Sidetracked

We had a tip that the two creeps — Joey and Kenny — were going to be at Kenny’s place. So after school we piled into two separate cars — three in Jay’s car and three in mine — and prepared for a little boot party.

“It’s going down,” Jay said, his adrenaline pumping.

“This is gonna be good,” said someone else, possibly me.

To get his carload amped up for the upcoming throwdown, Jay blasted the Scorpions on his stereo. “Rock You Like a Hurricane,” which its arena metal guitar riffs, was already in regular rotation at sporting events, where it riled up fans. I guess Jay figured it would rile up the boys before we rocked Joey and Kenny.

As Jay’s posse took off, I turned on my Kraco cassette player and cranked up the volume. The music began where it had left off – “Don’t Ask Me Why” from “Billy Joel’s Greatest Hits, Vol.I & II.” A nice little soft rock number.

Even has a little French in it.

“Is this all you got?” Eric said in the backseat.

“It’s Billy Joel,” I said.

“We’re going to kick some ass, and you’re playing Billy Joel?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Are you kidding me? We need to ROCK.”

“Sorry, dude — I don’t have any Ratt albums on hand. I know they’re your favorite and all.”

My friend Brian punched the back of my seat. “Come on, man – we need to get PUMPED UP!”

“We are getting pumped up,” I said, pointing to the Kraco. “This songs rocks.”

“How about Van Halen? ‘Panama’ or something.”

“No, man. Just this. Or maybe . . .” I fished around my car compartments, which were littered with McDonald’s wrappers. “I might have some Lionel Richie lying around somewhere.”

I looked in the rear view and saw Eric roll his eyes. As if he had a right. If he hadn’t gotten thumped, we wouldn’t be in this situation to begin with.

Not that we had anything better to do.

As I followed Jay, I could see their heads bobbing, head banger-style, as they listened to German metal. Meanwhile, my guys were still shaking their heads and grumbling.

“Billy Joel . . .”

As the next track, “Pressure,” began to play, we pulled up to Kenny’s place, ready to apply a little pressure ourselves – to their heads. It was going to be fun seeing the expression on their faces.

They were going to regret messing with a member of our crew.

But, of course, when one hears a door knock and then sees six angry-looking guys waiting on the porch, one shouldn’t necessarily go to the door.

Which is what happened.

We waited a while, then Kenny’s sister answered the door.

One of the guys said, “Is Kenny home?”

As if to say, “Can Kenny come out and play?”

His sister looked at the mob.

“No. I don’t know where he is.”

I didn’t either. But I assumed he was under something. A table, maybe.

We all sort of stood there for a while. There really wasn’t much we could do here. So we just went home.

The guys in my car didn’t complain about Billy Joel on the way back.

We did eventually get some retribution — though not as satisfying — later. But for the next 10 years, I would often get razzed about cranking Billy Joel on the way to a rumble. They thought it was really funny that I would play Billy Joel before a fight.

But, you know what? Billy Joel was once a boxer. A pretty good one, too. I’ll bet he could take that wuss from the Scorpions any day.