[We would like to thank Alaina Stamatis Farmhose on dot net and Fad Albert on Twitter for recapping last night's show! -Ed.]

Ah, Casino Phish. Phish Royale. In the afternoon before the show, Mohegan security is on high alert. What have they agreed to? What are these animals doing to their institution of higher gambling? But after the show they've resigned; their nervous systems bombarded with the sights, the smells! They've been forced to endure their prized roulette tables engulfed in dreads, tie-dye, patchouli, and tattered open-toe footwear. But that will all come later; for now, it's pre-show jitters.

I find my seat and begin sending energy toward the blue light and mist clouding the stage. And it pays off quickly because at 8:01 sharp the band ascends. Jonny Fishman strikes up the band and I'm immediately treated to the loudest Phish I've heard in months! It's so loud I can't hear the people seated in front of me who are visibly attempting to yell over the music. One of them dumps a drink on the floor in excitement for "AC/DC Bag."

"I'm a stranger here, I'm going down!" sings Trey. I feel the exact same way. Chris Kuroda hits our section with hot beams of light, as if to signal that that line was for me. The band drops into "The Curtain," but abstain from "With," which tracks logically because Phish played "Rift" the night before and the two melodies share a bloodline. And as if the thought of blood conjured it, we are soon treated to the blood-curdling screams of "Steam." Fog floods the arena. The casino has strict anti-smoking enforcement so the only thick clouds in the room are coming from the stage. Trey tells me that his soul is going to join mine as steam. I mean, I guess he's telling the whole room that, but sometimes it just really feels like he's looking at section 106 to deliver certain personal messages, yanno?

Trey takes a little sip from his thermos located on his candle-lit Moraccan side table that accompanies him everywhere. I say a private prayer he's drinking a form of jam juice. I attempt to communicate to Trey that I want a 30-minute "Simple" tonight through our obvious telepathic connection. "The overhead view is of me in a Maze," Trey opens. I have an overhead view of him! I have always taken the "Maze" refrain to mean: you'll never get out of this vicious cycle of giving all your time and resources to seeing this band; and so far it's pretty true!

Because, in some cosmic way, the band knew I was reviewing tonight's show, they perform, "Farmhouse," from which I take my .net username Farmhose. It's good to play "Farmhouse" early in a show because most concertgoers have already done their concession runs and lavatory visits on their way into the venue, so they've run out of activities for avoiding "Farmhouse." Hot beams of light hit our section so we - especially me - have to sway dreamily in order to show that we are happy with this setlist call, so that we don't directly hurt Trey's real feelings that he feels deeply in his heart of hearts because he isn't just playing "Farmhouse" because he's a little tired after shredding "Maze" or because they're doing a no repeats Northeast run; he called "Farmhouse" because it has sentimental value that I can't even begin to speculate on in any specific terms even though I already somewhat have.

Mike Gordon takes to the microphone and accuses us of ghosting him with the opening lines of "Mull." Perhaps he's saying that he wants us - especially me - to stake out all the hipster cafes in cities where Phish is performing in order to force him into take a grimacing selfie with us at 7am. He's cringing but it's a happy cringe! He loves meeting fans at ungodly hours! "Mull" experiences an extended solo section with excellent interplay between Mike and Trey, with Trey teasing "Tequila." The band realizes they've given us a "Farmhouse>Mull" twofer and choose to delight us with the first "Reba" of tour. It's a nice, clean, competent version with whistling.

The set closes with a raging, "Most Events Aren't Planned." Page McConnell leads his tune, which takes on the life of a piano rock anthem. Page passes it to Trey, who leads it to a crunchy "First Tube"-esque mini peak. Red and white lights are flashing and everyone is screaming. I would wear a t-shirt that reads Small Arena Energy. The people in front of me dump another drink on the floor. Trey rips out his inner ear monitors and takes a bow.

The Mohegan staff corrals degenerates into a venue-adjacent outdoor smoking area to preserve the shared air quality. Many of them are still in nicotine alley when the second set opens with "Blaze On," a somewhat improper choice as cannabis is strictly prohibited even outdoors at Mohegan Sun. Perhaps weed has performance-enhancing properties for gambling and the house isn't taking any chances. I immediately cause Fishman to overplay because my dance moves are so furious and needlessly complex that he can't help but become hypnotized by the figure in section 106. At a certain point his playing even confuses me and we both mellow out a bit. The band passes ideas back and forth but then Trey pulls the ripcord.

However it's a very welcomed "Mike's Song." I try to manifest a set-long "Mike's>Weekapaug Groove" sandwich by closing my eyes and muttering to myself. "Mike's" has a big ol' white light peak and the assumption is that they are about to entrance us with "I Am Hydrogen" but they flow into the "With" that they neglected from "The Curtain" in the first set. It's like they just knew that I'd forgotten about it! Fishman hits the "Orange whip" sample from Blues Brothers. I'm still praying that they delay "Weekapaug," but Trey blatantly ignores me, gives Mike the look, Mike extends his thumb and - hawk tuah - slaps on that thang. It's a WITHAPAUG. Everyone shakes their soft shell clams. When CK5 hits your soul with his lights it can feel like the equivalent of a cowboy shooting at your feet and shouting, "Dance! Dance!"

"Someone's always telling me to pee." I "Leaves" to run to the bathroom and return moments later courtesy of the nonexistant women's room lines. "Simple" seems effectively off the table, as the band tends to reserve those big "Simples" for the Midwest, which is where they're headed next. "Choose," the band says to me through a proto-language energy field. I try to think of the most harmless thing. Something I loved from my childhood. Something that could never, ever possibly destroy us: "Fuego."

The "Fuego" jam brings the energy way down to an airy groove, which laid the groundwork for Page to minor key solo over it. Fish begins to employ his cymbal bell, first sparingly, then consistently, then excessively, over ambient waves of distortion. Less cowbell! The people in front of me have now dumped so many drinks on the floor that they're wading ankle deep in a jungle juice of domestic beer and wine cooler, which is perfectly appropriate for the nautical lullabye "Lonely Trip." Trey reminds me that "if by chance our vessels pass, perhaps we'll finally meet at last." The whole room screams. But he was singing to me! They want to meet him, too? They're all pointing at him and cheering every time he sings that line. It's like they all have main character syndrome and think that the whole show is about their connection with the band or something!

The show begins winding down when they drop into "More" and I get the feeling that they're telling us - especially me - that there's "More" to life than following Phish around and being a crazed Phish fan who projects their thoughts and feelings onto the band members. Phish is leaving for the Midwest and I won't be following them because my life outside of a Phish show has value. But then they launch into "Fluffhead" and I look across the arena at 10,000 of my closest friends singing in unison with all their arms in the air, and I realize that wherever I go, and whatever I do, and whomever I photobomb, I'll always be a crazed Phish fan holding up a sign that reads "Fluffhead."

If you liked this blog post, one way you could "like" it is to make a donation to The Mockingbird Foundation, the sponsor of Phish.net. Support music education for children, and you just might change the world.