BAD CO.: Jumpin’ Pumpin’ Music

Stuffed buffalo heads crowd the desert arena's trophy case. All that separates you from the herd's inert stampede is about 95 years and a thin sheet of glass. Glass which reflects another essentially extinct creature of the same era; a noble red savage squats across the aisle...updated by green army fatigues whose pockets hold protruding bottles of Mad Dog 20-20. Some of the cheap swill dribbles out of his mouth, coating his hairless, crimson chin.

It's showtime at the Phoenix Collosseum and Bad Co. is on stage.