The Night I Met Taylor Swift

[Ed. Note: This was written Dec. 12, 2010.]

Dec. 11, 2010 I saw the girl of my dreams, or so I thought. It also was the night I became less of a man.

It was Saturday night and I sat in a dimly-lit Tailgators bar, having a beer and hanging out with my brother and a group of guys. It was nice to unwind and relax and forget about work and all the stress.

I just ordered another Dos Equis when a blonde beauty walked to the bar and ordered a beer. Intrigued, I glanced again, then again; she was gorgeous.

On the third glance I had a sudden realization, it was Taylor Swift – or at least a girl that looked EXACTLY like her. I was star struck, smitten. I was frozen and couldn't stop staring – a total stage 5 creeper.

I looked at my brother only to notice that his eyes were fixed on her, too.

"Holy shit, dude, is that Taylor Swift?"

Suddenly my mind flooded with thoughts of I have to go talk to her.

What would I say to Taylor Swift? Am I sure that's her? There's no way she'd be here in a bar in The Woodlands. What if that is her and I don't talk to her, I'd hate myself forever. Even if it's not her, this girl is a Taylor Swift look-a-like, go talk to her, Matt. How exactly do I approach a Taylor Swift look-a-like? Do I just go up and say, "Hey, has anyone ever told you that you look EXACTLY like Taylor Swift?" No, can't do that, it needs to be something more original. What exactly is original? What if I went up and started singing a Taylor Swift song? Which song would I choose? I wonder if she's noticed I've been staring in her direction intently the past 10 minutes. Stop staring. Drink your beer. You're probably just drunk and imagining things. How could I be imagining things if Ethan saw her, too? Why am I still here as she's standing alone near the bar. Wait, there's her friend. OK, perfect, go, leave your seat, now. Why are your legs not moving? Now, go! 1, 2, 3 GO! OK, one more beer and then mission is a go.

It didn't help that word spread at the table that I'm a huge Taylor Swift fan. All of a sudden all the guys were egging me on to go talk to her.

"This is your chance, go for it! C'mon, don't be a pussy."

But I was too sober still, and my I was mentally psyching myself out. Another beer and sure thing! One beer turned to two, two beers turned into a shot, a shot turned into another beer. Oh no, where did Taylor/Taylor's twin go?

Intently scan the bar to find her.

There she is by the Golden Tee with a group of friends. Who's that guy talking to her? Back off, bitch, not tonight.

Insert another 5 minutes of staring intently. Still a stage 5 creeper.

One more beer, a few more times being called a pussy and I'm out of my chair and approaching this Taylor look-a-like. Heart racing, mind filling with unwanted, confidence-breaking thoughts...starting to feel light-headed.

Abort mission. Start playing Golden Tee next to her, just to regroup. Ethan approaches the Golden Tee and hits a few shots. Make a sarcastic (and inappropriate joke) loud enough where hopefully she'll hear you.

Fail.

OK, I can't do this. What am I thinking. I'm just some guy in the bar who's broken the three-second approach rule by at least 1,803 seconds. Not exactly a confidence booster. Where did my confidence go? Hello, confidence? I could use just a quick shot of you right now since the many Dos Equis and Jagerbomb are not helping whatsoever.

A guy in a blue shirt and shaved head approaches her group and for some reason feels the need to start a conversation with me.

First off, who the hell are you, dude? I'm really not that interested in what you have to say. Second off, can you get your friend's attention so I can attempt to talk to her?

Note: At this point had she actually turned around or looked at me, I'm fairly certain that my confidence was at such a low that I would have mumbled something had my mouth been able to make any sort of noise at all.

Two things happened next. One, Taylor Swift's twin pulled out a cigarette. Kinda gross, but OK, we can get past that. Two, she kisses douche in blue.

Game over. Dreams crushed. My confidence is now in the negatives. It was a long 12-step walk back to the table where Ethan and the group of guys gave me looks of shame and heckled me for the rest of the night.

A day later looking back on that night I realize I am now less of a man. I feel like God put that as a test for me to see how I would respond if I ever were to ever to see the real Taylor Swift in person. I failed with flying colors; straight atomic bomb on everything I thought I knew about myself. And I don't know if I'll ever be able to recover.


But if the real Taylor Swift and I ever do meet, at least I know what to say.

"mdsmflkasj."

Video: Oh, Tonight at the Whitewater Amphitheater

 

Here's a video from Saturday night, where the pouring rain didn't stop the Josh Abbott Band and its faithful fans from having an unforgettable time.

