jstohl81

[jstohl81]

CFF Beat Series - Part 5 (2008)

Portland’s decadent pinball gang, the Crazy Flipper Fingers (CFF) were full of fury dominating the only five machines at the Clinton Street Pub. No outsiders would stand a chance at playing ball this hazy evening. The wall within embraced a giant CFF logo that Tilt had painted years earlier. The barbaric chants would begin soon. Meanwhile members overran the end of the bar like  bikers at a Rolling Stones show.

CFF aren’t your ordinary pinballers, they have a ravenous appetite for the game, booze and pack mentality. Jay (Kickback) seems to be a bit of the ladies man, looking me square in the eyes one Monday evening at the GoodFoot open mic and saying, “I’m hella horny!” Then walking off with the girl only to call me several hours later wanting to hang out. Meanwhile, the gang mentality translates into a family of zealots boasting high scores, sleepless nights, binges and an array of expectations to be met in the future of CFF.

In the meantime Slamtilt was garnishing a can of PBR obsessing over his play, “Watch this game for me, I’ll be right back,” he said with an ice cold stare intent on me guarding the machine. He returned in minutes, eyes focused on the field of play, body arched low against the machine like the hunchback of Notre Dame and his plumber crack available for all to feast their eyes on. He’s the type of guy that remains locked in until his ball drains, no distractions, no talking, except for excessive curse words followed by exaggerated sighs. Tilt laid low chatting with fellow members, telling stories of good food he‘s cooked and recipes he swears by. Moments later he would rise to the occasion and pledge his admiration to the gang, “CFF . . . Til’ death!” ROM stood out simply by his height while he played the Family Guy with ease, precision and a keen desire to score high. Bounceback lurched over his game in a fierce determination while his brother chewed his ear off. Nonetheless, the distraction proved little demise to his game. Bounceback seems to perform with graceful hostility fully capable of carrying on a conversation while he strikes the flippers and forges ahead. Launch on the other hand couldn’t keep a ball in play longer than a minute. He would approach Road Work with optimism only to have his ball drained within seconds reducing himself to a pathetic boozer awaiting another play. Slingshot was in a drunken enraged stupor, no game could pull him out of it. Kickback looked eager to get his play in while holding a beer smirking at several ladies in the pub. “I love hash,” he said to me with glazed eyes. Before long, he was engulfed in a machine. Since each game only allows four players at once, members will gallivant around the pub toasting like sailors anxiously waiting for their turn as quarters are dropped by the handful. If they’re not flipping flingers, they’re pounding pints. 

Before too long, the atmosphere became incredibly tense and hostile so the entourage gathered their belongings and combined forces to take over the Ship Ahoy off 30th and Gladstone in SE. Away we went, two in a cab, three on bicycles, and two in the back of my pickup truck. They favored the back in fact, it seemed to be a pleasant cave to get high and conceal themselves in.

The Ship Ahoy was pleasingly less smoky and congested than the Clinton Pub, with plenty of elbow room and space to move about. We went from a tight clam to an oyster, and within lied the pearls of South East’s finest. Members made their way to ordering drinks. PBR and jello shots were ordered as I became overwhelmed with pinball fervor only having to reserve my tendencies. Meanwhile Slingshot spewed his horrific breath on me ranting about pills, how wonderful it was that his girlfriend wasn’t calling him and memories of a beating he had been involved in that called for an up-close-and-personal face to face drunken murmur.

Kickback found himself between Indiana Jones and a table flocking with ladies. “I don’t want to know their name,” he said with an intent look of seriousness coupled with a grin of satisfaction. A possible booty call awaited, however, in the end, it was just the boys in black who would be at his side amidst a basement of drill bits, pliers and an array of machine parts I couldn’t fathom.

Kickback has a way of handling machines that I have never seen. He literally kicks his feet back while he hits the flipper buttons. He doesn’t just play, he performs in an ideal sense, maneuvering like MJ, Little Richard or even Kevin Bacon in Footloose. His uncanny approach serves a purpose, it scores points and looks cool. He crouches to take a shot, taps the button with a slight touch, spins his back foot in a 180 degree motion and focuses on his next shot with an approach like a pitcher. He holds the ball on the flipper dramatically motioning to me, “Ready . . . watch this,” he says. With the flick of a finger he passes the ball to the other flipper and strikes it up the lane to a jackpot.

