Performer: Metallica
Songwriters: James Hetfield, Lars Ulrich, Kirk Hammett
Original Release: Load
Year: 1996
Definitive Version: S&M, 1999
I finally capitulated on
Metallica toward the end of the Nineties after having dabbled in them for about
a decade. I can see why all of the hard-core fans went nuts over their
“sell-out” with Load and Re-Load, but their mellowing if you will was the thing
that got me to finally buy.
I was listening to both
albums extensively in the fall of 1998 when my poker crew had one of my
favorite outings. Steve’s mom, who was a teacher at Upper Arlington while we
were there (I never took her English class), had retired and sold the home
Steve had grown up in and moved to her summer place at Buckeye Lake, south of
Newark.
She was traveling, so the
house was available, and Steve scheduled a more-or-less all-day poker party.
We’d get started in the afternoon, break for the Ohio State football game
against Penn State and resume the game after until, well, who knows when.
I definitely remember that the
ALDS—Cleveland and Boston, with Steve Nagy going for the Tribe in Boston—was
on, or I should say, I made sure it was on in the kitchen, because everyone
upstairs wanted to watch football. I remember this because I kept sneaking down
to the kitchen to catch a score update, but I’m getting a bit ahead of myself.
I had this song on my car CD
player while driving the final winding road from the highway to Buckeye Lake on
that gray, cool October afternoon. A light mist that waxed and waned throughout
the day made it so it was already getting dark by the time we assembled at the
proper destination.
The house was cool, like a
Florida stilt house, although the chance of Buckeye Lake overflowing was about
the same as that of a farm retention pond. Downstairs was the kitchen that you
entered through a covered porch on ground level. On the opposite side were the
stairs that led to the dining bedrooms (two, I think), living room that had
separate dining and sitting areas and then the front deck that looked over the
lake. It had wood paneling and definitely looked like a summer lakeside cabin.
I loved it.
Steve really wanted to make
it a blowout, so instead of the usual six guys at the game—seven can strain a
deck—we had 10 guys there. We broke into two tables with the idea that whenever
a seat opened at one table, you could move back and forth. As the evening wore
on, after OSU won in convincing fashion to much approval, we consolidated the
playing, and I seem to recall that that was when my luck went from OK to
why-bother bad.
I don’t remember
specifically, but I’m pretty sure that that was one of the few times that I
lost and lost fairly big. Not that that made any difference, of course. It was
all about the camaraderie. So I was down maybe $20 after a full day of scarfing
homemade Skyline Chili, pretzel rods, Butterfingers and Labatts, so what? At
least the Indians won to take a 1-0 lead in their playoff series.
When we finally broke up the
game just before midnight and helped Steve to straighten up the premises, it
had been our longest poker outing barring Tom’s bachelor party on the New
River, of course.
I had the Metallica back on
as I made the drive home, winding around the lake this time and noting the
other summer homes that more resembled trailers than the upscale cottages with
which I was familiar at Torch Lake. The rain had stopped and everything was
still—especially the large pitch-black void that lay beyond the houses. It was
very serene, and I could see why someone would want to live there if he or she
could.
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