Click HERE to see some video footage of the melee.
Our executive editor assigned me to cover the party. Well, not exactly. If all the party-goers were dribbling basketballs or if L.T. was in the crowd, then it would fall under the "sports" realm.Basically, my job was to protect the news writer assigned to the story: a very sweet girl by the name of Constance, who has a thick Southern accent and took me up on my ice-cold beer offer at 8 a.m.
She was a bull dog and worked the crowds. I just tried to keep up and not be seen by high school girls I normally cover on the sports field who were now shaking their butts to the very loud music.Per her story in The Daily News: "By 9 a.m. the day was wide open. Bodies were packed along Veterans Drive from the storefronts to the sea. A helicopter hovered over the harbor, lending a post-apocalyptic feel to the party and giving the revelers a welcome breeze when it dipped close to the crowd. People danced on speakers, rooftops, stone walls, the beds of pickup trucks. The crowd was a tight, sweaty, lingerie-clad ball, gyrating toward Carnival Village."
By the way, and some people will not like to hear this, but the local music here is horrible.Don't get me wrong, I am a sucker for the steel drums but the bands that played J'ouvert -- and I was told they play every year -- should not be asked back. Or maybe after some music lessons.
I remember when my mother got me a kiddie karaoke machine when I was five and I would just holler and scream into the microphone because it was the thing to do and there was no reason, no rhyme. Well, that's what these bands sounded like.
But the girls still went crazy and the booze flowed like water.
Yes, that's a media credential dangling from my neck, a beer in my hand and pretty lady's dairy air in front of me. I'm work hard for the money.
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