BY DAVID MONTERO / STAFF WRITER
Published: April 6, 2020 Updated: April 8, 2020 7:43 a.m.
Through all the pyrotechnics, the caged go-go dancers, the aerial artists and the metal band known for X-rated lyrics, Paul Stanley alternately sat, stood and fretted – eyes fixated on the field – as he found his football team ensnared in yet another tight game.
Next to him, LA Kiss co-owner Brett Bouchy had already slammed his hand hard over a penalty. Kiss coach Bob McMillen – his hardened face reddening over the same whistle – came over to Bouchy and railed against the referees, using language the aforementioned metal band would dig. Bouchy seethed.
Stanley said the Kiss have hyped their arrival in Southern California and, with Saturday’s home opener against the Portland Thunder, it was time to, as Quiet Riot once sang, “put up or shut it up.”
Stanley said bluntly about 90 minutes before kickoff: “I want to win.”
A HANDS-OFF EXPERIENCE
As with most things involving the rock group Kiss, “win” is an all-encompassing word – think wide receiver Rod Tidwell’s soliloquy on “quan” in the football fable “Jerry Maguire.” By bringing an Arena Football League team to an area devoid of the NFL since 1995 after the Raiders and Rams split to Oakland and St. Louis, respectively, Kiss saw a chance to cash in.
“We are the black sheep of rock ’n’ roll,” Stanley said. “And we’re going to be the black sheep of arena football.
“And arena football is already the black sheep of football.”
Stanley and co-owner Gene Simmons always thumbed their noses – or in Simmons’ case, uncoiled his tongue – at the establishment, whatever that might be. The NFL? Simmons has called it “a snore.” The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction for the band later this year? Kiss won’t play it because the band couldn’t call the shots.
But Saturday night at the Honda Center, Stanley was getting an object lesson in less-familiar territory: not being in control. In this case, he was ceding it to a bunch of players making a fraction of what they would make in the NFL, all while bearing the Kiss brand on uniforms otherwise festooned with flames. “When I’m performing, it’s on my shoulders 100 percent,” Stanley said.
“But I can only do so much here. The rest is up to the team.” Which is why, deep into the fourth quarter, with the Kiss up only 37-34 against a winless Thunder, Stanley’s always-on sunglasses were off, and he was standing with actual fans as the loudspeakers blasted Twisted Sister’s “We’re Not Gonna Take It.”
Sure, Nita Strauss of the female Iron Maiden tribute band, the Iron Maidens, amped up the crowd with her metal-infused licks, and the go-go dancers were writhing on poles, and the fans had attempted at least one feeble wave. When it mattered, the event was an actual football game.
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