Fact is, Kickback was a leading pitcher back in Indiana, and his stance at the machine illustrates it perfectly. I don’t how many times he mentions his history of ball, but it’s amusing and only adds to his character. “I almost went pro,” he says with a proud tone. 

CFF boasts their skills with pride and honor around Portland. Each member got into the gang because they’re good at playing pinball, so it’s only natural they candidly brag and demean other pinball players who put up high scores on “their“ machines. I’ve heard many members trash talk handfuls of players, despite their obvious talent. It doesn’t just stop there. The gang is territorial and they flaunt their colors as gang members do. However, the issue of territory only seems to come up when a mixture of elixirs are ingested. CFF certainly aren’t concerned about offending anybody, in fact, disputes are welcomed by the gang as if they’re a target for quarrels. If drama and beef is what they desire, then it’s what they get, even if it’s completely exaggerated, overrated or mistaken. (See Sidebar for the Cashbox story)

The clock read 2 am, but CFF were nowhere near retired for the night. The banter would move to Kickback’s basement where machines, endless bottles of beer and cocaine await us. Kickback’s house is simply a pinball sanctuary, only without the serene qualities. The place smelled of cat piss and was littered with little tidbits. The basement seemed to be the honorary Clubhouse, attired with seven pinball machines, however only three were fully functional.

I felt like I was walking on holy ground, and before such prestigious claims held true, Slamtilt quickly demanded attention focused on cutting the coke into five equal shares among the fellow members. One by one, members trickled over and nonchalantly snorted the powder. Bounceback seemed to approach the lines with caution stating how “I only need like half of that line.” As he bent down, he casually noted how he doesn’t like the taste of coke, but regardless, he snorted the rail with ease and went back to his game while sniffing and furiously engaging in the play.

Kickback manned the turntable with utter delicacy and delight. “I want you to listen to the best voice ever,” he said while preparing his pipe with weed. He whispered along to the track while closing his eyes, I could see there was no escape. From the other room were loud shouts and banter typical of a CFF game. Slamtilt was fixated on where player two was. Patience was not his forte, only a devotion to The War of Gods pinball machine. Members were scattered about the basement displaying curious mannerisms that seemed to illustrate how inebriated they were. Every now and then, Tilt would bring Slingshot into his clutches and mumble into his ear. ROM was sucked into an old 50s classic trying to beat Slamtilt’s score. There was no breaking his concentration during play. Fortunately Kickback had me in his grips of a karaoke induced coma. This was it, I was in the heart of CFF, the blood flowing smooth as liquor while pulses beat sporadically like a game of multiball.

[jstohl81]

CFF Beat Series - Part 4: Sidebar Cashbox Story (2008)

According to Wray, CFF are currently “at war with Cashbox.” Apparently, Wray disputes that the owner of Portland’s pinball maintenance company, Cashbox, stated that if he ever sees CFF scores on any of his machines he will erase them. This bizarre declaration has only caused CFF confusion, a sense of clout and retaliation in a savage manner of triumphant pleasure.

Wray announced how he called Cashbox’s owner up one day and told him that he had just put up two scores on their machine, and that he may want to come on down and erase them now. This frivolous mockery has turned into an all out quarrel. In fact, CFF have decided to boycott any Cashbox machine hoping to decrease Cashbox’s monetary gain, proving how a gang of 19 members are prepared to hold grudges for any length possible.

I recently got in touch with one Cashbox operator, Jeff, to speak with him about the supposed “war with Cashbox” conflict. Immediately he had absolutely no idea what sort of war there was with CFF. I explained how a CFF member told me a dramatic story of how Cashbox is against them and have been erasing scores that get put up on their machines. Jeff sounded completely perplexed over the entire ordeal and started to get a hostile tone over the phone. “We don’t deliberately erase scores,” he persisted on the other end of the line.

