My Love Affair with NKOTB

My love of New Kids on the Block is old enough to buy porn.

One of my earliest memories dates back to a summer morning, circa 1989. I was a chubby, fanatic 4-year-old gawking at basic cable. At the promise of a Joey McIntyre interview, I raced upstairs to my bedroom, gussied myself up in my Sunday best (which most likely involved DayGlo and biker shorts), and vaulted myself back on the couch with seconds to spare. I breathlessly beheld him — the dewy-eyed, curly-haired prepubescent heartthrob. In my living room! I thought he would be able to see me through the television, so I wanted to make sure I looked cute.

Last night, I consummated 19 years of unshackled devotion for NKOTB in two hours of dumb fun. The dumbest fun I’ve ever had. By now, my inhibitions have been swept into a dustpan somewhere in the Sprint Center.

Donnie, Danny, Jonathan, Jordan and Joey look better than ever. They sing better than ever. They dance … well, they still dance.

My larynx is on strike. But my inner preschooler is turning awkward somersaults.

Those who were there know. Feverish squealing, gleeful reminiscing. A reunion not just for the band, but for its patient devotees. We said, “We’ll wait for you.” Fifteen years later, they returned.