The Dropkick Murphys, an Irish punk band touring America to push a new record, are actually and ironically from Boston, but these guys will drink, wail and stink like native Irish punkers this night in Hollywood, this night at the Hollywood Palace…where so many have thrown up before.

Sky, Chris, and Bean, teenage boys all, finished their homework in record time so as to be deserving and transportable to the concert by me, a disgruntled parent. As we approached the entrance to the Palace, a large security guard began the violation, the search for weapons, the frisking of our crevices. Once in, the boys could no longer contain their excitement, and they rushed the stage, awaiting the appearance of their favorite punk act. Me? I headed for the balcony to witness one of the rituals of the American teenage male: moshing.

As the non-smoking section of the room began to billow with cigarette smoke and the buzz of awaiting maniacs who had attended high school classes only a few short hours earlier began to swell, the band finally wandered onto the stage, some stupid and drunk, some stupid and sober, and the rest just stupid. How unsettling to think that these were the voices of our children's now.

The band began to play, and the crowd bounced with an intensity befitting an SEC football rivalry with bragging rights on the line. The "ticket restricted" crowd in the balcony emptied with overwhelming force into the throng below. Authorities stood aside, and chaos reigned. Soon the bouncing grew more violent as boys slammed, punched, kicked, and head-butted one another. So this was the sport my son called "moshing."

After the concert was over and we were all walking back to the car, Bean said he couldn't hear, and Chris said his ears were ringing, and I'm certain they must have had scratches and bruises on their bodies, but Sky was already talking about their next concert. The band was good they said, but they couldn't wait to mosh again.

Why, I asked, do they love moshing? Well, this is what I learned…

One, it's a game with attainable goals: you try to hit and not be hit. Boys get to exercise their strength, knowledge, strategy as they also work on their eye-hand coordination. Moshing is like a video game, a baseball game, a football game, soccer.

Two, it's an acceptable way, unlike hitting your sister, to relieve the anxiety built up by testosterone and life-stressors.

And lastly, it's a way to prove your manhood, to gain the respect of elders. "An older guy walked up to me after the concert," one of the boys told me. "I had gotten a lot of hits, and he told me, 'Good work.'" Excelling in the mosh pit is a rite of passage; proficiency shows others that you are a man, that you can defend yourself.

So maybe after the frisking, the drunks, the smoke, after the crowding, the bruises, and the noise, attending a concert by an not-really-Irish Irish punk band has some redeeming societal value--at least for those who choose to mosh.

April 2001