, then head back out for more. He was like our toddler, we his parents, watching over him, delighting in him, supporting his exploration. But our baby boy grew up so fast! Every time that he circled back, he had some new, insane story.
Bro, I got backstage and got two free beers!
What? Really? How?
Never mind. No time to explain. Jimmy Fitz was already heading out for more.
A half hour later, he was back.
Dude I just made out with some chick!
Whoa, Jimmy! Way to go!
Off again, then back.
I did key bumps in the bathroom with some dudes from New Jersey!
Okay, let’s slow down, Jimmy, it’s going to be a long day.
One time Jimmy returned with his shirt torn apart, tattered scraps barely clinging to his chest. He had gotten into a fight with some guy. Security broke it up and tried to throw both out, but Jimmy broke free and disappeared back into the crowd.
Jesus Christ, Jimmy!
He laughed it off, borrowed one of our baseball caps to go incognito, then sprinted to the merch tent to buy a new shirt.
At one point Jimmy didn’t circle back for awhile. We were worried, but also operating under the sacred code of all nineteen-year-old alcoholics: if you become a problem, you’re on your own. I headed out for a beer, and promptly found Jimmy passed out in the grass, just so sunburned. I woke him up, concerned, and he immediately sprang to life. Little disco nap, he said, hugging me, laughing, then running back out for more.
God speed, bud. God speed.
Like a duck to amphitheater water, we watched Jimmy Fitz tackle his first concert that day. If the Radio 104 Big Day Out was a pool, Jimmy jumped into the deep end, fully clothed, black-out drunk. It was as if he was making up for lost time. For whatever reason, Jimmy had been denied the concert-going experience his entire life. But that glaring oversight ended, emphatically, today.
The rest of the day was more of the same. Eventually we realized this was just how Jimmy was going to spend his time, so we stopped even trying to keep an eye on him, and focused more on enjoying our own experience, which we did. Immensely. Amber was the color of our energy.
We all headed to the car at the end of the day and somehow, miraculously, in an era before cellphones, there was Jimmy, ready to roll He hadn’t been arrested. He didn’t die. He just had the time of his life. We all returned to campus no worse for the wear.
I don’t have any specific memories of Jimmy beyond that day. In a way, the Radio 104 Big Day Off marked a fork in the road for me and Jimmy. Nothing deliberate, but I was always a tourist in the hockey world. It was never going to last forever. Eventually I settled more into my own scene, alcoholics without stick skills. And that was kind of that.
I went to my five-year college reunion, then, recently, I went to my twenty-year college reunion, and I didn’t see Jimmy at either. We’re not friends on social media, I don’t know what has happened to him in life, but I wish him well. I like to think he dropped out completely, followed Phish around for three decades, and went full wook. At this very moment Jimmy could be prowling some muddy parking lot, dehydrated but ecstatic, desperately in need of a breakfast burrito.
More likely, he’s a finance bro, with a nice little family in Mass, maybe back home in Rhode Island; on weekends he crushes Busch Lights in his backyard, rips pucks at his kids.
But as spring blooms, and summer looms, and my wife and I line up the shows we’ll be checking out over the next few months, I know, inevitably, at some point I’ll find myself at an outdoor amphitheater. The setup is always the same. From Hartford, to Denver, and beyond. Tents and booths lining a makeshift walkway to the stage; maybe there’s a slab of concrete in front of it, some temporary VIP accommodations cordoned off with yellow caution tape. Then billowing out from the stage in a semicircle, a vast, grassy hill, where people spread out picnic blankets and do their best to corral their children.
And I know that as I sit there sipping a tallboy, watching my kids raise hell on a beautiful summer night, at some point I’ll look out at the crowd below me, and for a brief moment I’ll be able to see him: Jimmy Fitz, sweet Jimmy Fitz, patron saint of music festivals, zigzagging through the crowd back toward me, a lunatic smile on his toothless face, eyes sparkling with delirious chaos, this beautiful hockey animal, completely and absolutely free.
May Shows
Some great shows this month, gang!
But before that, a sweet, sweet vinyl offer! The offer? Message me, and I am prepared to sell you a copy of my new special, “20 Years In Comedy and All I Got Was This Lousy Special,” right now, today. WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO PUT YOU INTO A NEW LP TODAY?!?! $30, plus shipping and handling!
That is a sweet, sweet vinyl offer, Adam!
You goddamned right.
To the shows!
Portland, Oregon I’m heading your way for one night only! One of my absolute favorite cities in the country: clean air, smart, weird people, great eats, and pileated woodpeckers. What’s not to like? I know I’ve got some Substackers up there in the great PNW, so please come on out and bring a friend or two. The incomparable Derek Sheen is opening. As is Adam Pasi. With a guest set by the homey BK Sharad. That’s a truly killer lineup. Love to see you there. Look at this incredible poster Geoff Tice made for it!
May 22 - Portland, Oregon - Helium Comedy Club - Tix
Then myself, Ben Roy, and Rory Scovel are doing our riff-over-movies show, Movie Night. This show has become popular, fast, and this is our first one on a Saturday, so it should sell out. Hop on those tickets. Hop, I say!
May 24 - Denver, CO - Bug Theater - Tix
Then it’s Grawlix time, baby. One of my favorite things about the Grawlix is that it has a good enough rep that I can just reach out to comics that I’m a huge fan of, but don’t know personally, and sometimes they’ll just come do the show! This month is one such occasion! Pat Burtscher’s clips always kill me. He’s a regular at the Comedy Cellar in NYC, and I’ve been a fan for awhile. And now he’s doing the Grawlix! Eureka! Eureka, I say! Get tickets to that show now. It’s going to rule.
May 31 - Denver, CO - Bug Theater - Tix
The Monthly Clip
This month’s clip once again comes from my NEW SPECIAL, “20 YEARS IN COMEDY AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY SPECIAL,” NOW STREAMING ON MY YOUTUBE PAGE. It’s tough being a local celebrity but it’s a cross I’m willing to bear.
God damn, great video, Adam. Way to go.
Before you go, follow on the socials!
And most definitely check out my new special if you haven’t already.
