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Shenanigans: Apparently It’s a Coldplay Fan-Fiction


Texas Rez

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17-6: “Moe Batriani”

I followed Tim as he opened the door and walked up the five-step staircase that led us onto the stage. It felt like I was living in the limelight right from the moment I stepped foot on stage; rays of colorful lights struck me from above as I glanced around me, absorbing the moment. Seeing how high-profiled of a band Coldplay is, the cramping size of the venue startled me. The floor was small; about a good 600 people would be able to stand there to watch the show. Then I gazed up at the balcony; maybe 100 people can be seated there? 200? 300? 420? I don’t know, honestly, I’m a terrible estimator.

 

I suddenly realized that everything grew silent to my ears. For some odd reason, I started to feel so many few eyes fixed on me…. Then I snapped out of it, realizing that Coldplay stopped their sound check to give an intrusive look at Tim (Wait, Tim’s still with me?!) and I.

 

“I’m sorry… Did we interrupt something?” I asked kindly.

 

“You interrupted our sound check,” Will said from behind his drum set, crossing his arms with drumsticks glued to the palm of his hands. Chris stood up and walked from behind his heavily spray-painted colorful piano to casually confront me and Tim. Like Will, Chris also crossed his arms. Jonny and Guy decided not to pay any mind to us as they tended their appropriate instruments to tune them up.

 

“How’d you two get in here?” Chris politely asked with a voice that was trying to mask his annoyance. “Well-mannered and respecting fans would usually wait for hours outside for the doors of the venue to open.”

 

“Well-mannered and respecting bodyguards would usually give fans their phones back after taking a picture with the band for them,” Tim snapped as he crossed his arms.

 

“Why is everyone crossing their arms now?” I asked, crossing my arms.

 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Chris said—to Tim, that is.

 

“One of your bodyguards stole my phone after he took the picture we all posed for earlier today when we first met outside the venue,” Tim said.

 

“Huh…. So that’s why I saw Craig and Clint run through the doors,” Chris said, looking behind him at the doors at the floor. Then he turned back to us. “I still don’t get why you two decided to sneak your way in here, though. I mean, had you two stayed out there and waited like well-mannered and respecting fans should, then maybe you would’ve had your phone returned to you by now. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

 

“See Rezzy?!” Tim backhanded my arm. “Even Chris Martin knows that I would’ve had my phone back by now!”

 

“Oh, so it was your idea to sneak you and your friend in?” Chris said to me.

 

“Yes,” I confessed.

 

“I can’t take this any longer; I have to get my phone back,” Tim said. He jumped six feet off the stage and barrel-rolled onto the floor upon impact and dashed out of the doors.

 

“What do we do with him, Chris?” Will asked Chris, referring to me.

 

“Good question, William,” Chris said as he turned to face him. “The only reasonable thing for us to do is to kick him out of the venue.”

 

“But then that’d be pointless,” Guy said, tuning his bass as he was sitting on a wooden stool. “He still has a ticket; a one-way ticket to get back inside if we were to kick him out now, that is.”

 

“Damn, good point,” Chris said.

 

“Leave me out of this,” Jonny said. He finished tuning his guitar and placed it on the guitar rack and walked backstage.

 

“I’ll tell you what, um, Razzy, is it?” Chris said.

 

“No, my name’s not Razzy; it’s Rezzy. R-E-Z-Z-Y. Rezzy. There is no ‘A’ in there if you haven’t figured that out by now.”

 

“Listen, just listen to my compromise. I don’t want to kick you out of here for sneaking in with your friend, I just don’t. I would feel bad if I do.”

 

“I’m listening…”

 

“We’ll put all of this behind us—”

 

“—like how you and Joe Satriani put all of that mess behind you because he thought you ripped him off with a song like ‘Viva la Vida’?”

 

“We won’t talk about Satriani.”

 

“Why not? My dad loves Satriani!”

 

“I said we won’t discuss Joe Satriani.” I could hear the annoyance resonate in his voice. I decided to take advantage of the opportunity as him growing more annoyed with me was starting to turn me on. Time to spice things up, I thought.

 

“Why? The man’s a musical genius!” I said. “I mean, what’s that one song he does? There’s a guitar solo in it, I believe… Um—”

 

Craig and Clint, the bodyguards, busted through the door with Tim being aggressively held by his arms as if two police officers were taking in a handcuffed prisoner back to his cell.

“I got my phone back!” Tim said, lifting a leg up, referring to what was in his pocket as the bodyguards were till holding him by his immobilized arms.

 

“Tim! What the hell happened to you?” I yelled from the stage as if I was on a mountaintop.

 

“I got some good news and I got some bad news,” Craig, the taller bodyguard announced.

 

“Who’s he talking to?” I said to Chris; as if he cared either way.

 

“Which do you want first, Chris?”

 

“Tell me the good news first,” Chris said as he hopped off the stage to confront them directly.

 

I sat on the edge of the stage with my feet dangling about five feet above the floor. I watched Craig to see what ‘news’ he would share with Chris, that sexy beast. Still, even when they’re about forty feet away from me or so, they chattered publicly as opposed to a confidential confrontation.

 

“The good news is that I managed to return the fan his phone back,” Craig boasted.

 

“It was a team effort, Craig! I’m tired of you taking credit for everything all the time,” Clint complained.

