Welcome to the generation where our success is depicted by the size of our rims and how expensive our time piece is. Where dedication and heart is only something we hear a guy named “The Goat” talk about. We only practice when the skies are clear and the tracks have been moderately watered. We don't chase riders around a track, we chase girls around a mall. If typing on MySpace doesn't build forearm strength, we get arm pump surgery. If expectations haven't been met, we point the finger. If things don't go our way, we simply respond with "I’m over it".
1/2/2007 11:57am
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