You could feel it in the air, as far away as the University District—the whole city buzzing with Beatles fever.

In Pioneer Square the hum was stronger. Swarms of folks in Beatles shirts, the band’s music piping through the streets. At the only bar with open seating—88 Keys—me and a few friends pre-funked with the drink special: “Paul McCartney Shot” (a not-so-cleverly renamed Washington Apple).

The drink, though, got us going on endlessly ridiculous Beatles puns, a war of words that would keep up all night.  “Paul you need is love!” I shouted. We clinked glasses, tuned in to the bar. A guy in his mid-fifties was doing piano renditions of every Beatles/McCartney song he had. After three or four of them, I started feeling a little sick, like eating fake turkey on Thanksgiving morning. But my appetite wasn’t spoiled.

We hit the streets again—for the first-ever Safeco Field concert. Everywhere, I was seeing Paul McCartney’s face or hearing his voice. The mania was in full swing. I took off my shoes and socks for the final crosswalk: an Abbey Road photo-op.

At about 8:30PM, we finally reached our seats, something like 15 rows back on the first level. Stellar. Surveying the stadium, I realized the scale of the production we were about to witness, a sea of people equivalent to the population of Bremerton. Which swelled suddenly into a deafening roar, as Sir Paul and his band took the stage. With these things, so much of it is about the group experience, less so the person on stage at that moment.

He opened with “Eight Days a Week.” While the electric moon slid slowly across the sky, my friends and I sang and danced like lunatics for the next two and a half hours.

The sound was surprisingly crisp for such a large venue. But Paul, even from our extremely expensive seats, was still pretty tiny. If you closed one eye you could hold the entire band on the palm of your hand. Of course his image was magnified on enormous screens to the left and right of the stage. He looked about as young and sprightly as a 71-year-old man can. He sang beautifully, and his performance was characteristically effortless.

“Let Me Roll It” was a spine-tingling rock-and-roll triumph, with a segue into a bit of Jimi Hendrix’s “Foxy Lady” at the end. Other favorites included “I’ve Just Seen a Face,” “Paperback Writer,” “Lovely Rita”—and a version of George Harrison’s “Something,” with Paul playing ukulele.

As much as I was enjoying the music, the real highlights of the night came in between songs: the charming anecdote about Hendrix, the casual Clapton reference and a joke about people trying to learn “Blackbird” on the guitar. Before playing “Here Today” (a song about an imaginary conversation between Paul and John, written shortly after Lennon’s death) he talked about the importance of telling the people you love how you feel about them, especially your close friends. It was amazing to see McCartney connecting on such a personal level with that many people. In that moment, it was just me, Paul and 46,999 other people.

The climax of the evening was when he invited Dave Grohl, Krist Novoselic and Pat Smear on-stage for an awesomely heavy and energetic encore. Sirvana’s “Cut Me Some Slack” had the crowd head-banging like it was 1991. The surviving members of Nirvana stayed for another handful of songs including an exceptionally raucous version of “Helter Skelter,” and “Carry That Weight.”

My friends and I were smiling ear to ear and high-fiving everyone around us. Flames were erupting from the front of the stage and fireworks shooting up from behind it, a massive celebration.

The next morning, at a local café, I spotted a man in his mid-fifties wearing a bright yellow “Wings” t-shirt. I complimented him, and asked if he had been at the show. Turned out he and his wife (who walked in as we were talking) had both been there.

“We say it every time… but that really was the BEST show I’ve ever been to!” she said.

We bonded. Paul McCartney transcends generations. It left me wondering if he would ever play Seattle again, though. Before last night I had come to terms with the fact that I would never see any of the Beatles perform live. Will I get another chance?

With that much charisma and energy, I wouldn’t put it past him…

Paul bets are off.