Festivus: Maloof Money Cup '09
Festivus: Maloof Money Cup ‘09
Words: Rob Brink
The Skateboard Mag, October 2009
On the weekend of July 10, 2009, deep within the Orange Curtain, buried inside the OC fairgrounds in Costa Mesa, California, alongside funnel cakes and giant turkey legs, white trash, reality TV stars and Kobe Bryant, Botox and silicon-injected numbskulls, imitation Ed Hardy attire, Snoop Dee-Oh-double-Gee, tribal armband tattoos, tramp stamps and pill-popping swingers with Bentleys; amidst a skateboarding spectacle like no other, one of the best disposable short-term skate plazas on the planet and a whole lotta money; between the shadows of a bevy of contest heavies like Chris Cole, Ryan Sheckler, Greg Lutzka, Nyjah Huston, Chaz Ortiz and Paul Rodriguez… something very memorable was brewing…
The aforementioned cluster of skateboarding super-pros all semi-frantically and systematically did what most contest onlookers would expect of them. They ripped hard. Consistently throwing down trick after trick after trick and jumping off roofs with barely any roll away before picking up their board and charging back up the stairs for another go… stacking up points with the judges while wooing cameras and crowds.
Then night fell… and Peter Ramondetta happened. The “speak softly and carry a big stick” ideology epitomized.
It came from out of nowhere. And suddenly, everything else seemed pale.
These feelings… they don’t happen very often. Especially in skateboarding. But from up above and behind and off to the side and below, from those who’d been relatively quiet all day because they’ve seen it all before, came the sincerest stokeage you’d ever hear at a skateboarding contest from those who wanted Peter to know they watching and loving every second of it.
“Fuckkkkkk yeahhh Peterrrrrrr!” It was contagious. Others couldn’t help but join in.
Jim Thiebaud once told me of Peter’s skating:
“Then you see him bust and it's like, 'Holy shit where did that come from?' And not in a totally aggro 'Look at how big I'm going' way. It's natural. It's clean. It's subtle and huge. Like a freight train coming out of the fog and heading right at you."
Have you ever heard “Baby Please Don’t Leave Me” by Buddy Guy? It’s slow and steady and menacing and massive. It’s a sonic hurricane. There’s no wasted space or airtime. And that was Peter. He was skating and ripping and sweating and gasping for air and slamming and puking and just flat-out murdering it. Similar to Leo Romero at Maloof in 2008, Peter was the silent, slow-motion sock to the face that everyone needed to see coming right at them, but be unable to dodge, in order to wake the fuck up and realize that hidden within our new and inevitable narcissistic, materialistic, generation bling, peacocking, squeaky-wheel-gets-the-grease, celebriphiliac skateboarding world are certain undeniable truths that keep the “I don’t give a fuck, just get out of my way and let me skate” spirit of skateboarding alive.
The internets already informed you about Chris Cole winning the damn thing by a mile… and boy did he deserve it. Alex Perelson being the fourth human to throw down a 900 (in his run, mind you) was pretty damn impressive too. It’s not every day, or even every five years, for that matter, that a new vert kid pops up and you actually like watching him.
So, when was the last time you skated ‘til you puked?
(2) responses to: Festivus: Maloof Money Cup '09
Troublesome said:
I've never enjoyed anything you've written more than this right here! Ever. Only...what does celebriphiliac mean?
Steph said:
Dudde! Hahaha I love it ! The beginging is so hilariously good and true
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