A PIECE OF HEAVEN

I found a piece of Heaven Saturday night. It came in the form of a Josh Abbott concert at an amphitheater full of thousands of fans, a torrential downpour and the song "Oh, Tonight."

It was magical. A lightening storm slowly crept closer from the distance. Before too long, the rain followed. Through the stage lights you could see the rain barrel down on all the concertgoers. And when it looked as if the rain might end the show early, Josh said over the mic, "How about three more songs?" The buzz through the crowd was wild. And then came one of his best and most popular songs through the speakers, "Oh, Tonight."

The lightening and rain didn't stop the Josh Abbott Band or its fans from rocking out Saturday night at the Whitewater Amphitheater in New Braunfels. Photo courtesy of Michael Johnson Jr/@MJohnsonJr13

Girls and their boyfriends danced, the single folk sang at the top of their lungs. Hands were in the air, beers chugged, pictures and video still being taken and recorded: a big fuck you to the rain; that it's not ruining the night.

The rain ultimately had the final say, as the band ended up playing just two songs, "Oh, Tonight" and "Touch." But even then it wasn't enough. As the stagehands raced to covered the drums and save any equipment on the stage, the Josh Abbott faithful cheered for an encore.

When it was clear none was in store, the faithful took its chants and cheers out of the amphitheater.

"JOSH FUCKING ABBOTT! JOSH FUCKING ABBOTT!" said a group as it exited.

The water was gushing through the streets, not a single shirt, sundress, head of hair, pair of jeans or shoes was dry, but it didn't matter.

"JOSH FUCKING ABBOTT!"

After the concert, Josh took to Twitter. "Most epic show we've ever had! Thank you everyone who came to Whitewater tonight!!! I'll never forget this one," he tweeted.






On his Facebook page, Josh reiterated what he tweeted. "Last night at Whitewater was the best show we've ever had and we've been blessed with a lot of great ones! I will never forget singing "Oh, Tonight" & "Touch" in the pouring rain w/ all of you! Awesome," he posted.













More than 130 people commented, including Katie Rein, who said, "Best concert of my life! I dont think it could ever be topped, the rain made it even better if you ask me!"

"That was one of those moments that you just had to be there. I feel sorry for those who weren't. Epic!" Jeremy Stewart said.

In this case, epic doesn't sufficiently cover what happened that night.

I've got to give it to the band there. It could have just packed it up and called it a night at the smallest inclining there was going to be rain –– and the lightening storm before the show only confirmed what was to come. Why not cancel to a later date? Sure there would be pissed off fans, but then again it's Josh Fucking Abbott!

Instead, Josh Abbott put on one of the most memorable experiences that thousands of us will never forget.

And that's what makes Josh Abbott and his crew such a killer band, and the top in Texas country at that. It's giving the fans what they want, making those memorable experiences so that they keep coming back to experience a piece of Heaven once more.

DEFYING GRAVITY

I've been reading a lot more lately, working and studying on understanding voice in stories, and how voice, when used correctly, can help drive stories and keep the flow going. I just finished "Beyond The Game," a compilation of Gary Smith's best works published through the years. I figured if I'm going to learn more about voice, then why not start with one of the best writers who uses it so effectively.


By Matt Keyser | Sports Editor

Step one. The first step of the day’s first vault is always the most intimidating. There you stand, 110 feet staring down a runway and up at a beast in the form of a fiberglass bar resting 13 feet above the ground, daring you to start your run.

The thing with the first step is it must be taken with authority. It’s an equation of aggression plus confidence minus any hesitation to clear the beast ahead. Step one. Step two. Add another 14 more before you reach the metal box, where, once there, you have to add a dash of trust to ease the panic of sticking your 15-foot pole in the middle of the box and hoping that the pole doesn’t suddenly have a change of heart and join forces with the bar and attack. Divvy up a bit more trust once you’re bending the pole so far back that it looks as if you might catch a piece of the ground, only then to rocket upwards with a force strong enough to propel you over the bar.

Now, the rest is up to you to have the proper technique to maneuver your body over the beast, making sure that the slightest shirt graze doesn’t touch it, because the softest touch can send it off its pegs and crashing to the ground, making all that you had just done futile.
Welcome to the world of pole vaulting.

“The sport where 20,000 things have to go right,” Brenham junior high track and field coach Michael Pittman says.

This story begins with Garrett Larson standing 110 feet down the red brick colored runway. As a junior, he’s Brenham’s leading pole vaulter, and the one hoping to rewrite the Brenham record books by clearing the 15-foot-7 mark set by Chris Duhon at the state track and field meet in 1976.
Larson has a pole vaulter’s build: at 6-foot-3, 170 pounds, he has the ability to bend the pole in ways that look as if it should snap and send fiberglass splinters flying through the air with a shotgun boom. He possesses the speed of a sprinter that carries his 6-foot-3 frame down the runway, the upperbody strength to bend his 15-foot pole at will and a gymnast-like ability to maneuver his body up and over the bar.
He’s what coach Pittman calls “a phenom as far as what he does.”

