Check it out, click that link, if you haven't before: SoFla's concertgoing Stoner Nation forged a legend out of a leaky, acoustically atrocious, aircraft hangar in the middle of nowhere. I was 14 years old when I first attended a show at the Snortatorium, and the feeling as I entered the seating area with its dopesmoke cloudcover was that of crossing into a dark fantasyland, orcs and wizards and longhaired freaks crawling through the plastic chairs on the floor and over the permanent seating in the rafters.
And I felt that way even *before* I smoked reefer for the very first time that night. The first kid I spoke to collapsed into a quaalude-induced puddle right in front of me, and, later, my old man, who was waiting outside in his car, told me they were doing drug deals on the long hood of his Chevy Nova.
I never bought PCP at the Sport, never got a blowjob in one of its bathrooms, never got arrested, but that wasn't 'cause I couldn't've.
I saw Kansas there (twice), Foreigner (with Blackfoot, who blew the English band off the stage), Black Sabbath, Robert Plant, Rush, Van Halen (who were basically a distorted muddle), Iron Maiden (twice), and Judas Priest (with Megadeth)--that time, my father came inside with me(!).
Beyond the always surreal experience of just being in the cavernous space with six to ten thousand of South Florida's rowdiest motherfuckers, highlights were probably the laser show I saw at that first Kansas show, and the riot that broke out when Neil Peart was tardy for that Rush concert. The show started 90 minutes late, but it was worth it, as I can always say I've been teargassed--the Iron Cross of sorts for veterans of the old Sportatorium.
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