As you know, this was a big weekend for me. On Saturday, I was in St. Paul for the triumphant return of Minnesota rock heroes the Replacements, and on Sunday, I attended the Vikings home opener in their new and temporary stadium, TCF. The former was a lot more important to me than the latter.

I'd been looking forward the Replacements show for months, trying as hard as I could to think about other stuff all summer rather than count down the days, but I got fairly excited about the Vikings game, too, especially after they opened the season with an impressive win at St. Louis.

Then this week happened. It was a terrible week for sports.

Ray Rice. Roger Goodell. Greg Hardy. Danny Ferry. Chris Davis. Oscar Pistorius. And, of course, Adrian Peterson.

On the one hand, all of that stuff made me happy to be covering sports here in Sioux Falls, out of the white hot spotlight, away from the controversy, money and violence. But it also left me feeling worn out as a fan, because when I'm not covering Augie and USF, etc., I still am a fan.

A week that had consisted of nothing but giddy excitement was undercut by feelings of dread, confusion, anger and shame by the time photos of Adrian Peterson's 4-year-old son had made the rounds (for the record, I think you could make a case that Peterson is still redeemable, that his actions were a learned part of his upbringing that must be unlearned, but I still find them pretty disgusting).

From the Twins' endless suckitude to the Vikings' never-ending ability to embarrass themselves, I was real tired of thinking about sports by the time I went to bed Friday night after covering Yankton's impressive come-from-behind win at Brandon Valley.

I hit the road for the Cities about 10 a.m. on Saturday, and was almost able to get through all eight of the Replacements studio albums, in chronological order, by the end of the trip. I enjoyed that, but it still didn't really shake me from my funk.

In the three hours leading up to the show the lady friend and I were unsuccessful in finding a watering hole of any sort for pregaming, or even a liquor store to do so in the parking lot or at our nearby motel, because nobody told me that Midway Stadium is in the middle of nowhere. This did not improve my mood.

So with nothing left to do, we just went to the stadium. Already the streets were lined with cars, the lots full with tailgaters. It looked like the scene at a college football game. It was for the Replacements.

You know the story by now from me beating you over the head with it: Legendary but underappreciated band reunites after 23 years, embarks on tour, sells out 14,000 tickets to their first hometown show, mass hysteria ensues amongst fanboys and girls young and old. While they were never a household name in their heyday, they've sort of become one over the last few months from all the media and fan attention.

I won't bore you with a play-by-play of a show you may not give a rip about. It was great. The band looked and sounded outstanding, the 30-song setlist was nicely varied, and if any fan out there didn't get to hear their favorite 'Mats song, they have a weird favorite.

For my money, the highlights were 'Bastards of Young' and 'Alex Chilton (in personalized Saints jerseys)', unreleased gems 'Nowhere is My Home' and 'If Only You Were Lonely' played back to back, and a surprisingly focused and intense version (at least until Paul forgot the words) of 'Androgynous'. The highlight for the lady friend was Paul coming out and opening the first encore with a solo version of 'Skyway'.

I was hoping there would be a few more surprises, or at least, nods to the hometown audience. There really weren't. Paul and Tommy (the two original members) enjoyed some on-stage banter, but not much. We didn't seem to get anything that the other cities on the tour didn't get to see, except maybe a longer set. I'm not complaining, but part of me was hoping they'd jump down onto the field or Prince would pop up on stage to take the band through 'I Could Never Take the Place of Your Man'. Instead we settled for seeing Paul and Tommy share a truly emotional embrace as they left the stage as our 'hometown show' moment.

Honestly, what made the night special was the crowd. They were the star of the show.

The 14,000 strong weren't terribly diverse. I think I saw four people that were not Caucasian. Most were in their 40s and 50s. I was among the younger people in the crowd. Considering the band recorded from 1980-1991 that maybe shouldn't be surprising. I did see an awkward looking kid who couldn't have been older than 14, who had obviously come to the show by himself and had pulled on over his clothes a T-shirt he'd just bought at the merch stand. He looked so uncomfortable, I wanted to go up to him and tell him that, hey, if you've discovered the Replacements already, you're going to be fine.

But once the band took the stage, the crowd became a living, breathing entity. The 5th member of the band, to steal a sports analogy.

This is a band, again, that isn't terribly well-known to the mainstream, but if you were there you'd think you were at a Rolling Stones concert. The fans sang along to every song. They roared approvingly at the first few chords as they recognized the next classic. This is probably typical if you're seeing U2, but not so much with an 'alternative' band.

And what that did was create an incredibly friendly and inclusive atmosphere. The 'Mats fan base doesn't discriminate. There are hipsters and jocks, Republicans and Democrats, men and women, but walking into Midway, you could see everyone looking around at each other like, 'Holy cow, look at all the Replacements fans!' Fans of lesser-known bands like to pretend that they know something other people don't. And sometimes they do. But there's no password necessary to join the club, and that was evident Saturday night. If you were there, you were part of the club.

It took me awhile to have that 'Holy *#&@ this is actually happening' moment, but it did when I realized that all I was thinking about was the band. How much Paul Westerberg's songs have meant to me personally, how much the band's 'take-us-or-leave-us' attitude and punk rock integrity has had a role in shaping my life and career. How much their powerful legacy and influence had helped put the Twin Cities on the map as more than just a Twins and Vikings town. And how, prior to this night, I'd only experienced any of that through speakers, on a TV screen or in the pages of books.

To stand just a hundred feet away while the band performed those songs, in the midst of 14,000 other disciples who were feeling the exact same things I was at the exact same moment, was spine-chilling.

By the time I got home, I didn't care too much about Adrian Peterson, or Ron Gardenhire, or anything else that has made being a sports fan such hard work over the last few months and even years.

I'm not making a music > sports argument here, because I'm not naïve enough to think Paul Westerberg cares about me any more than Zygi Wilf does. And I did enjoy going to the Vikings game on Sunday, in spite of the Vikes' dreadful performance. It was my first outdoor NFL game, the weather was gorgeous, the food was great, and no less than 20 fans stopped me to ask about the Replacements show because I was wearing the T-shirt I'd bought the night before.

But being a Vikings or Twins fan, as much as I've enjoyed it (I think), is different. There are millions upon millions of NFL and MLB fans. Some of them are insufferable (OK, maybe most of them).

And there are some nerdy-nerd Replacements fans, trust me. But the show on Saturday at Midway was a communal experience. It was truly a once-in-a-lifetime thing, because they're never going to have another 23-year layoff between gigs.

To be in the same building with 14,000 other people whose lives had been similarly impacted by a relatively obscure rock and roll band from Minneapolis, and being able to share the experience of welcoming them home, together, almost made the wait worth it. Unlike the sports teams and players I've followed, the Replacements have never let me down.

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