Nerding Day: Skeboarder

TV’s last good idea is Kasso, a slick obstacle challenge. It mixes pro skaters, artful courses, and a humanizing attitude.

Good for them. Decent people need distractions too. For the rest of us, Unbeatable Banzuke’s “Skeboarder” challenge already took burnouts to a warehouse and slammed them into sterility.

I’m home. The SamuraiBorg is just icing.

One article can’t seal Unbeatable Banzuke’s force. But let’s see what we can learn about Skeboarder while keeping our teeth.

Before we start folding limbs: there’s a reason fancier skate contests give you multiple runs. Stray dust mites like to sneak under a wheel and introduce you to a physical therapist.

Unbeatable Banzuke didn’t give a shit.

You get one run, one body, and no pity.

Not that it was any kinder to running, walking, handstand walking, unicycling, rollerblading, or localization. Unbeatable Banzuke crushed more dreams than the IOC. If you’re typing a correction, you know it as Kinniku Banzuke. I’m only a eighth-Dan nerd, so I found it on G4, a network dedicated to pacifying potential GamerGate recruits. These pratfalls saved lives by proving no one’s entitled to anything.

The stilt walks pull you in. But you stay for sports you thought were sane fun. Host Kei Keto proved hobbies spur madness before the first subreddit implosion. If it has an intramural club, it can break your arm on syndicated TV.

Kato’s fun, which is a hosting miracle. It’s easy to go too serial killer cold or spree killer manic. Kato finds a nice balance of game show sheen and supervillain zeal. The sweet spot between sports radio and blowing up a Robin.

The suit says sports commentary.

The games say fried Robin.

Extra crowbar.

Take Super Rider, Skeboarder’s twin hell. If Skeboarder holds everyone that owes Dante money, Super Rider holds his childhood bullies. It’s an eight-stage tour of ways bikes refuse to move. Universal cyclist doping is a rational reaction to Super Rider.

From here, it looks extra impossible. And the falls seem like portals to the ICU. The bike following you down is an assassin. Aimed, optimistically, at your crotch. While you like your loins, you need your brain. Without it you’re just another mayor.

But Skeboarder moves faster, with competitors determined to look cool as they explode into coins. There’s no money in skating without a Nike tattoo, but there is ego. Unbeatable Banzuke eviscerates your ego.

Shame the show’s gone, now that personal cults are in style. But you can only reshape so many skeletons on cable before it becomes evidence. I’m happy for our time with Skeboarder, and sad for the long-term physical consequences. At a certain height, a helmet is a nice hat.

Still, there’s something magical about apes soaring off plywood, and the course designers knew it. Skeboarder’s layout has the “Eat Shit” TLC that made Smough and Ornstein my go-to baby names.

The topic invites Tony Hawk jokes. But Skeboarder’s way more Mario Maker.

The course is the middle ground between an Olympic qualifier and Stanford study. Power twists people. You can retire from extorting Africa with a cushy university gig, and end up piledriving students on CNN. Skateboarder's designers show a bit more character, hospitalizing two teenagers, tops.

Maybe three.

That’s our first obstacle, the Ollie Step. A jump right out of the drop in, at slapstick speed. Its victims are few but sublime.

The Rampage keeps the torment straightforward: a set of tall, winding ramps. It claims far fewer bodies than I expected, but gravity strikes with cruelty.

The Tube is a tube. And pointless.

Then there’s the Handrail, which mulches dreams. Most of Skeboarder is watching athletic geniuses slip off it. One note of mercy: everyone detects failure, so they tend to break their fall.

Followed by the Break Zone. It’s a trap. You’re there just long enough to lose momentum, and notice how far you can fall.

The second half barely exists in Skeboarder’s first episode, which is a glorified human sacrifice. Once players know the course, the rest enters the dicksmashing meta.

First, the Break Zone gives you plenty of time to overthink the Narrow Slopes, a self-descriptive set of Mario Kart hazards. They don’t get many eliminations, because have you seen the rail?

The Stairs look cool, and eliminate no one. Which is fine. It’s TV. You could repeat the Handrail four times, but that can’t compete with the Stilt Maze. The stairs offer a flashier Break Zone.

