Well, this isn't the first gig I ever had as a fiddler, but I think I'll tell the tale anyhow. The band I paly in had been hired to do an evening show in a town not too distant from home. We did the show, got paid, and asked the host where a good place to bet a beer might be. She thought for a moment then finally said "Well there's this place out on the highway. . ." I should have known.

So we followed her directions, and sure enough, we found the place, a real joint. Cinderblock construction, no windows, and pickup trucks with gun racks in the back. I turned and said "Guys, put yer hair up under yer hats, they kick hippies' asses and raise hell just for fun in there"

So we walked in, took a table in the rear corner of the place. The Good Ol' Boys didn't pay us much attention, until we'd had a few beers, and the guitar player and I launched into all 56 verses of "Jolly Grog" louder than the jukebox. All of a sudden, the neon lights all went dark, and there was this threatening presence. In a thundering voice Threatening Presence demanded "What are yew guys, some kinda band?"

I gulped and said meekly "Yes, Sir."

Turns out Threatening Presence was the barkeeper, whereupon he said, "Well, if you got your instruments and give us a few tunes, we'll give ya'll free beer, and turn off the jukebox."

Needless to say, we obliged post haste.