20 Minutes in a Mosh Pit

20 Minutes in a Mosh Pit

All around you, bodies are writhing and jumping with the music. It is one singular mass of people, all united in the common cause: to get as close to their ‘favourite band ever’ as possible, using any means possible. Someone elbows you in the face as you try to squeeze in front of the large man in front of you, whom takes up enough space for 4 people. You ignore the stinging pain that is erupting in your cheek and soldier on, one hand out in front of you as you try not to not get hit again, the other behind you, gripping the sweaty hand of a friend that can’t be left behind. You close your eyes and push, and a small Mexican wave of bodies occurs as everyone is pushed forward.

The large man seems to be nailed into the ground and doesn’t move an inch, but rather grunts in unseen exertion. The space in front of him closes in as the bodies begin to bounce backwards again, and you take the opportunity. You dart in front of him, quick as a flash, pulling your friend with you, who unfortunately gets caught under the man’s armpit on the way through. Never mind, now you can see them! The band! The one’s you have waited your entire life to see! (Well, at least a month.) You scream and begin to jump up and down on the spot like a maniac, pulling you friend up and down with you. In any other public place this would be frowned upon, or you would be automatically steered away from. However, here, everyone is doing it – it is a complete revolutionary movement. Well, except Mr Too-Many-Cheeseburgers behind you. Who knows what his problem is.

He and all other punters are forgotten as you catch sight of the love of your life, Jimmy Rockstar, whom you are determined to marry. He will then whisk you back to New York, set you up in a reasonably large mansion, and you will have three gorgeous rock star children called Leaf, Tomato, and Orange. You profess your love loudly for him, but it is lost in the screams of hundreds of other girls around you. Who do they think they are, anyway? You’re the one who is involved with him. They don’t even understand how deep your love goes. I mean, your entire room is covered in posters with him.

After a while you stop screeching (“Jimmy! I want your babies!”) and begin to get lost in the music, jumping, swaying, hopping, yelling the lyrics back in the band’s face. A feeling of complete calm washes over you in the sea of violent, determined, uncaring people and you suddenly feel completely happy and content with life. It just doesn’t get any better. The band begins to play a slow song and it adds to your feeling of ‘zen’ as everyone comes to a complete standstill. People start to sway in all different directions, and it takes about half of the song-time to get everyone to sway in unison. Glowing phones and lighters come out of pockets and are thrust into the air – the fact that it is still 3 in the afternoon and broad daylight does not seem to deter anyone. Ah, this is the life.

The song comes to an end, and the band announces their last song. It is your favourite and you scream loudly, straight back into the loud, rushed atmosphere. You want to get to the front for this song. No, you need to get there! You look at your friend and she looks back and you nod in unison – the game is on. You link hands, take a deep breath, and barge like you have never barged before. You push, shove, kick, elbow, and every other violent action short of punching people in the face to get there.

Unfortunately, every other person in the mosh wants to get there and so you really have a fight on your hands. The song starts up, the twang of the initial chords piercing through your veins, causing adrenalin to kick in. You become a crazy person, your head is tick tick ticking with excitement, and your feet and knees are doing anything possible to get through. People begin to get irritated and push you back, but never mind; you’ll make it. You manage to get two, three, four lines in front and you can see the prize – the metal bar at the front, separating the fans from the stage. You scream loudly and it is lost on the crowd. The chorus kicks in and sweaty bodies begin to go mental – a circle pit is forming, a swirling, running, mass of madness. You push through the circle pit, earning a punch to the face as adrenalin –based fights begin as the testosterone kicks in, in every teenage male there.

And all of a sudden, you are there. Somehow, by sheer luck, the force of the pit has pushed you and your friend right to the front bar. You grip it with both hands, feet planted firmly, and silently thank every higher being you can think of, including whoever created chocolate. You look up and he is right there; the love of your life, the reason you breathe, your future husband. The third verse kicks in and you yell it back at them, and then you swear he smiles at you. You wave manically and smile back, jumping and screeching. He grins and waves at you before turning his attention back to the crowd, singing for his life. It hits you that he just waved at you. He. Just. Waved. At. You. Jimmy. Waved. At. You. And from that moment on, all common sense, all rational thinking, is lost from your mind.

You grab the bar and launch yourself over it, running straight for the black stage. It is higher than you thought it would be, but never mind, you can make it. A whooping sound is heard as the crowd sees you and encourages you. It catches the band’s attention and they all look down at you amusedly as they play, including Jimmy. Jimmy! You break out into a full-on sprint as the yellow-vested security guards close in on you. You can almost touch the stage now and you reach out your hand to grab it and pull yourself up. Suddenly, your hand is caught between something. You look around and realise that there aren’t just two security guards anymore, there are about seven. They all run at you, massive men that spend hours and hours in the gym, and you begin to freak. Two of them have trapped your hand between their massive torsos. You twist and turn to try and run back to the crowd, but there isn’t a chance – the ones behind you are closing in too.

You concede defeat and let them pick you up as you scream up at Jimmy, asking if he will marry you. The crowd roars with encouragement, you suddenly are worshipped by the masses. You are the messiah of the concert. Jimmy waves down at you again as he sings the final lyrics in the song. You begin to kick and yell as the security guards carry you away, not wanting to miss anything, and they begin to get rough with you, grabbing you as you try to escape. Owch, that hurt. You continue to fight them as you stare up at the band, who are getting further away. They say their final goodbyes and are about to leave the stage when Jimmy looks your way. Is he looking at you? Is he?! The crowd swivels round to stare too, more whoops and kudos coming your way.

Jimmy says one more thing over the microphone: “Thanks to all of you, our fans are our greatest inspiration. Especially the crazy ones like that girl over there!” he says smiling and giving me a thumbs up.

Did he just... You can’t even think. Jimmy Rockstar. Just. Talked about you. On. Stage. You. You!

Your head begins to spin, the smile on your face beginning to hurt as you yell back that you love him.

And suddenly, you faint. 

And that will always go down as the best 20 minutes of your life.