The Best $20 I Spent This Year Was at Monster Jam’s Pit Party in Oakland

The first time I tried buying Monster Jam tickets in August, my credit card company shot me down. “Do you recognize this purchase?” an email read. Potential fraudulent activity; suspicious behavior. Fair enough — it was a decidedly uncharacteristic move, on my part, given the circumstances of our political reality. It had thus far been a shit year for those of us long weary of American brawn’s omnipresent symbols: trucks, guns, flags, and the thugs getting paid to wield all three. What I wanted these days, more than anything, was one good night of sleep. Instead, I’d signed up for V8 “Reveille.” 

Though Floridian, I do not come from the monster truck region of the state. The town of Palmetto, which idles along a strip of the Manatee River before reaching the Gulf, is home to Monster Jam’s headquarters. I have been there in the way people from Florida have always been there if you ask them about anywhere in Florida (and also never by equal measure). I have been through with the hubris of a Miamian. Until now, I’ve never asked more of the place.