After the detonation, fans rushed the field, and mayhem erupted. Much of it was innocuous (a guy sliding down the foul pole, people illegally climbing into the stadium, lots of airborne toilet paper), some of it was violent (fires in the stands, the batting cage being dragged out and torn apart), and some of it was plain hilarious (announcer Harry Caray referencing all the weed smoke, Jimmy Piersall and Bill Gleason blithely turning discussion toward the Tigers’ running game). Stories of oral sex on the base paths and kegs in the stand appear to be apocryphal, but it’s easy to see why they arose.
Oh, and game two was forfeited.
“It was knuckleheads letting their freak flag fly. A lot of suburban kids getting drunk,” says Hoekstra, who was in attendance. “You gotta remember what the Loop listener was like, a really hard Midwestern Rock 'n' Roll audience: Molly Hatchet, maybe Judas Priest. I liked the Faces, which they considered mainstream. That’s who the crowd was.”
Given that disco originated as music by the black and gay underclass, the night has since come to be viewed with undertones of racism and homophobia. The opinion is in the minority of Hoekstra’s interview subjects, but it certainly surfaces. “I thought, ‘Didn’t you all read [Ray] Bradbury? Burning books? Burning records? This has the feeling of a really bad cloud,” says Joe Shanahan, owner of Metro and Smart Bar, in the book. “And why is it coming out of Chicago? And why is music of any kind, whether I like it or not, being destroyed for some radio promotion or some baseball promotion? It gave license for people to not be in the modern world.” Shanahan would go on to heavily promote the Chicago house-music scene and its greatest talent, the late Frankie Knuckles (Knuckles: “House music is disco’s revenge”).