It is a dusty dirty clouded mass of hardcore heads bumping and bobbing to the pound of hardcore in the only outdoor area of Animania. Omar Santana steps to the tables, and moshpit grows rapidly in the middle of the mass. "Excuse me" I say as I arrogantly spread people out of my way. Yeah, I am being a jerk, so what? Why do I have to be happy all the time? I don't. At a rave there is room for love, love, love, and hate.

I keep myself in the air most of the time, doing half turns so that I can see what is going on all around me and to keep my momentum up. When I see someone I want to hit, I make sure that I am moving pretty fast. I want to hit them harder than they hit me. Not much harder, just harder. For the little guys, I don't use my arms to bump them, I just stick my chest out and bounce them off. For guys my size, I am more careful. I am not trying to level them, since what goes around comes around, and right after you hit someone is when you are most vulnerable both in terms of physics, and poetic justice. So I play conservatively. I want to get some hits, which is going to be every 3 seconds anyway, but I don't ever let myself get in a position where I am not in control of what is going to happen to me. I gallop around the perimeter of the mosh pit to limit the angels other people have on me. I measure up the people I might hit, and give them what they can take, no more no less.

Going around the mosh pit I feel a leg touch my shin at a weird angle, someone is trying to trip me, I need to land in a funny way, and as soon as I do, I spin around, calculate who it was from how their leg hit me, and I see this pudgy little bastard standing on the edge of the crowd, I can tell right away that it was him, so I get in his face and say "did you do that?" He does not say shit. So I ask the people around him if he did it and they are minding their own business, I don't blame them. So I get in his face and tell him that if I was 24, instead of 26, I would be going to jail tonight for "Man 1." He does not say shit. I tell that he should not mess with his own life like that, and I am still deciding if I want to hurt him or not. He is a real coward, so I start telling all the people around him about how I don't want to stain my gloves, and one guy says that it will wash out, so fake like I am gonna jack him up right in the nose. I stop my fist about a foot from his face and laugh. He does not say shit. Well, everyone knows that he is a pussy for trying to trip me (impossible, you can't trip a Junglist) and for taking my shit afterwords.
Back to the pit, I get myself into more trouble when I act cocky and fuck with two guys who are a team or some shit, I am backed into the edge of the mosh pit, and they are hitting me one after the other. I don't have time between hits to get any momentum, so they are getting free shots. After a few repetitions, they are come at me at together, so I spin out of the way and push one guy into the other, who hits the dirt. The guy still standing got it way worse, because when he turned around I got THE openfield shot on his ass. His weight was on his heels, and his friend was on the ground behind him. Nobody could have moved or kept their balance in his position. I heard something weird when I knocked him OVER his friend, who was still on the ground. What goes around comes around. I checked if there was anybody behind me and backpedaled away from the scene, pointing and laughing and acting cocky, which is why they wanted such a big piece of me in the first place.
So I am looking for Kyle, the guy that gave me my first hardcore CD a few days ago. I find him and grab the back or his cap, pulling him closer to the pit. He turns around and says that he does not want to mosh. I am really disappointed. On one hand, I think that he is a pussy, after all, he is the hardcore head, and he does not want to mosh? What the hell? On the other, I am bigger than him, and he was not in the right mood, so I don't blame him. I try again to convince him that he should get into it, and he says that he is thinking about it. "Oh really?" I gleam. I bend my knees and lower my head, like I am about to kill, but only hit him about one tenth as hard as I could have, and tell him to "Think about that."
After I took my break, the mosh pit starts to die down. I am not quite done yet, but for some reason, the pit is empty and I am the only person in it at this point. I am right in the middle, and I am waiting for someone to come at me. And waiting, and waiting., but no one wants to go. So I start to point out into the crowd, and yell, not talk, smack at the whole crowd. I had a bad week, and this is was just what I needed to work out some stress, more that any amount of dancing to trance would ever relieve. I am in the middle of the pit, by my self, and I am yelling "Come on, bring it, anybody." But everyone is tired, and they probably think I am a fuckin psycho, so no one steps up. OK, so I start to dance like a sissy, kicking up dirt and spinning around, like I am listening to some really deep House music. I am in the middle of the once violent mosh pit, with a little smile on my face, looking up into the sky, but keeping one eye on the field in from of me. The 10-minute kickoff return is over, and I am dancing in the end zone, just because everyone else is too tired to put me in my place, thank god.