How Heavy Metal and Roy Orbison Spawned the Great Bromance of the 21st Century

The history of manhood is peppered with the awesome power of deep male camaraderie known today as the bromance. Butch and Sundance, Tramm and Sweet Lou, KITT and Michael Knight; all prime examples of revered brotherhood. What follows is a brief telling of the genesis of this century’s great bromance and the awesome forces that forged an unbreakable bond.

           

A number of years ago, on a night between April and October, I was invited to have a drink with a friend. Unfortunately, this is as narrow as I can make the time frame, and it can only be narrowed this much because a Detroit Tigers baseball game plays an important role in our story. 

           

Anyway, this friend who invited me out had a friend named Kevin who lived near the bar we were attending. Kevin’s wife was out of town for the weekend so he was flying solo and would be joining us. Being naturally skeptical and leery of new people, I wasn’t too sure about this Kevin guy, but I figured what the hell, it was something to do.

           

This is a good time to set the scene of this now historic meeting. The bar was a complete and utter shithole full of complete and utter shitheads. Just imagine the bar from Roadhouse without Swayze, Sam Elliott, or the blind guy who played guitar. Later we would laugh about the fact that we met in a bar neither one of us could stand, but at the time I thought there was no way I would have anything in common with a person who wanted to attend this shitty, shitty bar.

           

The night unfolded much like I thought it might, awkward silences broken by even more awkward small talk. Where do you work? Where did you go to school? How about that current local weather forecast? Mostly bullshit like that. We were marching towards a night of full on social awkwardness when the clouds parted and a brilliant light shone on a TV in the corner featuring the Tigers game.

           

“Oh, you like baseball,” I said.

           

“Indeed I do,” he responded.

           

“And you drink beer?”

           

“I have been known to drink a beer from time to time.”

           

The exact wording may have been slightly different, but you get the idea. The rest of the night was full of baseball talk and beer drinking. While a friendship was born that night, the seed of bromance would not be planted until that mutual friend who brought us together at the non-blind-guitar-player having bar decided to move.

           

Faced with the task of moving all her shit, this friend set out to find a couple strong men to carry the load. Unsuccessful, she turned to me and Kevin instead. The move was standard fare until we came to the couch. This was a big, stupid couch with a big, stupid foldout bed inside that was constructed of some very heavy metal (HA! You thought I was talking about the music genre in the title, but what I really meant was a metal frame that was not light. Man, you should see your face! I got you good!).

           

Honestly, this couch could have been stuffed with Rob Halford, Lemmy, and all the guys from Pantera for how heavy the damn thing was. We managed to get it down from the second floor apartment and into the truck without much trouble. We felt pretty confident in our moving abilities until we got to her new building and the challenge really began. This building was old as hell and was apparently designed for hobbits. Picture the stairway in The Godfather Part II where Robert De Niro shoots Don Fanucci with that pistol that had been wrapped in like 17 towels to muffle the sound. This stairway was like a skinnier version of that one.

           

A few years ago, a 7mm kidney stone lodged itself in my ureter and caused me all kinds of pain and misery. The couch was that building’s kidney stone and it took all our energy and effort to force it up the ureter stairway. We struggled and bitched and pissed and moaned all the way up until the Pantera couch from hell was through the apartment door and safely in its new home. They say unbreakable bonds are born from times that try men’s souls. Soldiers who go on to live different lives in different parts of the country can come together fifty years later and know that link they forged in battle is still strong as ever. Our battlefield was a stairway, our enemy was a couch.

           

Exhausted in our victory, we fell triumphantly onto that jerk couch. As a reward for our efforts, we plugged in the TV for a little entertainment. PBS was literally the only channel that would come in so we hunkered down to watch a documentary about the late, great Roy Orbison. The show quickly transformed from background sound into an interesting program that we watched the shit out of. The next day, independent of each other, Kevin and I both procured the same Roy Orbison hits compilation and became fans of the legendary singer. The seeds of bromance were firmly planted. We still text each other any time we catch an Orbison special on TV. I would highly recommend Roy Orbison and Friends: A Black and White Night, you will like some of his friends.

           

Over the ensuing years our friendship grew, strengthened by a road trip to Chicago where we screamed Pink Floyd songs and almost went off the road laughing at a stupid inside joke (thanks a lot, SK!). Trips up north, shitty action movies, baseball, and more PBS deepened a bond that was cemented by a trip to the emergency room to deal with that previously mentioned kidney stone. All these things, and many more, have been important parts of the bromance that all started with that fucking couch and Mr. Roy Orbison.