Danny Way Never Again Will Win a Contest Without First Performing a 45-Second Ho-Ho

An old theater adage, commonly and likely erroneously attributed to Anton Chekhov, goes like this: “If a gun is placed on the mantle in the first act, it must go off by the third.” Another, less widely known version of this concept exists within the gleaming, gelatinous sphere of popular music, and holds that if Glenn Frey takes a stage in his capacity as a solo act, “Smuggler’s Blues” must be performed by dawn the following day. RIP to Glenn Frey and all true smugglers who gave their lives to inspire one of history’s great hit singles.

This week archivist-in-chief and defending scanner champ Chrome Ball Incident released an exhaustive Danny Way interview that could function as a blueprint for serious-minded skateboard interviews. Old stories, jokes, comebacks, heartstring-tugging tales of a yung phenom grappling with insecurity and teasing by idols-turned-rivals, and tough questions respectfully asked. And, it extracted the promise of a future contest run sketched out in draft form for history’s annals:

“With bowl skating being so popular again and so many of these retro tricks coming back in style, I’m actually thinking about entering one of these Bowl Series contests just to bring back some of those classic moves, like the ho-ho. Who knows, maybe I could stall it out for a one-trick run? What about a 45-second ho-ho!?! That could be the way to go! Walking around the deck on my hands… could be a good laugh!”

With those five words and one double-digit number, Danny Way has placed his gun on the mantle. It is a firearm in the shape of an aging, battered body, twice bronzed for posterity, handstanding on the deck of history as glory showers down around him, forming glorious and shovelable drifts, for three-quarters of a minute. But at whom does this golden barrel aim? For Danny Way also has fashioned himself a shimmering prison, with gilded bars and a valuable commode. Each Bowl Series judge who reads the interview — and every one shall — will be unable to award Danny Way any points whatsoever for a contest run that does not feature a 45-second ho-ho, now possessed of the knowledge and vision of what could be.

Could Danny Way’s unwittingly self-imposed obligation to perform an elongated ho-ho extend to Mega RampTM events, which could also secure Guinness World Record status for the ho-ho performed on the highest ramp deck? Could a global ho-ho revival inspire Todd Falcon to invent an inverted ho-ho where you stand feet-down on the deck with your board in your hands held over your head and which could become knowed as the “oh-oh”? Or does this trick already exist? On the mantlepiece of skateboard tricks is the ho-ho an elephant gun or a .38 special?

Rival Schools United by Fate, Torn Asunder Amid Hill-Bombing Renaissance

Sun Tzu, that ancient Chinese military philosopher and rap music reference point, famously signed a restaurant receipt with an unsolicited strategem in place of a tip, advising one fortunate waiter that “the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Legend tells that this vibrant slogan enriched the lucky plate handler — who previously regarded all of this restaurant’s staff as backstabbing adversaries — by transforming them abruptly all into bosom pals, a blissful union that would inspire a hoagie chain but later run aground, friendships dashed on the rocks of unpaid franchise fees and festering mistrust. It is the story of our times, and perhaps all time.

In the 1980s, widely regarded as an extended and turgid moment in which synthesizers remade nerds into dancefloor lotharios and yet justice still could be found at the pointy tip of an arrow, skateboarding still was in its awkward early years. Much like the homebound elementary schooler, or the waiter-in-training at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe, friends were those nearest to hand, if not in spirit — and so it was that skateboarders and BMX bikers became kinsmen of a kind, occasionally sharing a taste for neon accessories and zeitgeist-flavored real estate, wherein ‘Thrashin’ and ‘Rad’ staked out neighboring claims on VHS rental shelves. These co-feathered birds flocked together even through the judgment-heavy early 1990s, when Jeremy Wray cheered BMX bro Mike Esterino hopping on his famed water-tower jump.

Alas, as ledge skating gained supremacy and skateable blocks began trading at a premium due to police pressure and general scarcity, peg damage and huffy attitudes came to divide the camps, such that by the time the handrail age set in, extreme bike riders became punchlines. Skatepark proliferation ignited turf battles, with some private-sector facilities segregating the rubbery-tired rollers to their own evenings. Bike-prohibiting public parks prompted some skateboarders to yellingly shout and point at “no bikes” signage in a true perversion of historic roles.

Extreme bike riders later clawed back respect points on a comparative basis as scooter riders, rollerbladers and other ne’er-do-wells rotated through parks, and John Cardiel’s fixed-gear resurrection earned bikes a warmer position in the cockles of many 97A urethane hearts after his accident. The gnarliness of slamming on a bike was to be respected, if not the motocross-aping kits and the fact that you can sit down. And yet this uneasy entente now takes a new and graver turn, as a non-Olympic bound subset of skating re-embraces illegality from coast to coast. For some thrillhousers enamored of San Francisco’s steeps, a bike may as well be a car or a brick wall, and have come to be perceived as a potentially mortal threat:

Thrasher: What has been your closest call to getting fucking annihilated when bombing hills?
Matt Finley: Dude, so many times. I mean, I’ve gotten hit by a car before but haven’t been hit too bad. Like, four days ago we were going down Twin Peaks and a biker dude—I couldn’t hear him or anything—zooms past me and is centimeters from running into me full speed. He went right between Taylor and I. If he had clipped me I would have gotten fucking smoked! I mean, he probably would have gotten really fucked up but that was something else. That’s another thing! Fuck bikers and cars. They are they enemy. Bikers are in the road and act like cars; they just don’t give a fuck. I’m being a hypocrite but they act so entitled.

Are bikers really just skaters astride one-half of a giant skateboard that uses different types of wheels with handlebars and a seat? If bike riders and skateboarders were to finally unite their powers, could the scooter scourge be ended once and for all? Does the subcultural gap between BMXers and skinny-wheeled road cyclists resemble the one that yawns between longboarders and the trick-addled ‘short board’ crowd?