The Man, The Myth, The Legend

I met Chris Steele when I was around 9 years old. Both of our dads coached a baseball team that we played on together called Green Machine. It was a strange start for Chris and I as we both were under the impression that we didn't like one another. Chris would give me blank stares which I interpreted as disliking me and as a result of those stares I refused to talk to him. We would play baseball together for a couple of years and barely talk. However, the last year we played together we would win the season undefeated and Chris would have the most stolen bases on the team.

Some time passed and Chris and I realized we lived around the corner from each other. We would see each other out skateboarding at St. Annes School or sneaking cigarettes by the corner store on Martindale Road. We first really spoke at length when we were taking the cross town bus home. Chris and I had both bought tickets to see the newly reformed misfits play the following weekend. We planned to meet up after school the following Friday and head downtown together. That night would change both of our lives.

It was the first big punk show that either of us had been too. Neither of us could believe that this world existed. Tons of weirdos with their faces pierced shut covered in tattoo's drinking, fighting, singing, dancing and being utterly reckless. It was an eye opening evening to say the least. That night I also found out that Steele had a band without a bass player. He found out I had a bass and a couple microphones. We set a practice for the following Monday and we have been playing music together for the last 11 years.

Chris is the energy of this band. He pushes us to play harder and to play better each night we step on stage. He often walks that fine line between brilliance and insanity. And he has even turned into a fine golfer.

Happy 25Th Birthday Steele,
wade.