Dear Morrissey, Will You Ever Actually Make it to San Francisco?
If a double-decker bus crashed into us right now, we almost would be happy to die by your side -- not because we think vehicular slaughter is "such a heavenly way to die," but rather because the shock of seeing your face in this fair city of ours would be enough to bring on sudden death regardless. At the rate things are going, we just can't help but feel that the stages of San Francisco will never be graced with your miserable, warbling presence ever again. And honestly we kind of miss your sad little hound-dog face, dude. There's just something so darn comforting about it.
Let's be straight: Your history of making it to your San Francisco live dates is terrible. It's so insanely awful that the idea of you playing here is almost a joke at this point. In 2004, there was an eleventh-hour cancellation at Golden Gate Park because you weren't feeling well. Then there was 2009, when -- we're starting to see a pattern here -- you canceled your sold-out show at the Paramount in Oakland at the last minute, because you weren't feeling well. That incident really stung, because you were spotted out at the DNA Lounge that same night having a lovely time.
Then there was 2011, when, for once, it wasn't you that was under the weather, but rather your drummer who had an alleged eye injury. So you didn't play the Fox -- and you didn't even go to the DNA Lounge (probably a wise move after the last time). Then in November of last year, you canceled your entire American tour because your mum was ill -- we'll be delicate here because nobody likes sick mothers -- but helpfully rescheduled your Davies Symphony Hall show for this February 24.
Now, with just weeks until your performance, shows are being canceled all over the place again. At first, a week and a half ago, we heard it was due to a bladder infection, but now we're hearing that you've got a concussion, a bleeding ulcer and "Barrett's esophagus." We have no idea what that last one is, but any illness that has its own last name tends to be bad news. Frankly, at this point, given how much illness and misfortune seems to get thrown your way, we wouldn't raise an eyebrow if you announced that you had leprocy.
So, Morrissey, we'll be honest. We don't really believe you'll be here in a few weeks. Your track record with San Francisco is such that we're surprised people even buy tickets to see you anymore, knowing that their purchase will probably be doomed to a refund. If you are feeling unwell, we are genuinely sorry to hear it. And we really do hope your mother's health has improved as well.
But we can't help but wonder, Morrissey. What is it with you and San Francisco? Did someone here hate you so much they went to the trouble of putting a curse on you, so you'd never come back? Do local audiences make you so nervous that you drive yourself into a frenzied fever before you even get here? Or are you just not that into playing here?
Your ever-faithful San Francisco fans will no doubt spend the next couple of weeks crossing their fingers and hoping that you finally make it to a show here. Rest up, take some antibiotics and put a cold compress on that head of yours, sir. There are people rooting for you here. We might not really be expecting you, but it sure would be nice to see you after so many let-downs.