Skate Anatomy: Brian Anderson
“My face hit so hard I broke my left rear molar at the root and had to have it removed. At least now I can get a legit gold toof.”
I smashed my face on the Rod Laver arena floor. Went up this bank to wall, rock ‘n’ rolled like a man, came down and hit an open seam between the ramps. I body slammed to my face, leaving an L-shaped scar next to my eyebrow.
I’ve probably hit the back of my head really good three times. The first two occurred when I was between 12 and 15. Mysteriously, I heard the same pop song playing after I stood up from the slams. I’d never heard the song before, only after these two slams. Hopefully I’ll never hear that song again.
There is a new clicking sound in my left shoulder when I push it downward. I guess it’s just me getting older. I have no idea where it came from.
I scraped my left elbow and accidentally put it down on the germ-infested bar. The next day it began to swell and, of course, I thought nothing of it. The following day I realized it was infected. I went to the doctor, and he cut a hole in my elbow and squeezed everything out. He told me I had a staff infection, hooked me up to an IV, and put a long shoelace-type thing in my arm with a little tip sticking out. I went back the next day and he slowly pulled the shoelace out. It was brown and like a foot long.
Growth in Hip
I have a golf-ball-size growth floating in my left hip. It doesn’t feel nice to slam on it.
I bruised some ribs after sticking on a lipslide over a pyramid. Straight to the flat, no hands, just ribs. I tried to surf a few days later for the first time in my life. Guess what? It hurt…a lot.
Both of my knees pop during the night periodically whenever I wake up and move them. Every morning I have to move them inward toward the floor for a massive good-morning pop that echoes through the whole neighborhood.
I’ve folded my left ankle so many times now there is some kind of growth in there.
Cock ‘n’ Balls
Whatever, I’ve hit my balls and my cock enough times to write a book. Who hasn’t? Who cares? I cut my chode open on a rusty bike rack once, got a shot and went home.
My lungs are probably f**ked. Don’t smoke!
You can have it when I die. Good luck.
Smashed Face Part 2
When I fell on my face in Yeah Right, I hit my chin first, then my front right tooth, then my upper lip. I had a beard, so they shaved it, put in eight interior stitches, six to close the chin, then four in my lip. When I landed, my face hit so hard I broke my left rear molar at the root and had to have it removed. At least now I can get a legit gold toof.
My sister, Mary, drops me at Case’s ramp. She stays to watch. I take a run, boardslide to fakie to hang-up to flat—straight to my eye. I tell her I’m fine and she leaves. Within five minutes, my eye is the size of a baseball. I can still feel scar tissue in there, and it happened 14 years ago.
Hole in Hand
I’ve had a hole in my hand for almost 10 years now. It’s pretty cool.
My wrists are f**ked and I’ve never had them x-rayed. Hopefully, I never will.
I did a Justin Eldridge when I was like 13. Skating by myself, I did a tre flip and landed on my index finger. I looked down and saw it bent under my pinkie. I stood up, looked at it and yelled, “Nooo!” I instinctively snapped it back into place. I just have to watch that I don’t catch it on stuff.
One time someone put drugs in my drink at a party. That was a pretty bad slam. I can’t think of any more right now, and I don’t want to start lying. I’m going to write a book some day and you can read that.