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	Bling Bling?? 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.