“We’re going to play the best f***ing concert we’ve ever done,” Chris Martin thundered.
50,000 Queenslanders roared.
I grinned. It was already the best f***ing concert I’ve ever seen. And they were only two songs in.
I’m sure it’s a line he uses at every concert. But it was believable.
It was an explosion of noise, colour and energy. This is no metaphor. There were fireworks. There was enough confetti to cover Suncorp Stadium.
Soon, giant balloons were released. The euphoric crowd played with them like beach balls. The security guards resisted every urge they must have felt to confiscate them.
Lasers. Inflatable butterflies and love hearts. And a sea of colour as 50,000 wristbands lit up in time to the music.
And through it all, Chris Martin kept telling us how good we were.
He was as adept at playing the crowd as he was his guitar or keyboard.
There was even a tribute to one of Brisbane’s best loved bands. A fleeting cover of My Happiness.
“We miss you Powderfinger,” he cried.
For their encore the band left the stage.
50-thousand people stood and cheered louder and longer than they have for any Origin victory.
Coldplay emerged, on a small raised platform way up the back. The cheap seats became the best seats in the house.
Chris Martin had to interrupt that song to burp. It’s hard to drink a litre of water on a golf buggy he explained. Nobody minded. He almost seemed one of us.
The bloke behind me couldn’t stop swearing.
“That was so f***ing good, that was so f***ing good,” he kept repeating.
I didn’t hear any arguments.
Follow Michael on Twitter @MichaelCoombes