What could that fan in the first row of a Vince Neil show in New Mexico last weekend possibly have done to cause the water-retaining former Mötley Crüe front man to take an inept swing at him? Reminded Vince that he forgot the words to the third verse of "Kickstart My Heart"? Shouted repeatedly that he was on Team Bret Michaels? Demanded too loudly that Neil only play the solo stuff? (JK, no one's ever asked for that.) Perhaps we'll never know.
But we bet Vince sorely misses the classic Crüe days, when he could count on his pals backing him up in a fight. Back then, if he took a poke at a mouthy asshole ruining his vibe, he knew Tommy Lee was always ready to climb down from the spinning, flame-spewing drum kit suspended 20 feet above the stage, pull off his breakaway zebra-skinned bikini briefs, and bludgeon the offender to death with his penis. (Meanwhile, Nikki Sixx would gently nod off on a stool and Mick Mars would take a moment to tune his guitar.) It's a different thing entirely when you're in your fifties [Ed. note: Holy shit, Vince Neil is in his fifties] and touring on your hits from 30 years ago with a bunch of hired guns behind you. You just can't depend on mercenaries to be crazy enough or packing enough genital heat to save you in those situations. All you can really hope for is that your rhythm guitarist will drag you to safety by your ankles after you slip a disc whiffing on an ill-advised uppercut.