“You godda pay your dues, brah!” insists the slightly crazy looking guy in the skatepark with the weird South Californian accent (made even stranger by the fact he’s born and bred in Runcorn).
Nobody knows this more than Dave Mull. He drops off this rusty, sketchy looking ten foot basketball hoop time and time again, the flesh of his face crashing into the concrete beneath him.
But, like the warrior he is, eventually he lands it. Presumably, one day, the swelling on his face will go down