I live near the Barclays Center, whose opening was maligned by residents who feared that each Brooklyn Nets game would end with a tsunami of boozed-up shouting morons. As it turns out, Nets fans have been incredibly subdued. Not so Beliebers.
Speaking of vomiting in public, Justin Bieber played the Barclays earlier this week. (Can we start calling the Barclays “the Barc”? Is that appropriately lame, or unforgivably lame? Other suggestions, from Internet friends, include The Black House and The Rust Bucket.) The performance was reportedly tepid, but that did not stop the Beliebers from screaming. I assume nothing can.
After the performance, a pack of wild fans waited outside the stage door, hoping to catch a glimpse of the star’s tour bus. (Which had just spun around, we assume, on the Rust Bucket’s famous rotating trucks turntable.) Though the bus’s windows were fully blacked out, the kids lost their shit, screaming like our parents’ generation might have while being simultaneously diddled by all four Beatles. As the bus lumbered away—as their dreams lumbered away—the kids broke past the barricades and chased after the bus. It would have gotten away, too, if it hadn’t been for that street light.
Read the rest on Bullett.
And for those of you who want to get the image of Beatles-y group sex out of your head, or just feel like thinking about Shea Stadium for nine minutes: