Untold Tales of Majik: Water to Whiskey

In Green Bay, 1989 will always be known as the Year Don Majkowski Played Out of His Head. He passed for more than 4300 yards. He beat the Bears. He found a way to make a mullet sexually attractive. In short, he was a miracle worker. Surprising to many, including The Fontenot, is that the Majik Man’s heroism wasn't limited to the football field. In recent months, dozens of people, ordinary and famous, rich and middle class, have shared with us their amazing stories about how Number 7 performed his special brand of “Majik” in their own lives.

The following story, the first in what will be an on-going series, was told to The Fontenot by C.C. DeVille, guitarist for Poison, who met Majkowski in September of 1990, when the heavy metal band performed at the Brown County Arena, touring in support of their “Flesh and Blood" album.

C.C. DeVille

Age: 45

Residence: Philadelphia, PA

Seems like every time I meet somebody from Wisconsin, they bring up how this guy Majkowski sang with us onstage. And you know what the funny thing is? I did hear his version of "Rose" later, but I don't really remember playing that show.  Shit is sort of hazy. Sometimes I just remember smells and colors. Like, the Green Bay show is sort of this pale orange color, and smells like burnt hair. Cleveland is peppermint and beige. I'll tell you one thing I do remember though, was what happened after that show. That I'll never forget.

None of us will.

Don had a game to play the next day, against the Bears of Chicago, but Bret and Bobby convinced him to come to our suite and party. Dude was rockin' the albino crocodile boots and he seemed to really be into our vibe, so you could tell he was cool. We had our manager get like two cases of Jack and a bunch of Pizza Hut personal pizzas delivered. He and Bret played quarters. When Rikki showed up we all played strip poker. Also, there were actual strippers.

Well, at some point one of the strippers starts talking about cow tipping and pretty soon Bret gets it into his pretty little head he wants to go try it. When in Rome, right? The rest of us were like, Come on, man. F that. But when Bret wants to do something, he will whine like a little bitch until he gets his way. So we call a cab, and what turns up is like this minivan which is perfect since there's seven of us, and we all roll into it, three bottles along for the ride, and tell the guy to go find us a cow farm. A dairy farm, I mean. You can tell the dude thinks we're from outer space or something, but Rikki gives him a hundred bucks and he says okay.

We find a farm with sleeping cows. Don tips a cow and Bret tips a cow and I tip a cow and then Rikki and one of the strippers decide they want to go find a private spot in the woods to "get to know eachother better." Yeah right. While we wait, we just keep drinking, out in this field. But as we're waiting for them to finish, the minivan cab guy bails. He just takes our money and runs. Which leaves us out in the middle of bumblefudge almost out of booze.  And then a minute later we are out of booze.

When Rikki comes back from the woods Bret yells at him like it's his fault and Rikki gets upset right back and blames Bret for wanting to come out here in the first place, blah blah blah, and we're all starting to get pissy because the party has suddenly stopped. We are Poison, for crying out loud. This is not what happens to Poison. But then Don stands up off the grass, runs both his hands through his hair and asks me to hand him the three empties we tossed in the grass. "I have an idea," he says. And then he does this sort of wink.

He jogs a few yards until he gets to this old-fashioned water well. He starts vigorously pumping the handle and after a minute or so water starts pouring out. Then he fills all three bottles and screws the caps back on.

Of course, at this point, I'm thinking, We don't want water, Don! We need some f--king JD! We'll drink all the water we need tomorrow morning, bro!! But then Don yells out to me. Hey, C.C.! Go long! At first I'm like, go what?, but then he keeps waving his hand, like go, go!, until I figure out he wants me to run and he's going to throw the bottle to me like a football. Which even I think is a stupid idea. But he keeps waving so I do it.

And this is when the really weird thing happened. As the bottle leaves Don's hand, it starts to glow this sort of yellow color, like there's lava or honey inside, like it's this mini-comet. I was afraid to catch it so I watched it arch through the sky let it drop at my feet. But when I picked it up I saw that the water was no longer water. It was whiskey. Jack Daniels. When Don threw a bottle to Rikki and Bret, the same thing happened to them. I shit you not.

I wasn't sure whether to give the dude a bro hug or run away sobbing. I mean, what the hell do you say after that?  Finally Rikki offered to do a toast. A toast to the Majik Man. But Don's like, please, that's not necessary. Instead he asked for one last slug from my bottle, a slug for the road. And when he was done he wiped his lips on forearm and smiled.

