David CookRiverbend is like a pile of kindling that, each summer, refuses to light.
All the ingredients are there: 100,000 people sweating on a postage stamp-size piece of downtown asphalt, everyone agreeing to some unwritten social code that requires you to drink five beers every six songs while bumping into more strangers in the night than Sinatra ever sang of.
(Isn’t it great?)
Yet each year, things are snow-cone cool. People, usually, get along pretty well together.
And if they don’t, a hundred cops are right there on patrol.