It was the summer of 1981, and I was 16 years old. I was getting rebellious. Earlier that year, I thought I would be at some sort of wrestling camp, but by the summer, I really wasn't focusing on how many takedowns I could get. Being heterosexual, I had no desire to roll around on a mat with other teenage boys. My new battle cry was "Sex, Drugs, and Rock 'n' Roll."

I ended up going to this concert with my buddy Ozzie Lopez, who I still to this day keep in touch with. Don't confuse Ozzie with Ozzy Osbourne, because you'll see Ozzie's name mentioned in a lot of these early installments. Our seats were nothing special—general admission lawn seats—but as you shall see, they worked out just fine. We wound up driving to the show in this 1964 Pontiac Catalina of his, which looked like a white-trash version of the Batmobile painted with peeling latex. Accompanying us were 2 hits of purple microdot acid, a six-pack of Beck's beer (I had heard it was good so we got a bum to buy us it in exchange for buying him a bottle of ripple and a pack of cigarettes), as well as an eighth of some shitty brown Mexican gold (that's pot, for the drug-ling impaired). For the Hunter Thompson fans out there, no, Ozzie is neither Samoan or a lawyer, and there was no ether in the trunk. I had already dropped acid twice prior to this little venture, so I wasn't really worried about that. What I was sweating was that Ozzie had told me he had a surprise in store for us when we got to the show.

At the time, Def Leppard was a very popular up-and-coming band among both sexes. The chicks dug their look, and the dudes dug their music. They had a perfect formula at that point in their career: They were touring for "High and Dry," their follow up to their strong debut "On Through The Night." They had 2 guitarists in the band that could play pretty well. Oh, yeah, and the drummer had both of his arms back then, too, which is always a plus.

As far as Ozzy goes, this wasn't the shambling Parkinsons patient we're familiar with today. Shit, Jack and Kelly weren't even a glimmer in his eye yet. No, this was Ozzy at his primal best: He had just gotten kicked out of Black Sabbath about a year earlier after completing the "Never Say Die" tour with them. He was touring behind his first release, "Blizzard of Ozz," and he had an exceptionally talented back up band consisting of Bob Daisley (formerly of Rainbow) on bass and Lee Kerslake (from Uriah Heep) on drums, respectively, as well as an unknown guitarist prodigy named Randy Rhoads. Shit, this guy was just as good as Eddie Van Halen, who was THE other hot guitarist on the scene at that time.

As Ozzie and I cruised into the parking area at Poplar Creek, we were starting to get off on the hit of acid we had each taken as we nursed our smooooooth Beck's beers on the drive over. We had thrown our bottles out the window just before getting up to the gate to pay for parking, and it was a good thing we had, because there were Hoffman Estates police looking in the cars at the paygate. I was just beginning my little journey into the center of my mind, and there I had a cop shining a light in my eyes. I actually started looking over my shoulder to help him find for what he was looking for before I laughed myself out of my lightweight stupor and realized that he was just doing a spot check for beers, drugs, dead bodies, nuclear weapons, or whatever else teenage kids might try to smuggle into a concert. But it was no big deal, 'cuz Ozzie had already had the presence of mind to put the other 4 beers in the trunk. There's a lesson for ya right there: If you insist on partying in the car, be responsible and discreet. I personally do not recommend drinking or smoking drugs in the car because there is always that risk involved of getting nabbed by The Man. Always wear your seatbelts, too: It's the law, it's smart, and cops usually don't pull over people if they're wearing one.

So we cruised on in, and some guy was steering us towards a parking spot with one of those orange lightsaber things, and I remember thinking, "Wow! He must work at the airport, too!" Somehow, we managed to park the car, but we weren't going anywhere just yet, 'cuz we still had four more beers to drink and Ozzie still had a surprise for us (remember?). We got out of the car, opened up the trunk, and just sat there and absorbed the atmosphere. EVERYONE in the parking lot was drinking, smoking, fucking, etc. It was just a mad scene, a Roman orgy on asphalt.

So we were sitting there, drinking our beers, when some dude came up to us and asked us if we hade a bowl or papers. Ozzie, ever resourceful, had papers, and the next thing you knew, this guy pulled out a bag of some yellow-looking bud. He called it Columbian Gold. He rolled up a big fat joint and I figured he was gonna leave, but he lit it up and smoked it with us. Then, WOW, everything just hit me at once. I remember thinking that it was pretty crazy to do all these drugs at once, but I was a badass and I could handle anything. I was 16 and I was gonna live forever. My buddy Ozzie was here with me, and somewhere backstage the Blizzard of Oz himself was backstage getting himself blitzed for the show. Of course, right now, Ozzy Osbourne has about three brain cells left, so you see where that type of reasoning gets you.

After we polished off the beer and joint and bid our farewell to this cool dude, I was ready to go in. But Ozzie still had "the surprise." (Remember the fucking surprise?!) We got into the car and he pulled out a little mirror, a seal, and a straw. I knew what it was when I saw it right off: Cocaine. We each did a line and to be honest, I was like, "THIS IS GOOD STUFF!" Man, did that throw a nice curveball in my trip. I remember sitting there with him saying how great it was when all of a sudden, we heard Def Leppard start to play and made a mad dash towards the entrance.

I distinctly recall thinking, as we were running, that I was the Millennium Falcon. Not IN the Millennium Falcon, mind you—-I thought I BECAME Han Solo's trusty ship. The scenery blurred by so fast, that, between all the drugs, I thought I was in hyperspace or some shit like that. Somehow, though, Ozzie and I eluded the Star Destroyer patrol, got inside, and went to sit up by the top of the lawn retaining wall. We were far away from the stage, but nonetheless the sound was great. To be honest, though, I really couldn't tell you what was happening on the stage for various reasons, the most notable of which was these three chicks that Ozzie and I hooked up with. They had no weed, so we, with our Mexican schwag, were like gods to them. Next thing I know, I'm making out with one of these girls and she starts rubbing my dick and I'm tripping, so, even though I started hallucinating that her tongue was that tentacle monster from the trash compactor scene in "Star Wars," I just went with my instinct. Hell, I was I feeling her up and she didn't care! (Hey, when you're 16, that's something!) Praise be to His Dark Majesty Ozzy Osbourne and going to concerts—this stuff is 10 times better than that youth-club-dance crap going on at the church! I got to second base with a creature from a Star Wars movie!

[OK, Jim didn't really write that he thought she was the trash compactor monster—which is called a dianoga, by the way. I put it in because it's funny. Please don't kill me, Jim! Also, don't ask why the fuck I know that think is called a dianoga. I gotta stop reading X-E so much—ed.]

So I was making out with this chick when, right as Ozzy came out on stage, she said she has to go to the bathroom. She never came back, but, to be honest, I totally forgot about her until after the show was over. It was just so awesome to see Ozzy, even from so far away. I guess the drugs will do that to you. (They sure as fuck did it to Ozzy.) All the same, I ended up copping a feel AND doing cocaine for the first time in the same night. All in all, not bad for an evening's work.

When Ozzie and got to the car, we finished off the rest of the coke. Talk about recharging your batteries! Driving home I swear to God that Catalina was actually a magic carpet, which at least saved us from being embarrassed that we were driving a Catalina.

I saw Randy Rhoads with Ozzy (and Ozzie) one more time, for the "Diary of a Madman" tour (with the rhythm section of Rudy Sarzo and Tommy Aldridge) at the Rosemont Horizon, shortly before Randy's death in early 1982 from an accidental, but preventable, small plane accident. I had pretty good seats for that show, and all I can say is God bless ya Randy, you were an incredible guitar player and you definitely helped create a monster named Ozzy Osbourne. I thank you, and so do the executives at MTV.

Next show: The Who!

Until then…ROCK ON !

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