The Double Halfpipe’s just that: two half-pipes. A simple, no-frills hope graveyard. That gap holds a hundred deferred sponsorships.

Finally, the Big Canyon. It’s a bigger version of the Double Halfpipe, after you’re exhausted. Eat shit.

Here’s the killer: the skill point spread. Like any nerd trap, skating has infinite niches and spinoffs. Most fall into two marketing-friendly genres: “Smashes their dick on the Handrail” and “Smashes their dick on Big Canyon.” You can do both, but tribalism’s a bitch. And torsion.

Some people name their junk. After Skeboarder, I see why. You name something so you can say goodbye.

Each round’s a terse tale of woe. Take Keigo Sato. A proud student of the game–and a literal student, who spent a summer of priceless youth studying Skeboarder. Keep in mind: no one’s beaten it yet. He memorized footage of the dead.

You can see the flame in his heart. He drops into destiny, ready to make his name. To inspire a world that’s forgotten how to believe. To ignite.

The ramps don’t care.

Don’t weep for Keigo: he made it to level 2. Twice the Skeboarder non-PS1 skaters should face. The entire stage is an altar to summon a law firm.

Besides, Keigo has backup. Like more students, office temps, and tourists. Followed by pros, but you know why I’m here. Let’s start with the temp.

Meet Sachiko, who dies before we get her full backstory. Let’s make one up: Sachiko skates to fight her hometown’s doctor shortage. For every second she lasts, the Red Cross will build an urgent care clinic.

Hey, two clinics.

You can weep for Sachiko. Ollie step losses combine physical and emotional pain. Don’t get me wrong: the jump’s beyond most humans. But viewers think they’re better. In this moment, Sachiko understands Magneto perfectly.

Who’s next?

Awesome. Simon Rocket’s an ideal name, even after the Nicktoon jokes. By my bleak standards, he’s living the dream: teaching in Japan, skating on TV, and winning Unbeatable Banzuke.

Teaching in Japan, skating on TV, and sleeping in Weeaboo Valhalla. Don’t weep for Otto’s lost brother. Remember Simon as he lived: shaggy and bruised, justifying they’re/their/there to twenty already-fluent children.

If fifth grade teachers can’t nail this, maybe fifth grade students can. Taito Morimoto takes that bet. His dad owns a skate shop, so his childhood’s all bluntslides, no smiling. Skating’s normally a break from family pressure, but oops:

Just kidding. I think he knows what’s happening.

I’m bad at reading people. A few more hopefuls take their shot:

A lot. The handrail filters skaters like the GRE. This is Street League in hell. And believe me, it’s the course. For all my jokes, these are the best skaters you can see without worrying about a Bolsonaro comeback.

Battletoads Live goes four segments without a champion. The cast drifts towards pros, because no one’s winning. Sad, since they land on their feet more. Unbeatable Banzuke aimed for a challenge, and found a search for King Arthur.

The fifth round of Skeboarder humiliations is all pros and returns. No sale. Gravity has strong opinions, regardless of sponsor or faceplant experience. Skeboarder looks less fair than the segment pushing women in cat-shaped wheelbarrows through an LSD-inspired obstacle course.

The segment ends with this guy:

Kentaro Tanaka. He looks stoned in his intro. He says he’s “120% confident,” which sounds stoned. He giggles uncontrollably on the platform, remembers he’s on TV, and then drops in with negative intensity.

I should’ve known he was invincible.

Kentaro’s in rare company. Here’s a full list of Skeboarder champions:

I just learned Kentaro’s name, and he’s already my hero. I’d say the lesson is “never give up,” but brave souls came back for seconds. They slammed on the same obstacle, or sooner. So I guess today’s lesson is “be Kentaro.”

As for the format, a U.S. clone should be on its second reboot. I can’t explain the holdup, but we need Kentaro on staff. Anything else is robbery. As for obstacles, I have some fresh ideas.

This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Gellaho. RIP, sweet prince, you died doing what you loved: Being split in half by a skateboard ramp.

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