RACKET INVADES LONDON!!!

By Matt Corbett

Since rival magazine Spin attempts to thwart our ambition at every turn (they know a dangerous competitor when they see one), imagine how shocked we here at the Racket bullpen were to get VIP area passes for the London show of the Live 8 Concert! It promised to be concert of the year, if not the decade, and we had free access! After mugging Jonathan after work to obtain the airfare, I was on my merry way to even merrier old England, visions of hearty ales and gap-toothed whores dancing in my head, fellow Racket staffers Jeff Curtis and Mike Gunther at my side.

I was so happy to be behind the scenes at Hyde Park. The crowd looked big and sweaty and oh-so plebian. They were almost as bad as those poor children in Africa! I’m surprised flies weren’t buzzing around everyone in the audience. We Racketeers enjoy hanging out with the rich and famous because so very few of them are fat, excepting for Elton John, who was a delight. He kept offering to take Jeff back with him to his dressing area with promises of candy and magic tricks, but Jeff politely declined. Way to blow an interview, Jeff! Sir Elton went back to conducting an all-Keane kazoo orchestra, and the three of us continued rubbing elbows with pop music’s elite.

It was such a hot day, though, we soon found ourselves in the air-conditioned bar tent slamming down Jaeger Bombs and comparing notes, and who should came in and plop down next to us but Robbie Williams! “Oi, gimmie a drin know you miserable bollock,” he growled at the bartender in his effervescently British way. Was Robbie thinking about helping the Africans? “I helped some black girls to my knob a few minutes ago, if that counts” he said, the “cheers, mate!” all but implied.

Our souls and necks sufficiently lubricated, we continued on hiking about. Madonna saw our press passes and ran up alongside us, breathlessly saying, “I want to tell you all about this great new religion I found!” We didn’t make eye contact, and Mike tossed her a quarter. We didn’t have time for these cheeky celebrity shenanigans; the show was about to start!

Standing from the backstage, we got to glimpse two legends – U2’s Bono and Wings’ Paul McCartney – kick the show off. With Africa and the problem of poverty hanging in the air, they came out and sang what was on everyone’s mind: “We’re Sgt. Pepper’s lonely heart’s club band!” Nothing makes me think about starving, dying children more than a ditty about the house band for a whorehouse, and I’m sure everyone there felt the same way.

Jeff fell asleep standing up during Coldplay’s set, and Mike wandered off, seemingly in disgust and boredom (I don’t think he could bear to look at the man who stole Gwyneth Paltrow away from him). When Sir Elton, having completed his obligation of being the only person in attendance who liked Scissor Sisters, closed his set with a cover of T Rex’s “Children of the Revolution,” and called out for the help of the disgraced crackhead former singer of the Libertines, Pete Doherty. To our shock (but not horror), Mike stumbled out wearing a top hat, smoking a cigar, and wielding a tattered Union Jack! No one in the audience seemed to notice it wasn’t Pete, though, and it went off with only 10 or 12 hitches.

Dragging a now heavily intoxicated Mike (was he hanging out with the real Pete Doherty? Only Kate Moss knows, and she’s not telling!), we wandered around, amazed at the sheer number of stars in our midst. Over one way sat Sting and Snoop Dogg, sharing a blunt and talking about their favorite reggae records. Over another way one could spy REM lead singer Michael Stipe applying facial make-up and descending even further into insanity.

Even with the world’s most famous rock stars in attendance, we were still witness to some celebrity shenanigans. MILF-meister Justin Timberlake was seen sloppily making out with Patti LaBelle at the DJ tent. The recently reunited boys in Pink Floyd could be seen breaking whiskey bottles over each other’s heads. Computer magnate Bill Gates sat atop a throne made from the bones of his enemies’ children while clapping and forcing Dido to dance for his amusement. There was even a streaker, and we were as shocked as anyone to find out it was TV’s Neil Patrick Harris! “I just got to see Doogie Howser’s wang!” Jeff shrieked, one of his lifelong fantasies now fulfilled.

Now this was all good fun, but what about the message? Did the concert successfully send a message to world leaders? One can only hope the G8 members will see their mistakes reflected in Bono’s designer sunglasses and change their ways. I’m sure Jonathan, once he recovers from his mugging, will want to know what we got out of it. Mike got wasted, I got the clap from soul-maven Joss Stone, and Jeff got married to a Cockney matchgirl. Valuable lessons each, and I hope all the concertgoers and people who watched and listened at home walk away with the same lessons we did. By convincing people that simplistic solutions to complex problems will fix global dilemmas, the celebrities of the world have done us all a service.

Staff writer Matt Corbett swears this all really happened. No, really. The 15 pints he consumed in front of his television had nothing to do with it.