Jock Itch Skateboarding is not a crime—and why the hell isn’t it?

Skateboarding isn’t a crime anymore, but I kind wish it were. It’s big business now, and a lot of the soul has been sucked out of it. Fortunately, Mike Vallely is putting some of that soul back in with his Glory Bound Skatepark Tour, which comes to Colorado this Sunday at the Woodward Skatepark in the Colorado Mills Mall.

Vallely was already a skateboarding superstar when I first saw him skate in the late ’80s. He was larger than life back then: His aggressive style combined with his punk-rock disposition made him a celebrity by the time his first pro model came out—and that’s pretty much the only thing that hasn’t changed about the sport of skateboarding. Now, 20 years on, Vallely’s legendary status is solidified as he continues to cultivate whole new generations of four-wheeled devotees.

It’s been a bit of a drag to watch skateboarding turn into the safe, worldwide phenomenon that it is now. The skateboarding you see today was hatched from a time when a dude with a tattoo on his neck was not someone to fuck with—it was always outside the mainstream, even when it was the central focus of bad Christian Slater movies (it’s even worse than I remember it) and of anyone else who thought they could make a buck off it. Even at its second peak in the late ’80s, skateboarding was still reviled by security guards, parents, and the fascist jock culture that was at odds with it every step of the way. So for it to be as acceptable as lacrosse is very bizarre to me. At least, though, it seems to have integrated itself into the mainstream while still retaining some of its ragged edge.

Vallely’s tour, for example, is unique because he’s incorporated past legends into his new-school festivities. Fabled skate gods like Duane Peters and Bill Danforth could be the aged fathers of most of the kids who go to these skate demos, and it’s a bold choice to include them, since most of the kids watching them will have no idea who they are. But these old fogies can still skate and they bridge that gap from schools old and new. Peters, in addition to being known as the Master Of Disaster, has contributed an atlas' worth of skate tricks to the world and was the singer in numerous punk bands including U.S. Bombs. Danforth, who was a scary skinhead back in the day, probably introduced more teenagers to the Misfits through his famous Madrid board than Danzig could have ever hoped for. If anything, their presence displays what deep, textured roots skateboarding possesses by the diversity—and age—of the participants.

The X-Games have done wonders for skateboarding, but it’s also pushed away longtime skaters like myself. Skate competitions were always boring to watch. It was in the skate demo, when a pro wasn’t under any pressure, that you saw some of the most amazing stuff. And though the X-Games brought skateboarding into the living rooms of millions of people, it remains a massive, high-gloss snooze fest. Watching lackluster runs and corny announcers trying to make trick names not sound ridiculous makes for pretty bad viewing.

Bound For Glory is the anti-X-Games, showing young kids that skateboarding is not about getting your face on ESPN but just simply ripping it up. Vallely is basically doing what he did 20 years ago: going on the road and giving people a show. He’s talented enough to still blow a crowd of all ages away, but he’s scary-looking enough to remind you that skateboarding wasn’t always the socially accepted activity it is today. Skateboarding may not be a crime anymore, but it’s nice to know there are still people keeping it dangerous. Here’s to the next 20 years.