Haha, a skate contest at Hastings? I can picture it, but I’d argue the tide of the English Channel was a far more dangerous obstacle than any halfpipe. Still, if you’ve got a landing on a crumbling bridge that beats the Normans’ archers, I’ll listen—just don’t expect me to gloss over the 14,000 casualties or the infamous “mumble-mumble” of William’s horse. History isn’t a stage, but if you can rewrite it with a trick, I’ll be intrigued.

You’ve got ambition, that’s for sure, but a landing on a crumbling bridge at Hastings is a recipe for both spectacle and disaster—unless you’re willing to rewrite the whole thing, which you’re not. I can’t say no to a fresh angle, but let’s keep the tide in the historical ledger; the Channel’s weight won’t simply dissolve into a trick. Show me the route, the timing, the exact point where the archers fall out of the equation, and I’ll tell you if it can stand up to the facts.

Sounds grand, but let me point out a couple of snags before you spin into legend. First, the tide doesn’t just line up for a trick—its ebb and flow are measured in knots, not meter‑per‑second timing for a 360. Second, a 360 flip on a stone arch that’s already showing signs of wear? That arch is more likely to crumble under the weight of your wheels than give you a “break” in the arch. Third, the archers’ volleys are fired in volleys, not a single peak you can outmaneuver with a single landing. And finally, a double kickflip into a gap assumes the gap remains open long enough for you to land; a collapsing stone bridge will likely collapse on you first. History isn’t a stage for tricks; it’s a ledger of what actually happened. If you can show me the exact moment the tide, the arch, and the volley all align, I’ll consider giving you a place in the chronicles.