Skateboarding, Growth In An Infant Stage

Last night I stumbled upon Street Dreams, a mini-skate movie on YouTube staring Paul Rodriguez and Rob Dyrdek.  Before the unique sports compilation and behind the scenes storytelling of Street Dreams, Skate Mafia threw down the most technical tricks; including dark-slides 3 years ago on my big screen.  While I made dinner earlier, (BBQ chicken split breast) I watched MLB from T-Mobile Park in Seattle, a beautiful cathedral, and it hit me that baseball has been around for 152 years!  I was reminded of this years ago at the Trop in St Pete when the Red Sox where in town.  A Boston fan questioned the loyalty of Rays fans and I countered that he had come from at least 3 generations of Fenway faithful’s; Rays, circa 1998.  Last week I re-watched Dogtown and the Z-boys, a history of the evolution of street and pool skating in California, on Amazon which was documented in the mid-70’s.  I suppose I’m considered an early adopter skater because no one in my family before me participated.  The maturation of the sport in 50 short years is astounding!

I first caught the bug at 12 years old when I got my 1^st G n S complete.  Every day after school I rode back in forth on the side street attempting to Ollie over the curb into the grass.  There was no instruction or encouragement but something inside was determined to figure it out.  Two months later I found success but looking back I rode with my left foot in back, (Goofy foot) even though I was a righty; an outlier.  Thrashing in front of the house grew stale and I made my way to our suburban downtown, AKA, Ghostown.  

City Hall and Ameritech were the prime spots immersed in waxed curbs, sewer caps, obstacles, and creativity.  Sure, some of my age group peers dared to step stage in the lime light among intimidating 16 to 25 year olds but you were always responsible for your performance and actions; there were no assists.  Although the brotherhood never hesitated to show you love for a, “Sick” trick.  They even may guide a young Skywalker when they inquire, “Exactly what is a pressure flip and where should I place my feet and pop?”

Interesting that this thinking follows suit in golf with kudos and instruction but this was not the case in baseball as told from my Papa Jack, who was offered a deal from the Tribe and pitched against Ted Williams at Pensacola AF Base during the war.  “Not even my brother would show me how to throw a curveball,” he said with a scowl.  Any advantage at the ball park was strictly confidential, killed or be killed. 

With no team but just “I” competition is not the driving force but imagination.  Everyone has a special power on the grip tape, a rare cohesiveness particular to their style, their makeup.  Some of the scum life could Ollie with height, (5 decks) like a slinky, others could Kick-Flip with the wind, me, I was known for the Impossible; taught to me by Edward, my brother.  I would ride with medium speed, slide my right front foot to the right side of the nose with my toe just barely over, my back foot half off the tail perpendicular, and then pop the tail and sweep.  The $120 plywood, 4 polyurethane 44mm white wheels, Swiss bearings, aluminum Venture trucks, and a Hook-ups logo wrapped and spun around my back foot; supported by my size 10 Vans.  My front foot was suspended, lighter than air, while the tenuousness force of the pop, ensued the board back where it belonged, under my feet.  Riding away with an exhale when it comes together in an instant is an experience I wouldn’t want to miss or take for granted.  Cruising through your local town, environment, reality, and painting a picture by involving the landscape is an art and a science; similar to bodybuilding. 

Others that are not familiar with Skateboarding, other than Tony Hawk on PS, have never looked at the neighbor’s lawn before the sidewalk and thought, “I could 180 that clean if I ride fast enough.”  “That curb is perfect to wax; did you get candles from the Dollar Store?”  Although Skater Punks are stereotyped lazy we put in a lot of work cleaning up spots making them accessible through our discipline and determination to finally land a Hard-Backside Kick-Flip, in a North Coast Winter.  Believing in make believe because they said we couldn’t or maybe it was to express ourselves without talking.  Possibly scripted to a certain point but once one person hit a new level we all did.

Similar to the 100 Monkey theory, on a cold November day, Beaner, the younger brother of Heavy J, landed Kick-Flip after Kick-Flip in his Green Bay Packers and Levi’s after school on the salted blacktop.  That week we all advanced and could do the trick.  I’m sure our ego was crying to put down a younger kid and our appetite to be par played a significant role; but Monkey see, Monkey do! 

The current state of the sport is almost unbelievable.  The money invested, the sophistication of the tricks, the height and push, to go bigger, the reach and frequency, the adoption from the public with city skate parks, and the growing curious numbers of youth who want to see between spaces and ride has bloomed since the 90’s.  Even though the commercialism of an underground mom and pop network has been infiltrated by the likes of Nike and Adidas, anyone who feels the pleasure of a brand new deck, the smell of fresh cut grip tape, and the freedom to do what they do best can’t be bought, because that feeling, that fulfilling pleasure, that freedom and declaration are true. 

Today, reexamining the past, so much cultivation transpired because I skated.  I was in the minority even though I was active in other sports.  We got our guidance from VHS tapes of pro’s acting crazy with flare and showing us moves that advanced us.  After a video session the testosterone of an adolescence inspired us to bomb the neighborhood and overcome the fears of the Gazebo stairs.  Dairyman’s half gallons ice tea for $0.89 kept us hydrated and the tribe we were apart could see our character, loyalty, and our passion for something that was within our reach through Nose Manuals and Fakie 180 Heel-Flips. 

The advancement of us and our neighbors has come to the other side.  We were labeled Misfits, Rejects, and Assholes; and probably for good reason.  I can’t count how many times we shouted obscenities toward Karen’s, Priest’s, Teacher’s, Law Enforcement, and ran as outlaws for skating where we shouldn’t.  Our baggy pants, crazy haircuts, and band shirts was a very loud; Rage Against the Machine, “Fight the war, Fuck the norm!”  A disruptive technology before it was coined. 

But from chaos comes order.  The balls to clear a gap into an active street has 2 levels, first, to commit and trust the board, and second, have faith the driver has good breaks.  Before SM and Cancel culture we forced them to look at the landscape through the iris of a youth with an intimate human connection.  So much so it caused a city council meeting which we attended and got the short end the stick.  I’ve heard you can’t fight City Hall, but as Jeff said in an interview after the decision to ban skating downtown, “Yea, I’ll still be skating here.” 

Some things just can’t be stopped once we decide, see, and feel.