1.7.08 JASON “MAYHEM” MILLER
Jason “Mayhem” Miller Puts Down the Skateboard and Enters the Ring.
I was “that kid.” I was the silly kid with the grip-tape that had a goofy star cut into it, with the duct-tape on the left shoe, the nasty scab on the top part of his forearm. Wearing a blue collar uniform top, that had some name like “Hank” above the breast pocket and a wallet chain that swung near my knee, until my stupid high school administrators confiscated it and sent my to the hell of “In School Suspension.” ISS amounted to sitting silently in a desk on the stage of an old auditorium with the rest of the miscreants, trying not to talk all day. “NO SLEEPING!” the pseudo-teacher would yell, angry that his life has amounted to that of a pee wee prison guard, instead of the coach of the Atlanta Falcons.
Little did they know that while they were suppressing my youthful “wilin’ out” I was dreaming with my eyes open. Dreaming of dropping in on the new quarter-pipe, front side five-oing the grind-box that was in the center of the small skate park that sat at the bottom of a little valley in the suck town of USA that I lived in. In these elaborate fantasies played out in my head during my 1500 Hour sentence, complete with me kick flipping over the pyramid like Colin McKay.
The reality was much, much different. It was my friend, “Crazy Tito” telling me “Goddamnit, Honko! Get up!” as I busted my ass yet again trying to drop in and ollie over the hip, for the suck town contest, and “Big-time Skate Demo” The pavement would always be hot as hell during the summer, so even though I wanted to lay down and cry, I had no choice but to jump up off the scalding tarmac. I went through the motions for the rest of my 90-second run, trying desperately to pull off even one trick, to justify my 25-dollar entry fee that I borrowed from my disapproving dad. After chasing my board around for about a minute, my run was over, and Crazy Tito put on a great performance, ending his sick run with a backflip on the vert ramp. The crowd went crazy, and I was stoked. I was begging to realize the cold, hard truth. I sucked at skateboarding. I was god-awful. I took up valuable space at the skatepark that could have been used by quality skateboarders, who could actually land a trick.
As the demo went on, some skateboarders who really knew what the hell they were doing came and wrecked our little park. Tricks I had never even seen! 360 kick flips over the hip right into a melon-grab on the vert and landing fakie. Near the end of the demo, the pros all crowded on top of the 13-foot vert ramp and started tossing out gear to the ravenous masses at the bottom. I had walked to the parking lot to sulk, but even from there I could see the kids clawing and tearing to get some wheels and bearings- or maybe a sick shirt that hasn’t even come out yet. Then I realized- this is a game that I can beat all these kids at. The training that I got from wrestling with my dad all the time, coupled with the skills that I got from stealing assorted objects from my little sister, made me a perfect fit for this contest of strength and will.
I pushed my way to the front of this skateboard mosh-pit and just as I got into position, Danny Way held above his head, the most coveted of all Demo giveaways, a new skateboard deck. The crowd settled in to scream their approval. After a brief tension-filled moment, Way let the board fly through the air, everyone boxing one another out in preparation for it to get in range. As luck would have it, it was headed right for me. I elbowed the douche in full protective gear aside, jumped up and grabbed the board, mid flight. As I came down to protect it with my body, Mr. Protectorhead grabbed the board, and now we were in a vicious game of tug of war, neither man willing to let go. The wrestling match got so explosive that everyone else backed off to watch. We probably weighed in near the same amount, he was probably at least 15 years my senior. Why this middle-aged man was wrestling a high-schooler? I have no idea, but I have a feeling he liked free skateboards as much as I did, but remember when I said I had learned skills from stealing things from my little sister? Well I have a big, strong little sister, and it was a matter of time before I broke free with the board, the rest of the crowd cheering as Protecto chased me around with his gaybo kneepads falling down to his outdated vans sneakers, which playing to the crowd, I pointed out by yelling “Haaa! Gaybo kneepads!” To which everyone laughed at.