 

“Oh yeah? All the time? Remember that one time we saved Jonny from getting mauled by a wild bear that one time we were in Alaska? I had split the credit with you 50/50 when I’d explained it to Will when we returned to the cabin after the fact.”

 

“Okay, I’ll give that one to you.”

 

“So what’s the bad news?” Chris said, preventing Craig and Clint any further digression.

 

“The fan kicked me in the balls after Craig returned the phone to him,” Clint said. Chris sighed as Will snickered from behind his drum set after Clint had said “balls.”

 

“Sheesh, you speak as if you’re talking behind my back, all three of you,” Tim said.

 

“Throw him out,” Chris instructed his bodyguards. He reached into Tim’s pocket and ripped both of the tickets for tonight’s show. That evil bastard! Immediately I was turned off from Chris Martin’s body all because of what he did—the evil act of ripping tickets that Tim had bought with his hard-earned money. I grew infuriated, thinking that Tim’s money has now been robbed of him, the tickets being wasted. The bodyguards insisted as they exited the venue with a screaming and apologetic Tim. They reentered the venue seconds later and Tim was no longer with them. Chris then quietly said something else to them. Next thing I knew, all three of them started to walk towards me. Shit. I’m next to go, I thought. I didn’t want to suffer the same fate Tim had just suffered, so I decided to do the only sensible thing—run.

 

Finishes with 17-7 here...

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17-7: “A Sole Up the Stick”

I felt the frigid air-conditioning brush through my hair as I found myself running back down the halls backstage with Chris and his two bodyguards chasing me. I saw Jonny walking down the hall to my direction holding a cup of coffee. I accidentally ran him over, causing his sweltering coffee to spill on his black shirt and teal pants. I was too much in a rush to apologize to the poor guitarist—I’m sure his insurance will cover the costs of his burn treatments.

 

Amid my frantic run, I suddenly felt my left foot resist the urge to lift, preventing me to continue running much further. It felt as if someone was holding onto my ankle, restricting me to run to freedom. I fell to the floor face-down and quickly glanced down at my shoes, realizing that a shoelace of mine had come untied, causing me to trip. Craig, Clint and Chris Martin were quickly catching up to me, not letting their opportunity to be cursed and missed. Craig dived down and tightly gripped my ankle, not wanting to let me go. I squirmed my foot out of my shoe free, kicking him in the face as I quickly stood up on my own two feet, one shoe down.

 

I continued to limply run my way down the hall with one shoe and finally saw the door that Tim and I’d both snuck through to get in. Finally, I pushed the door open as I kicked my other shoe off my foot, freeing myself to run—with socks, that is. I didn’t look back, but I heard one of the bodyguards grunt as I heard someone fall to the ground.

 

“Oh shit!” I heard Chris yell.

 

I kept thinking to myself the only true advice my dad had ever gave me: Don’t look back when you’re running away from something. Yes… something.

 

I ran around the venue to the front to see if Tim was there. Just as Chris and a bodyguard were still running after me, I heard the clicks of cameras and photographers yell Chris’ name, trying to get his attention—and they succeeded.

 

“Oh, thank you papa—paparazzi!” I said to myself, catching my breath as I stopped and turned around to look at the paparazzi surrounding Chris Martin.

“FUUUUUUCCCK!” I heard him angrily yell.

 

I shrugged it off and patted myself on the back, reminding myself of how lucky I am to have made it out alive in one piece. I finally made my way to the front of the venue and saw a melancholy Tim sitting on the curb, pouting over the ripped tickets with the palm of his hand holding the weight of his head.

 

“Hey Tim,” I said, looking down at him. Tim looked up to make eye contact with me and then looked back down… at my feet, that is.

“Where the hell are your shoes?” Tim asked, bewildered.

“Don’t worry about where my shoes went, Tim. Just be glad I made it out alive. Chris was this literally this close to tackling my ass down to the ground,” I said, sitting down on the curb next to Tim. “Just be glad you got your phone back,” I smiled. “Now show me that golden picture of yours!”

“They…” Tim hesitated.

“They what?”

“They deleted the picture.”

“They WHAT?!”

“I said they deleted the picture.”

“But Tim, doesn’t your phone have a lock on it or something?”

“That’s what I thought. Apparently something must’ve happened. What if—just what if—they never took the picture in the first place?”

“Don’t over-think it because we’re going to do a redo with them,” I demanded as I stood up.

“I don’t think that would be necessary,” Tim said, still sitting on the curb.

“But you want that picture now, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but I’m… I don’t know; I’m just glad I got to meet Coldplay. Thanks for sneaking me in, Rezzy,” Tim smiled up to Rezzy.

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

“Well? What now?”

“I don’t know, Tim… I just don’t know. On another note, my dad has these tickets to a Joe Satriani concert next month…”

 

© Anthony Romero, Chris Martin, Will Champion, Jonny Buckland, Guy Berryman, Phil Harvey (Coldplay told me to give them at least 80% credit for this unoriginal story, otherwise I’d be sued.), Joe Satriani, Moe Batriani, David Bowie, Björk, Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, Boards of Canada, Neutral Milk Hotel, Def Leppard, Paul McCartney, Nine Inch Nails, Pearl Jam, Beck, Lil’ Wayne, The Coldplaying Community 2013

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