You can’t make this stuff up. No, really you can’t. There I was- driving the Corollacoaster up to lovely Limerick, PA- home of smoke stacks and a Wawa and scanning through the increasingly mediocre FM radio stations in Philadelphia. There was nothing on except for the tail end of one of the songs off of Watch the Throne and the grizzled and currently hopeful voices of Eagles’ fans, talking themselves into believing that despite what reality said- their team still had a shot at the playoffs. I stopped at one station, a familiar guitar lick was coming through the speakers and I thought to myself- is this Toad the Wet Sprocket?
Of course you remember Toad the Wet Sprocket- “Fall Down” and that out on the ocean song…
But here’s kicker number one friend…the guitar lick did not belong to Toad the Wet Sprocket…unfortunately. I had gotten excited to listen to Toad and his sprocket because with ease, I get excited about random things very quickly. The guitar part belonged to the Gin Blossoms, another largely forgettable/occasionally memorable band. I was disappointed. Why would I want to listen to the Gin Blossoms? Philly radio does this to me at least three times a day. They play songs that make me wonder, why on Earth would I want to listen to Marcy’s Playground, an Everclear song other than "Santa Monica," any Bush song, Third Eye Blind…the list is too long, I have things to do. But who is out there that is genuinely happy when the Gin Blossoms come on?
I saw the Gin Blossoms once. It was by accident, pure chance and it was in Boston. I was coming back from one of the museums and heard familiar sounds coming from the plaza in front of the government building so I went to check it out. There were maybe two hundred people scattered across the steps and on the stage, there were the Gin Blossoms in all of their holding onto the 90’s glory. I won’t say they looked pathetic…I’ll say they looked like a band on their way to Pathetic Town, not quite there yet, but most definitely on the slow boat in that direction. I caught their last song, one of their well-known ones and was shocked. They screwed it up. They had to start over. Come on dudes, that wouldn’t happen to Third Eye Blind.
So instead of listening to Toad the Wet Sprocket, which would have been a welcome surprise, I found myself changing the dial to avoid the Gin Blossoms. The radio scanned up and down the FM dial two or three times. More Eagles’ fans, but not much else. With a win over the Dolphins, hope has been restored. Keep the riot place on call for now. For today, the angry rioting that has been kept at bay by wins like Sunday’s was again put on hold. Andy Reid will stay! Andy Reid needs to go! If the Birds win out and everyone else falls to pieces…
The sun was shining bright and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Not one. The air smelled like hope.
Minutes later, the day took a turn. I stopped at another radio station because this one- and this is where we get to the Can’t Make This Stuff Up part of this (pointless) story, was playing…Toad the Wet Sprocket. It was not the Gin Blossoms. It was not any other vanilla 90’s band.
It was a Christmas miracle!
Toad the Wet Sprocket’s lead singer is named Glen and their drummer was short, with a big head.
Yesterday was Monday and today is Tuesday. It’s cold and we will stick to the facts.
I can’t believe Jimmy is dead.
Tim Tebow does not play defense and does not kick 59 yard field goals.
The NBA is making people who literally shoot themselves in the foot look sensible.
Here's to Toad the Wet Sprocket. We will see you again soon.