Once he was too tired to chase me anymore he just walked off and sat down near the water fountain, staring daggers at me from the other side of the skate park chain link fence. Looking back, I could understand his frustration, being out hustled by a chubby yet lanky kid who couldn’t land a single trick in the contest, then him gloating about it while his few friends cheered him on. I moved up to the top of the hill to talk to some dudes I knew, but I don’t think liked me very much. I was keeping one eye on him and one eye on the conversation I was trying to make, with some good skaters, who were older than me and didn’t feign interest at my questions about tricks, and I also had a crush on one of their sisters, which probably didn’t help.
Before I realized it, Protective equipment guy had an audience of four punk rock kids that I had never seen before, and was angrily pointing in my direction. I guessed since he couldn’t beat me up legally, he intended to send this pack of skinny misfits to jump me and steal the board back. I had already stashed it in the bushes in front of the youth center, so I was one step ahead but now I had the Mod Squad making their way up the hill and shouting, “Hey, we wanna talk to you!”
“Aw, god damn.” I remember saying under my breath as they jogged their way towards me, and a cold chill shot down my spine. I couldn’t run in front of Dave Cicserneros, who was like the best skater at our school. Plus he might tell his hot sister that I was a punk at the skate park. Then again, getting stomped out in the parking lot didn’t sound like a great option either. My heart started beating out of my chest, so I started walking very briskly away from the kids and towards Dave who was sitting against a tricked out ‘72 Chevy. I could hear the kids, now running, “Hey, where you going?” There was a large red mini-van parked next to the Chevy that created a hallway that Dave, who was in my 3rd period business law class stood at the end. Maybe he’ll back me up. By the time I got to the middle of this makeshift hallway the punk-dorks were right on my ass. I turned around to face their leader, a dreadlocked kid with a think hemp necklace, and a sneer that made him look like the bad guy in a B-movie. The rest of the kids fell in behind him, falling into the only trap that I could’ve set.
“We wanna talk to you,” dreadlocky says to me, obviously lying, his crew behind him looked ready to scrap, doing the cliché’ knuckle rubbing and neck-stretching that always is followed by a mêlée. Now my heart was really thumping, and even though I’d been in plenty of fights, there were four kids lined up to kick my face in, and my only back up was a guy I knew from school who didn’t even like me. I planted my feet, told the leader “Look….” grabbed my Subway hat from my head, threw it on the parking lot, and when the Rasta-man looked down at it, he caught the famous “Miller right” that my dad had taught me since I was 5. His skinny frame flopped back against his homies, but I wasn’t about to stop. I grabbed his hemp necklace and bashed him again, the adrenaline punching for me. “Get off the car assholes.” My “backup” Dave said, but my focus was on Dreadlocks. Now resisting being choked with his hemp necklace he was no longer on the offensive, so I continued my strangulation and blasted his second in command, who I don’t think had ever been punched in the face before, and immediately cowered like his dad was spanking him. The other two couldn’t get to me, due to my unique choice of fight venue. Crazy Tito ran over and did his famous stage dive, then accidentally punched another guy that we were cool with, until he yelled “Tito” 10 times. After about a minute of this the skate park lady made her way over and screamed “I’m calling the cops!” which dispersed the crowd in every direction, skateboards rolling out every which way.
“Goddamn, Honko! You blasted those jokers in their caras!” which I was pretty sure meant faces. “There was like 15 of them, and you were like, BAM! Chiggy-BAM chiggy-BAM! You should fight in the UFC and shit!” Little did we know what I would be doing in 10 years. That day was pivotal for me. It forced me to reevaluate what I was doing with all my time, and take an honest look at were my talents lay, and let the skateboarding go to the skateboarders. I was a bit sad that I would never be sponsored by Independent Trucks, and Osiris Shoes, but I guess I was wrong about one of those. Big ups to Osiris, who now keep me kicking ass, in and out of the skatepark.
