Steven Adler - My Appetite for Destruction - Sex & Drugs & Guns ‘N’ Roses

My team lost. To be honest, with the exception of a few dedicated players, we sucked. I think we lost every game we played that year. The league was for ages eight to twelve, and I swear, no one on our team was older than ten. The apathy at school was rampant. The older kids were either too cool or too spineless to step up and play.

I used to think we were always pitted against impossible odds. All the other teams had older kids and they were much bigger than us. We developed a humiliating reputation within the league. Instead of the Eagles, kids called us the Bad News Birds.

On my football team, I was the starting running back and kick returner. I even won a trophy my junior year for Most Valuable Player. The coach used to put me in and keep me in for the entire game. He told my parents I was the best player on the team, but it didn’t matter. Even I couldn’t do anything to end our losing streak.

I’ll never forget this one time during practice. There was a gorgeous cheerleader hanging out on the sidelines. I couldn’t help but notice her. I was just eleven years old, but I was already developing a healthy appetite for the opposite sex.

But when I’d talk to my friends about how nice so and so’s ass was they’d just look at me like I was a freak. “Asses are gross.” “An ass is an ass.” It’s like their cocks hadn’t kicked in yet.

Anyway, she was way out of my league, sweet sixteen with long blond hair and these amazing pouty lips, like a crushed rosebud, all full, round, and soft and begging to be kissed. I just had to get her attention.

We were having a team scrimmage and when I got in the huddle, I was so amped to impress this babe that I threatened the quarterback. I told him he better give me the ball or I’d smash his face in when we got in the locker room. I swear something snapped inside, and my whole world came down to impressing this cheerleader. Every time I got the handoff I ran like a possessed demon for a touchdown. The coaches were stunned. I scored like five TDs in a row.

I don’t know why I’m wired this way, but there are very few things in life that really light me up. And nothing focuses me or gets me going like chasing tail. Money, fame, status, power…nothing comes close to the pursuit of pussy. It gives me an intensity that brings out the fiercest side of my competitive spirit.

When I was with the band I had to score the best snapper after a concert. I loved parading around backstage and at the after parties with the pick of the litter. So whether it’s trying to score by making touchdowns or playing in a band, I love the ladies. Primo poon: accept no substitutes.

After mustering a big smile, I went over to the girl after practice and said something that I thought was cool enough to get a kiss off her. But she gave me such a look. Ouch! Then she just turned away as she muttered something about waiting for her linebacker boyfriend to come over to her after practice. I was so crushed.

As the rest of the guys filed off they looked pissed at me for being such a showoff. I remember shaking my head and letting out this huge sigh. I couldn’t believe what an asshole I had been, and all for nothing.

Just as I started walking away from the bleachers, she turned back toward me and gave me a little smile, saying, “What’s your name?” I got this big lump in my throat and croaked out, “Steven.” She repeated my name, nice and low, and believe me, that made it all worth it. To this day, I can still hear the way she said my name.

Outside of school sports, Jackie, Ricardo, and I spent every minute together. Ricardo was going out with this cute little blond girl at the time, but he always put us first. Nothing was more important than the bond between us. At least that’s what I thought until I received my first lesson in the politics of friendship.

Ricardo and I found some oranges in an abandoned lunch bag at the playground, and we started throwing them back and forth at each other. One orange started to break up from hitting the ground too much. I remember throwing it way up in the air toward Ricardo, who was like thirty feet away. All of a sudden, his little blond babe starts skipping right over to him, and blam! The orange came down and just nailed her on the head.

She was screaming, covered in orange. Ricardo freaked and started chasing me all over the field. “You’re dead!” he yelled. I tried to sprint away but he caught me and got on top of me. I was helpless. He had my arms pinned with his knees. I thought he was gonna start punching me in the face, or at least spit on me, but he didn’t. I guess he realized that she had already run home and it really was just an accident. But he was really pissed at me. Over a girl…a girl!

The seventies were a magical time, especially for a kid my age. It was the perfect decade for growing up. I remember seeing Kiss records in stores, before I had even heard their music. I thought they looked so cool. And I loved Charlie’s Angels. Jaclyn Smith was my favorite. Of course, Happy Days was a big show for me. I wanted to be like Fonzie.

I collected Stop N Go gas station mini NFL football helmets, which you could only get by purchasing Stop N Go’s inferior version of a Slurpee. I had to have them all, and as quickly as possible, which meant plenty of brain freezes!

I wore tight Sassoon pants, corduroys, or Levi’s. Bell-bottoms were at their peak of popularity, and everyone had to have Vans tennis shoes. The cool thing to do was to have them custom-made. You would have to wait a few weeks, but it was worth it. Just having Vans was cool, really. But they cost about $40…Hey, Grandma!

White moccasins were another hip thing to wear. They were available only in the leather stores at the farmers market. My grandparents would take me to get them. The employees would see us coming in and they would take them down for me, knowing exactly why I was there. They cost like thirty bucks, but my grandma never had a problem buying me new ones once the old pair wore out.

I also loved playing with yo-yos. This was when I was ten years old. They’re not very popular today, but back then they were pretty common for kids, a must-have toy that was advertised all over TV. I became a pro. Every week, we had these yo-yo contests at our local 7-Eleven store, sponsored by Duncan yo-yos, right in the parking lot. Ricardo and Jackie weren’t into it as much, but they would still come along with me on their bikes. I could do every popular move, and I even made up a few of my own. I was in the running to win every time.

As a prize, they’d give me a nice yo-yo, like a glow-in-the-dark one. I won at least ten of those things. I rocked at that and always came home excited. In my mind, I was a stud who could be the best at anything I put my mind to, particularly if the girls thought it was cool.

As we got older, Ricardo, Jackie, and I became aware of the drug culture that so many other kids were getting into. It was 1977 and a new phrase that epitomized the attitude of the time swept the nation in an Ian Dury and the Blockheads song called “Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll.” It was in the air and on my mind. My friends and I were very curious about drugs, and it wasn’t long before the fateful day arrived. Jackie and Ricardo must have experimented before me because it all started this way: one day we were all hanging out and Jackie asked if I wanted to get high. Just like that—out of the blue. I knew exactly what he meant. Ricardo had a makeshift pipe he had made out of tinfoil. We walked over to Win-netka Park and sparked up.