Tampa Cinco De Mayo 2001
May 5, 2001 by Dave Jasper
Photos, video and captions by Rob Meronek
Yes, just Ricky on a 50-50, but check the ladies in the back. Cheerleaders. Ricky, go finish the bowl!!!
Simon frontside rocks at the Mosquito mini
When I arrived at the Cinco De Mayo party, things were raging half-on.
That was at 7. The party started at 5. Later on, they would be raging full-on.
A band, Unrequited Loves, was setting up. Someone put their name on the party flier as
“Unacquainted Loves,” which is sort of nicer than unrequited love - makes it sound like
two unabashed horny people getting it on without ever learning each other’s names,
like two ships passing in the night, if ships could get drunk and use one another
and lie about their names and phone numbers.
Among the faces in the crowd was Joe, one of the locals
who won’t stop skating street long enough to learn transition skating. In the few months
I have known him, he has broken at least three decks with his mad-cap ollieing.
There were lots of girls smoking and sporting tight Calvins, as well as the required
black tank tops. Don’t they know this is the Mosquito Ramp? Maybe the cigarette smoke
force field kept the bugs from leaving their breeding grounds, a neighbor’s fishless fish pond.
Anyone got any Clorox?
The crowd was loving a good slug fest between Aaron and Matt. Aaron later got floored by Fletch.
Jasper's daughter can't skate so he just throws her around at parties
I waded through the partiers clotting the driveway and went
to the backyard ramp. It’s 16-feet wide, 5-feet high, plied with good, old-fashioned
splintery plywood. Simon and Will and some other guy, who kept falling but getting right
back up again, were - ya ever notice skateboard reporters always use the same verbs:
Shredding? Tearing? Ripping? I want to be different - they were using their skateboards
to mimic aggressive, unprotected sex with the coping.
I heard that faller guy say, “I’m loving this. It sure beats
the Bro Bowl.” Has he never heard of the Skatepark of Tampa? He was with Michael Welch’s
sister, I think, who I recognized from their little funk band, FunKruze. She sullenly watched
the skating festivities with her little alt-chick hairdo and pout. I think she might be
related to Molly Ringwald. I wonder if later they went home and he mimicked aggressive
skating with her.
Will on a crail sweeper showin' some rail
Will sports the rails. Gotta love the rails. He was trying
manuals and coming close, ripping the stylish sweepers and other lip tricks.
Simon pounds the ramp into submission every time he skates, and tonight was no exception.
Wayne, the birthday boy and resident Mosquito rampager, got down with the coping via
standup grinds, sick lip slides, indy nosepicks and backside-grab blunts before returning
to host duties in the driveway.
It's all smiles until the punches start
Gettin' the Sausage Knocked Out
NO: Ding! Ding!
While Unrequited Loves, or Unacquainted Loves, or whoever, were playing
their frontyard set, a couple of roly-poly bald guys named Aaron and Matt
took off the shirts and donned the red gloves. They went to work on each
others' love handles, putting on a great show. The crowd ate it up, watching
their tattooed flesh jiggle like giant Jell-O shots as the announcer stirred
it up even more. They were so pale it was Cinco de Mayonnaise. They threw
broad, roundhouse punches. Some chick who was with them really loves them.
She got on the mic and said something like, "Hey Big Boys, I just want you
both to know I love you." She managed to increase the peace two-fold. The
smaller one, Matt, who was getting his $h!t kicked, threw his boxing mitts
in the air and sort of hugged Aaron, who later got his own $h!t kicked by a
smaller wiry lookin' guy named Fletch. It was all in good fun, and at least
they had the balls to box. Wayne's dogs were running around, barking at the
their feet. Punk rock, dogs running wild, boxing without headgear: This is
Seminole Heights, a stone's throw from Sulphur Springs. Not the kind of
party games you'd see at an elegant South Tampa party, where all they do is
brag about what $h!tty gas mileage their SUVs get.
Jasper with a backside Smith
In case you haven't seen Jasper's butt, here it is
Shortly after this backside Smith, ladies were a cheerin'
In between the boxing matches, the crowd, now hungry with blood-lust,
watched the skating, which was heating up under the new ship light anchored about 25-feet
up in an oak tree - a Silverstein-like Giving Tree, provider of shade during the day and,
now, light at night. Ricky took a break from building the park’s bowl, and came out with some
friends from New Port Richey. They not only tore hell out of the ramp. Old-school sensibilities
ruled the day, I mean, night: Texas Plants
, stand-up grinds, backside smiths, board-smackin’ disasters.
Click here to see more.
You gotta like skating with guys that go bonkers for layback rollouts.
Howard, who is 34, was pleased as punch about his Powell rails.
He was so glad that he came all the way from Orlando to show them to us and partake of the party.
He got respect for his power moves, even nailed a 270-to-axle. Click here to see it.
He impressed everyone with his
skate trivia: Bill Danforth, who made up the trick, called it “My Trick.” Ain’t his trick now. It’s Howard’s.
Mike Nutter tears up the Mosquito Mini
Jasper layin' back
On and off for about four hours, skaters skated and partiers partied. Some,
like Rob the Ragin' Asian, did both, drank and got drunk and skated. A pack
of wild kids stood on garbage cans and tried all night to knock a pinata out
of an oak tree. A little girl took a bat to the head, got an ice pack and
came back for more. We heard there was a real fight in the driveway.
Cops came by twice, but Tim Version, the last band to play,
was almost done with their set anyway the second time. Wayne didn’t want them to stop playing,
but Voni, who lives in the garage apartment and puts up with the ramp, stopped them just in time.
The last song they were going to play supposedly started with a shout of
“motherf***er motherf***er motherf***er,” which the cops might not have liked.
Maybe if they had altered it to “pigf***er pigf***er pigf***er.”
Fighting, punk rock, puking, a night session on a backyard mini, girls in black tank tops:
the night was almost complete. Then Wayne went and broke two bones in his foot on a sketched-out
frontside lipslide. Now he’s gotta see a doctor, who will pin Wayne like they are steady dates.
At least he’ll always remember his 30th birthday.
Thanks to Johny, Wayne, Voni, Rori, Donnie, the two Joes and that one dude behind the bar
for making Cinco de Mayo mean something in English. And thanks to Johny’s mom for all the food.