An Excerpt From Christian Hosoi’s HOSOI: My Life as a Skateboarder Junkie Inmate Pastor

At fourteen, I’m one of approximately thirty-five legit pro skaters in the world. Most of them barely make a living. Nobody cares, though, because we’re all about having fun and living in the moment. Our lives are all skate, skate, skate, party, party, party. It won’t be money, money, money for a few years. When we’re on our boards, nothing else matters; we’re just innocent and free to create.

I concentrate on the art of and lay the groundwork for the moves I’ll become famous for, like the patented Christ Air, plus the Rocket Air and a one-footed air, all performed as high and stylishly as possible. By then is finger-flipping and making up new tricks almost weekly. But I don’t hang out with him personally, only at competitions. I mainly hang around with old-school skaters like .

The best skateboarders in the world have passed the torch to my generation and me, and it’s now up to us to keep things burning. It’s just days before my fifteenth birthday, and I’m champing at the bit to prove myself against the top pros. The time finally arrives, but even without to hold me back, it’s taken over two years. I’m a pro skater and riding my own Sims Rising Sun model. We’re skating Pipeline Skatepark in Upland, California, and I’m a combination of stoked and nervous as I face the empty pool. The new pros—Tony Hawk, Gator Rogowski, Lance Mountain, and Neil Blender—are all there, and we’re like a pack of hungry dogs, ready to rip into raw meat. But the established pros aren’t gonna just lie down and die. Guys like Steve “Cab” Caballero, Eddie Elguera, and Duane Peters are still ripping hard and locked in these heavy battles for the top spot. Other skaters who have also rocketed to legendary status in the sport are Upland local boys Chris Miller and Steve and Micke Alba.

A lot of the major tricks in skateboarding are being invented at this generational transition, and if I miss a beat I’ll fall behind and everyone will say, “You should have been there; you really missed out.” History is being made, and I intend to write some history myself.

From the first, everyone is just blasting at Upland, and that’s when I break out my first original trick, the Tweak Air. I earn the respect of my new peers and end up getting fourth place. Cab, being his usual phe- nomenal self, wins that one. Lester Kasai flies into second by blasting high airs. He’s riding my model, so that’s not a bad showing for my boards and me. I’ve fulfilled one of my dreams—that of competing with the pros—but neither Tony Hawk nor I is near our full potential yet. We’re more blending in than dominating. But blending in is not what we came to the party for.

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(CONTINUED) No matter how popular I am, the fans are split nearly evenly between Tony Hawk and me. While our dif- ferent personalities play a big role in this, our styles of skating also contribute. From the beginning, Tony’s skating is based on technical tricks. He’s banging out tricks so fast that we all wonder what new one he’ll pull out next. His style and mine are an obvious contrast to anyone watching. Where he’s trick-oriented, my skating is driven by speed, power, and style. That’s what fuels my fire.

Tony and I are perfect rivals—white knight, black knight. He has blond hair; mine is black. He’s dressed pretty clean-cut for a skater; I’m dressed like Jimi Hendrix. We have one thing in common, though: we both want to win. I try Tony’s tricks once in a while, and to me they feel uncomfortable because of how technical they are. They aren’t very high, fast, or aggressive. You have to get up there, get the board back under your feet, and land it in a hurry. There’s no hang time and no time for style when you’re skating like that. Still, Tony is one of the best skaters of all time, and I understand why he has the reputation he does in our sport.

Most football teams don’t hate each other, but sometimes their fans do. At times Tony’s fans and mine clash with each other. When they erupt, we feed off all that energy in order to skate better. The media makes it seem like Tony and I don’t like each other, but that’s not true. We don’t hang out often, but we respect each other and often do demos together. Sometimes it’s just the two of us, in the same hotel for days—work the demos, hustle chicks, and play quarters.

By the time Tony and I are in our midteens, there’s this north/south rivalry that has grown up around us. Without really trying, we both become figureheads for one direction or the other. By then I’m riding for Independent Trucks, which is from northern California. Tony’s riding for Independent’s main competition, Tracker Trucks, which is from Southern California. In the skate world it’s basically Tracker versus Inde- pendent and Thrasher magazine versus TransWorld Skateboarding. Tony and I get heavily featured in both magazines, but he’s more TransWorld Skateboarding and I’m more Thrasher.

Tony gets the worst of our so-called rivalry once when some Nor Cal guys boo him. Here’s his recollection:

THEY WERE BOOING ME WHILE I WAS SKATING. AS A REACTION TO THEM BOOING ME, THERE WAS THIS CREW THAT WEREN’T NECESSARILY FOR ME, BUT BANDED TOGETHER AGAINST THE UP-NORTH GUYS AND ROOTED FOR ME. THE SKATE MEDIA PLAYED IT UP LIKE CHRISTIAN AND I DIDN’T GET ALONG, BUT I’D DROP IN AT HIS HOUSE AND WE’D SKATE HIS RAMP TOGETHER, AND WE SHARED ROOMS OFTEN ON THE ROAD. WE NEVER HAD ANY PROBLEMS, AND WE ALWAYS HAD GOOD TIMES TOGETHER. IT WASN’T LIKE WE HUNG OUT ALL THE TIME, BUT WE WERE AMONG THE FEW PRO SKATERS IN THE WORLD AND WE WERE FRIENDS. IN THE END IT WAS TWO DIFFERENT TYPES OF SKATING. THEY WERE “SKATE AND DESTROY”; WE WERE “SKATE AND CREATE.” I DIDN’T LIKE THE BOOING, BUT IT FIRED ME UP AND I THOUGHT, OKAY, I’M GONNA SHUT THESE GUYS UP WITH MY NEXT RUN.

Sometimes it’s me who’s getting booed, of course, depending on the crowd and the sponsorship. I’m like Tony, though: booing does nothing but make me skate harder. It kicks me into overdrive, so I fly higher on my next run. If I win after being booed by the crowd, I hold up the trophy and say into the microphone, “Thanks for booing me; this win’s for you.”