It was back in eighth grade when Larson first grabbed a pole, a time when he said he was young and dumb enough to attempt his first vault—all vaulters have a bit of crazy in them, high school pole vaulting coach David Yeager says—an age when boys are naive enough to think immortality still applies to them.

But sometimes the limits of immortality must be tested to discover your talents.

The first hundred jumps aren’t easy. Fear weasels itself in the pit of your stomach and sends out waves of doubt that makes your knees buckle, not allowing your body to take that first step. Luckily, pole vaulting is a repetitive sport, where hundreds of jumps might end in failure, but with each jump comes confidence. And with confidence comes success.

We could take a peek into Larson’s success. But in doing so, you have to take a look in the early years, where the success was minimal—through the grind of Larson conquering the fear, understanding the way the beast works—to understand how Larson got to be the vaulter he is today. By ninth grade, the fear was still conquering him, doubt coursing through his body.

“He had to overcome the fear factor,” Pittman said.

Between his freshman and sophomore years, something clicked. What that was exactly, Larson isn’t sure. But the fear was gone, the doubt no longer had control. In his first meet of his sophomore year, he cleared 13 feet, one of the career plateaus set by the Brenham coaches. Vault by vault, Larson was learning to control his emotions––the fear, the uncertainty. Most importantly, he was learning to battle the beast.

With Larson’s success breeds the success of younger vaulters for Brenham. Such is the case with sophomore Erik Yeager, an up-and-coming phenom in his own right. In eighth grade, Erik Yeager set the eighth grade junior high pole vault record at 10-6.

Like Larson, Erik Yeager has the looks of a pole vaulter’s build. At 6-foot, he’s three inches shorter and five pounds lighter than Larson. But don’t let his shorter stature, his blonde hair or southern drawl fool you. With each day that passes, he’s slowly climbing the ranks; slowly learning to battle the beast.

—

Don’t you do it, Garrett Larson. Don’t you dare let that doubt fill your head with uncertainty. Clear your mind. Let loose those evil thoughts that, if allowed to run rampant, will crush your hopes of clearing the bar. Because if you want to tame that fickle beast, the smallest ounce of doubt could destroy the greatest amount of confidence, the slightest hesitation could sway the pole a centimeter to the left in the box, and uncertainty could cause the smallest misstep on the five-second run down the runway.

There. Did you see it? A yawn. A last chance to suck in the sweet oxygen that will help carry him the 110 feet down the runway, into a battle with the beast. Another. A last chance to clear his mind, to black out all surroundings, to illuminate the goal at hand.

There he goes. The pole raised well above his head, one step forward, one step back and he’s off. Step one. Step two. Fourteen more and the pole meets the metal box, a date with the beast mere milliseconds away.

—

You have to understand, the bar radiates uncertainty. It wants you to fail. It wants to conquer another victim to add to its ranks. The more you fear it, the stronger it becomes.

“I’ve seen meets where the wind blows and it will fall off,” Larson said. “Other meets vaulters will hit it and it will bounce about two feet and fall back on its pegs. Those times, you just look at the vaulter and say, ‘You just got extremely lucky.’”

There is one man who spent an entire career working to tame the beast. And in the sport’s history, he’s the only man to come close.

Sergey Bubka brought the sport to the forefront when he shattered the world record’s highest vault. Bubka has a body builder look—a 6-foot-1, 170-pound frame—but during his vaults, he competes with the elegance of a gymnast.

It was 1994 in Sestriere, Italy, and with his high-prancing steps, his burst of speed and strength to crank the pole well beyond 90 degrees, he cleared the beast resting 20-1 ¾ above the ground. Eighteen years later, he remains the only man to clear 20 feet.

—

The battle between Larson and the beast is now in full force. With a crank of the pole Larson prepares for his air assault––asking his body to defy both gravity and physics. With a push off the pole, he’s airborne—one on one with the beast. Now, don’t blink, or you’ll miss it. Larson twists, his stomach exposed over the bar, limbs pulled close, and just like that the battle is over. He’s done it. At 14-6, Larson has won.

Now, here’s the thing you truly have to understand about pole vaulting: As one battle ends, another begins. The beast keeps climbing, daring you to try once more.


– Keyser can be reached at lede.keyser@gmail.com