Okay, the long-awaited highlights from The Police show at Fenway Park on Saturday night:

- It was a regular family affair, as Madden and I were joined by paissons from the old country JRock and his lovely wife KRock as well as a select few members of Boston's wealthiest cover band French Lick.

- We arrived on the field just as Sting's son's band were finishing their set. We could not have been happier about the timing. I think I saw a saxophone player up there. Eeesh.

- Between sets, we got to walk around the field, touch the Green Monster, lean on the bullpen wall, etc. It was the experience of a lifetime (as soon as I get some pics, I'll post them). Unbelievably cool. I almost didn't want the Police to start so I could hang out on the field all night and look at shit.

- The Police show itself was pretty good. Sting's voice still sounds great. Copeland and Summers are still amazing musicians. The thing I liked best about the show were the giant errors. Sting's mic fell off the stand in the middle of a song and his bass shorted out in another one - all things that have happened to me on stage. There was something strangely comforting about that.

- On the way out of the outfield, Joe "Who's Your Daddy?" Welsh spotted some warning track dirt and grabbed a pinch. I followed suit. We were giddy, actually owning some Fenway Park dirt. After a few minutes, the excitement morphed into "Okay, what are we actually going to do with this shit?" Joe decided to smear his under his eye a la Trot Nixon, whereas I pulled a Keith Richards and snorted it up my honker.

That's right - there are small particles of Fenway Park kicking around inside my mucuous membrane. You're jealous.