It's hard to forget this monster mash
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TACOMA - Confession: I love monster trucks! As a Southern California kid in the '80s, my eyes glazed over as soon as I heard the commercial promoting the upcoming show. "SUNDAY! Sunday! Sunday!" The throaty voice would scream. "See the MONSTER JAM," it continued, the voice even deeper on "JAM." I was gone.
Except I wasn't going.
My super-fly mother and dapper father liked basketball and cruising in their white Caddy with red leather seats while listening to the Ohio Players. They weren't going to be caught dead at a Monster Jam. My younger brother and I were stuck watching the shows on TNN, along with the tractor pulls and rodeos we couldn't get enough of, either.
Fifteen years later, I can't explain how I got hooked. I had two parents. We lived in a nice suburban home. I got lots of love.
It's just something about those trucks, man.
I finally begged my dad to take us to a show when we moved to Wyoming; I've gone every year since - Tucson; Pontiac, Mich.; Kansas City, Mo. I never miss a show.
It has become one of the fastest growing sports in America. More than 2 million people will see a Monster Jam this season, and, after three shows at the Tacoma Dome, attendance already is ahead of the 51,035 fans who attended the five Monster Jams last year.
Nationally, the shows produced more than $3 million in ticket sales alone last season, said Mike Ferrazza, senior director of marketing for SFX Motor Sports, the business arm of Monster Jam.
You're probably hesitant to call it a sport. Most people think a Monster Jam is WWF without the bouncing bimbos to distract you during set changes. But it's nothing like the WWF, except for a truck named "Goldberg" and the many crossover fans.
In trying to find the reason 11,890 fans from varied backgrounds were unified Friday night in screaming for a truck named "Grave Digger" to appear, I discovered a lot of things about my passion.
Really, "monster" trucks are America's big, dirty secret all revved up and ready to crush you into submission.
Only in America
This madness has been the underbelly of America's culture since the mid-1970s.
A couple named Bob and Marilyn Chandler from St. Louis had a passion for off-road driving, and when Bob Chandler kept wrecking even the toughest trucks Ford could build, he built his own from scraps. He displayed the truck, "Big Foot," at the first paid event in 1979 in Denver, and it started crushing cars at a stadium event in 1981.
About 15 other monster trucks joined in and traveled the country crushing junk cars while fans watched in amazement. But in 1987, people were bored of watching the 25,000-pound trucks flatten rubbish. And so the head-to-head racing began, which involves trucks with 66-inch-high tires whizzing around a hilly, 100-yard course.
Today, some 200 monster trucks perform in about 300 events from January through March. This is the biggest weekend for Monster Jam, with 26 shows across the country and SFX Motor Sports contracting about 170 trucks.
But the trucks don't chill come April.
"You're lucky to have an hour to sit down and enjoy Christmas dinner if you own and operate your truck," said Yakima's Jeff Bainter, who drives "Captain America." "It's a full-time job and you're constantly fixing the truck or traveling to shows."
Bainter, at 38 one of the oldest drivers, has driven for 17 years. He converted a semitrailer into a motor home and travels 40 weeks out of year to shows with his pit crew.
The drivers are like family, helping each other with repairs after shows and staying at the same mid-range hotels near the stadiums.
The shows are billed as family entertainment and the drivers sign autographs afterward; about 400 people waited for the drivers at 11 p.m. Friday. Drivers also let anyone climb on their tires for pictures, and make local appearances at car dealerships.
Yet it's a competitive business. Drivers are guaranteed $2,000 per event and usually perform at 50 events per season. They can make $8,000 for winning either the freestyle or racing portion. The points are used to vie for one of 16 slots at the Monster Jam World Finals, which are slated this year March 24 in Las Vegas; champions in both categories make about $100,000.
Sixty percent of the drivers make their passion a living. The custom-made trucks cost about $120,000 to build, and while fans roar when they pop a tire, it's about $1,800 to get a new one.
The drivers are getting younger and the alcohol-injected engines and 12,000-pound trucks are getting lighter and faster, reaching speeds of 100 mph.
"Where else can you fly high and get paid to destroy cars?" said Norm Miller, 33, a Portland-area police officer who is one of five drivers for the "Grave Digger" truck. "I remember the first time I saw it my eyes lit up and I wanted to get out there and tear stuff up, too."
Tear it up
You can feel the truck's 1,500 horsepower vibrating through your bones. You honestly think you're going to go deaf before the show is over.
But you don't move.
It's like Game 7 of the NBA Finals, the way people stop in the middle of buying a beer and rush to their seats as soon as a monster truck revs up its engine. If you miss it, you have to rely on the kid in front of you to give you the lowdown, using his hands to show you how the massive truck shot up into the air.
So the aisles stay clear, bathrooms are empty and the concourse venders take a break when the monster trucks start. Opening night Friday at the Tacoma Dome for Monster Jam was no different.
Three teenagers from Shoreline dubbed themselves the "Mullet Patrol" and created their best AC/DC-meets-Garth Brooks look to fit in at the show.
"I've been to one show before," said Paul Fraser, a 19-year-old student. "We thought it'd be fun to check out the atmosphere."
Danica Basarich, 20, and her Capitol Hill roommate Nicole Lucas, 20, were doing the same. Underneath their normal piercings and glam-punk look, they wore Def Leppard and Duran Duran T-shirts to get in the spirit.
"We're getting back to our roots," Basarich said. "We both grew up in trailer parks, so this is our white-trash moment."
Sorry, guys. Don't let the free chili, 30-foot inflatable beer bottle inside and drivers' gunslinger beards fool you; the crowd Friday night was dominated by Gen-Xers with kids. And once the engines revved, everyone's eyes lit up in unison. The crowd cheers together throughout the three-hour show.
It's especially loud during the freestyle monster-truck competition. Friday, the driver o"Monster Patrol" popped a wheelie on the mashed cars and tipped back so far that he flipped up a mangled vehicle when he finally landed.
"Captain America" equaled that by crushing the car back into the pile. The driver, Bainter, let the truck run on its own while he climbed through the window to wave at the rowdy fans.
"That's what the fans want to see," said Mike Speller, 59, competition director for the shows. He has been involved in the Monster Jam since its inception. "They go crazy; I go crazy."
Sure, fans can get a tall vanilla latte with skim milk from Starbucks. But real fans drink two-fisted with beer, while the kids are buying up T-shirts and blinking red flashers that look like "Grave Digger's" headlights.
I have a mini-monster truck on my desk, which reminds me of the shameless thrill I get when I see a truck crushing unsuspecting cars.
But I'll never own a T-shirt. They're too tacky.