Detroit crack rock city has been the focus of every egocentric thought in our industry this week. It’s become a big axe wound and somehow everyone is hurting, and piecing the puzzling pussy blackout back together with misinformation, hints about heroes, and CLUE — it was Chuck Haffey in the skate park with a prototype. Right? Wrong? Who knows? BCSD is an amazing event, a brotherhood, and a hobby. There’s going to be heroes and there will be an axis of evil judges, but truly the thing that really sucks about BCSD is that it ends. It leaves a hangover so sharp, you have to go back to reality, work, and school, and girlfriends, and without a daily network you can really bond with. Back at home you’re just a black sheep, you can’t nod and know they know what’s up. It’s a lifestyle, a short weekend, and once a year, and that’s why BCSD really sucks.

But enough of that, onto why Rollernews sometimes sucks. Who runs this? Who gets rent from this facility? I know some parasite makes bank off this. I know ’cause I applied for the same job off Google. I love the anonymity of posting comments. You can just get out that frustration of a bad grade on a bad skater. But what’s with the titles? Chynna White is any and all but a punkrocker. I don’t think kelly green meets the status quo of Hot Topic fashionistas. She’s not even mall goth. She probably thinks D.I.Y. is a jean company, and who could blame her? Being seventeen, or thirteen, sure has its perks, but don’t worry, Al Dolega’s got your back. He used to own a brick wall or something. Our constructive critic had his fair share of grief this week, but hey, Al provided the party, he might have not fallen for it, but respect where it’s due. I’m surprised the party was such a big deal… How many designated drivers does blading have? Not one that I knew of. Bar-Bar or Econo Lodge was the place to bro out.

It’s all rants and raves about the Bittercold BS — who’s the winner, and who are the losers, and why can’t we be either, or, and/or both. Haffey, John, everyone is getting ups and arms draft picking their favorite friend of friend superman that should have saved the day. But who should of won? Nimh two years in a row? Couldn’t be and wasn’t. If John had a pro skate to promote big suspenders it might have made a difference. (Probably, almost certainly, not.)

The irony that maybe neither one had won just escapes me. The Moto x-man going big, getting a check, and going home to more hard work and a higher tax bracket. I bet he’s as sore as you. And who really cares?

Hundreds of us became social retards, misfits, duds, drunks, and dumbasses, and it was no doubt a fine meet and greet affair. I don’t know about you, but I didn’t leave with ten Gs, much less two. I left with a bank account over-drafted on Bar-Bar pitchers, and without my Gumby peacoat, whiskey included. And yet, I’m not all boo-hoo, trying to bring change to the personal politics of the blading kings and industry. I didn’t compete — majority of us didn’t, we went to be losers, to laugh, party and bullshit, so why all this sudden alias tough talk and thirty-seven pages of it? It’s like all the critics are going to change our counter culture with convoluted opinions of what should be, could be, yet can’t do much about it. Practice what you preach.

A community of trolls with a glory hole of a message board, they get off on making a sticky mess of simplicity. Number one, and number two — piss and shit — and everyone’s glass is half full of one or the other, or themselves, and who’s to say what’s right or wrong? Who is the winner or loser? It was entertaining either way. If I was either John or Chuck I’d feel badass for killing myself and landing some Bob Gnarly maneuvers, and then getting a hefty bonus for it. They get rent, food, and utilities, and they deserve it. The whole top ten was tight for that matter, but at the end of the day it was a weekend in Detroit and everyone was struggling to survive themselves and everyone else, and we did and we’re better for it. So why bitch and moan? Because we’re the real losers of the event and we just wanted one more hit. Just one more hit.

— Dan Leifeld