Maz Reviews Bruce Springsteen's Ass

There is nothing lazier than people who speak in clichés.  Katy Perry’s Roar for example is entirely made up of clichés (I’ve got the eye of the tiger, already brushing off the dust, Cos I am a champion gah!). Instead of inspiring me, Roar makes me want to punch Katy right in her ass. Same goes for motivational quotes on facebook. I don’t feel inspired by a picture of a wishing well captioned with some inane shit like “Dream it. Believe it. Achieve it”. Because really, when you’re reeling off the clichés you’re just saying a bunch of stuff that’s been said so many times it’s become, well, clichéd.

I do however, have to vouch for a motivational image I saw the other day of a little fellow reaching towards the stars. It was captioned, logically, “reach for the stars”. Yes it’s your everyday sub-par vom inducing meme, but I actually did reach for the stars recently and it felt pretty damn delightful.

As you may or may not know, I have a very slight obsession with Bruce Springsteen. My car is called Bruce, I listen to his music every day, a whopping 20% of my instagram posts are about him and most importantly, he is my number one celebrity crush, my religion and my muse. When he announced his latest tour I spent $1000 dollars on tickets for my family, who all get equally as excited about our lord and saviour, Bruce. I made my parents go and queue in the rain hours ahead of time in order to ensure we would be right at the front of the stage so that, just maybe, I could touch that beautiful hunk ‘o’ man. And touch him I did!

Figure 1: My Dad's enthusiastic response to the news I had acquired sold-out Bruce Springsteen tickets for both he and my Mum

Springsteen is the most enthusiastic performer you will ever see. He does three hour-long concerts with more energy than a hessian sack full of toddlers, and during these performances, he likes to crowd surf. Enter the ultimate “it would only happen to Maz” moment. During a particularly badass rendition of Spirit in the Night Bruce launched himself into the crowd. Falling backwards onto the welcoming sea of hands like Janice does after slamming Regina George at the end of Mean Girls, he continued to sing as the audience slowly delivered him to the stage at the front of the arena. As The Boss approached, I craned my neck to see whether or not he was going to pass over my head, and could vaguely make out a figure up and to the left of me. Using my finely honed basketball attack skills, I dropped my shoulder and charged left until I was right in the path of the almighty Bruce.

Time stopped. My heart rate hastened. My mouth dried. I saw his leather lace-up boots, and then his ankles and suddenly the moment was upon me. Bruce Springsteen’s tight little bottom was directly above me. I reached up and with my full, open hand, grabbed his right bum cheek and squeezed. Oh, the ecstasy. For that one beautiful second, I was molesting the man of my dreams. It was a little sweaty but let me tell you, it was firm and pert and round - everything a good ass should be. Before I knew it, he had been placed gently on the stage and, overwhelmed, I burst into tears. I cried on Nick and then turned to my dad and cried on him too. There is very little I will be able to achieve now that will trump the time I grabbed Bruce Springsteen's behind.

And that is the story of the time that I groped the 64-year-old man I am in love with and then cried snot onto both my 61-year-old dad and my husband in celebration. So follow your dreams kids, it’s like the saying goes: reach for the stars, even if you miss, your hand will touch his moon. I know that was feeble, but you get what I was trying to do there.