"Well, dudes, this hombre should probably 'Pack' it in," he said, making quotations marks with his fingers as he said "Pack."  "Big game tomorrow."  He came up to each of us, and gave us complicated goodbye handshakes. He thanked us for just being us. And then with a wave he weaved from side to side, into the woods across the road, like he was dodging invisible tacklers.

Poison wasn't much into sports, I'll be honest. It just wasn't our thing. But the next day, even though all of us were hung over, we made sure to watch the game on the TV in the hotel.

We figured Don would do something incredible. Something groundbreaking. I mean, how could he not? 

But it was nothing like that. Don didn't even last the first half. The announcers said dehydration. Poor conditioning.

It made perfect sense, knowing what we knew. He looked like we felt. Still, after what we'd seen, we were surprised, for we had come to believe that whatever Don was, he was something more than human.

Well, at some point one of the strippers starts talking about cow tipping and pretty soon Bret gets it into his pretty little head he wants to go try it. When in Rome, right? The rest of us were like, Come on, man. F that. But when Bret wants to do something, he will whine like a little bitch until he gets his way. So we call a cab, and what turns up is like this minivan which is perfect since there's seven of us, and we all roll into it, three bottles along for the ride, and tell the guy to go find us a cow farm. A dairy farm, I mean. You can tell the dude thinks we're from outer space or something, but Rikki gives him a hundred bucks and he says okay.

We find a farm with sleeping cows. Don tips a cow and Bret tips a cow and I tip a cow and then Rikki and one of the strippers decide they want to go find a private spot in the woods to "get to know eachother better." Yeah right. While we wait, we just keep drinking, out in this field. But as we're waiting for them to finish, the minivan cab guy bails. He just takes our money and runs. Which leaves us out in the middle of bumblefudge almost out of booze.  And then a minute later we are out of booze.

When Rikki comes back from the woods Bret yells at him like it's his fault and Rikki gets upset right back and blames Bret for wanting to come out here in the first place, blah blah blah, and we're all starting to get pissy because the party has suddenly stopped. We are Poison, for crying out loud. This is not what happens to Poison. But then Don stands up off the grass, runs both his hands through his hair and asks me to hand him the three empties we tossed in the grass. "I have an idea," he says. And then he does this sort of wink.

He jogs a few yards until he gets to this old-fashioned water well. He starts vigorously pumping the handle and after a minute or so water starts pouring out. Then he fills all three bottles and screws the caps back on.

Of course, at this point, I'm thinking, We don't want water, Don! We need some f--king JD! We'll drink all the water we need tomorrow morning, bro!! But then Don yells out to me. Hey, C.C.! Go long! At first I'm like, go what?, but then he keeps waving his hand, like go, go!, until I figure out he wants me to run and he's going to throw the bottle to me like a football. Which even I think is a stupid idea. But he keeps waving so I do it.

And this is when the really weird thing happened. As the bottle leaves Don's hand, it starts to glow this sort of yellow color, like there's lava or honey inside, like it's this mini-comet. I was afraid to catch it so I watched it arch through the sky let it drop at my feet. But when I picked it up I saw that the water was no longer water. It was whiskey. Jack Daniels. When Don threw a bottle to Rikki and Bret, the same thing happened to them. I shit you not.

I wasn't sure whether to give the dude a bro hug or run away sobbing. I mean, what the hell do you say after that?  Finally Rikki offered to do a toast. A toast to the Majik Man. But Don's like, please, that's not necessary. Instead he asked for one last slug from my bottle, a slug for the road. And when he was done he wiped his lips on forearm and smiled.

"Well, dudes, this hombre should probably 'Pack' it in," he said, making quotations marks with his fingers as he said "Pack."  "Big game tomorrow."  He came up to each of us, and gave us complicated goodbye handshakes. He thanked us for just being us. And then with a wave he weaved from side to side, into the woods across the road, like he was dodging invisible tacklers.

Poison wasn't much into sports, I'll be honest. It just wasn't our thing. But the next day, even though all of us were hung over, we made sure to watch the game on the TV in the hotel.

We figured Don would do something incredible. Something groundbreaking. I mean, how could he not? 

But it was nothing like that. Don didn't even last the first half. The announcers said dehydration. Poor conditioning.

It made perfect sense, knowing what we knew. He looked like we felt. Still, after what we'd seen, we were surprised, for we had come to believe that whatever Don was, he was something more than human.