I know how he feels...

Ten minutes before Thursday night's show started, KJ punched me on the arm and exclaimed, "Dude, check that out." I turned just in time to see a woman throw up all over herself less than 10 feet from us. It was spectacularly horrific. While trying to hold her mouth closed until she arrived at a trashcan, she somehow managed to hurl such that she wound up back-splashing it all over her own face. She was such a wreck that she was eventually removed on a sitting gurney.

Sadly for her, she missed one of the best concerts I have ever seen. It might be the best. I need some time to reflect, but it is way up there.

Thursday night had a mix of potentially troublesome variables - a show that started an hour late due to the perfect storm of traffic disasters en route to the stadium ... stifling heat and humidity ... a mid-level stomach ailment troubling yours truly .... a 3:45 a.m. wakeup call the next morning.

But none of that was enough to overcome this setlist:

Summertime Blues
Tenth Avenue Freeze-out
Radio Nowhere
Prove It All Night
Two Hearts
The Promised Land
Spirit in the Night
Light of Day
Brilliant Disguise
Pretty Flamingo
Blinded by the Light
Cadillac Ranch
Candy's Room
Night
Because the Night
She's the One
Livin' in the Future
Mary's Place
Incident on 57th Street
The Rising
Last to Die
Long Walk Home
Badlands
* * *
Jungleland
Born to Run
Bobby Jean
Dancing in the Dark
American Land
Jersey Girl
Rosalita

I absolutely floated out of the stadium. The crowd energy was great throughout, despite humidity that caused me to lean over to KJ around midnight and declare: "I cannot believe how fucking hot it is at this hour."

The traffic debacle meant the show didn't start until 9:30 and ended, by my count, at 12:47 a.m. I arrived home at 2:41 a.m., fell asleep at 3:08 a.m., and was awakened by the alarm at 3:45 a.m. I packed in an absolute frenzy and was out the door less than two hours later. I was snoring before the door was closed. Thank GOD I was flying across the country. I needed every minute of sleep I could get.

You know who didn't need to rest on Friday? The person sitting in section 14, row 1, seat 15, who slumbered for the majority of the show. Eyes closed, head bobbing, O-U-T. Now, I have dozed off during a Jets game or two, but that's the Jets. This was a magical evening of music, a gift for the masses. It took a tremendous amount of self-restraint not to punch her in the ear.

I mean, not for nothing, but in a five-day span, I drove in awful traffic from Connecticut to Jersey, rocked my ass off at three Springsteen/E Street Band shows, worked a few days, got a haircut, ran a variety of errands, hung out with the crazy nephews, wrote my weekly column, celebrated Sweetie Pie Princess' second birthday, had lunch with Mel, gave Charlie a tour of the Museum, had dinner with BAM, drove in heinous traffic from the 'Burg to the Meadowlands, and got my ass to the airport on 45 minutes of sleep. What on earth could 14/1/15 have been doing that would have necessitated slumbering during the best Springsteen show I've ever seen (ok, apparently I've decided)?

But this wasn't enough to keep me down. Less than 24 hours later, I was sitting in another stadium, some 2,874 miles away from the night before...