He began inquiring on the gossip and beef CFF had with Cashbox. I simply mentioned how I was just a descent journalist trying to get the facts straight, just covering the checks and balances while I hear his side of the story. Jeff wanted me to tell CFF that if they have a problem with Cashbox to simply call them up and explain their circumstances. That seemed to solidify the drama I had previously been accosted with.

Nonetheless, such drama is part of CFF, beef is a vital aspect that keeps the gang on its toes with eagerness and competitive spirits. This coming fall will mark the fifth anniversary of the gang which means they aren’t diminishing by any means while slinging quarters daily, keeping tabs on games, and repping CFF til’ death. If it’s influence they’re after, their swagger shows tall tales of such illustrious prowess.

[jstohl81]

CFF Beat Series - Part 3 (2008)

With a firm primitive handshake, we introduced one another and immediately flocked to the pinball game, Monster Bash. John Wray, also known as Tilt is one of the Founding Fathers of the Crazy Flipper Fingers pinball gang in Portland. “So, what do you want to know?” asked John while he placed four quarters in the machine and began his game. Wray plays like a henchman casually focused on his game while ranting about pinball.

He has a dense frayed beard, thick rimmed glasses, a shaved head and an array of tattoos among his arms. As he talks, his raspy voice increases in tone while he lets out roars of laughter At 36 years old, Wray has been tilting pinball games since an early age starting out in Fort Wayne, Indiana. He is outspoken and seems to find thrills in telling stories. Before I could start note taking, John was spewing stories out like a coin machine does quarters.

He explains the essence of pinball, the satisfaction that occurs and why CFF is the best. He delves into tournaments he has competed in, saying that he won so many, “One time I paid my rent off.” His eagerness shows on his face as he plunges the silver ball down the board.

There are no other games at the Vern, just six pinball machines. He lashes out in hostility about video games for a second, how they tend to replace pinball games due to their financial success and then shows his allegiance to pinball by proudly announcing how he strictly adheres to pinball only with a tone of gusto. “Fuck video games, I only play pinball!” Wray says. He has a huge bitterness toward video games, specifically the golf and hunting games featured in numerous bars around Portland.

A week ago, the CFF had their bi-weekly meeting at the Goodfoot where I would find myself amidst a sea of black tees with CFF logos, wild chants, and an all out pinball competition among members. On the tables were a variety of beer bottles, glasses and a massive mountain of quarters. John told me that members and prospects are required to bring 10 dollars worth of quarters to the meeting, adding up to an overwhelming amount of $200-plus from the entire gang. The sight was epic and seemed to be guarded by one female member, Slammer, who mocked me as I grabbed a few coins. “What do you think you‘re doing?” she asked. “They told me it was cool,” I said.

John made sure I was introduced to each member, and slowly but surely, I met an assortment of pinball zealots with cheers galore. By the end of the night, the mountain of coins had been reduced to a pathetic amount of pocket change. Every 30 minutes or so, John would abruptly erupt in a loud banter yelling, “CFF . . .” then the entire gang would join in unity and ferociously call back, “Til’ death.” 

It was like being at a ball game where chants are thrown around endlessly. Members certainly hold Wray in high regard and admiration, in fact they look to him for advice on CFF issues and future undertakings. However, he doesn’t claim to be a leader of any sort. “I’m not the president or the leader of CFF, just another member,” he says with sincerity.

Members brought me into the gaming frenzy with heavy arms and comraderie. John was gazing about his gang with a grin and a glass of beer in his hand. “You’ve never seen me drunk have you?” John said with a smirk and hint of satisfaction. He looked content among his crew and gallivanted around to each member to tell stories or to lend enthusiasm.

One significant component of a CFF meeting is that their location have at least four pinball games. John told me how some bar owners would ask him what it takes for CFF to host a meeting at their spot. He simply replied, four machines will do. The Ship Ahoy did just that, and within a few weeks, they got four machines, and CFF started meeting there on a regular basis. Wray has clout in Portland. When CFF holds a meeting, they provide a lucrative business for the bar and pinball owners, while the gang unleashes a flurry of pinball passion. Any bar that doesn’t have four games, and the CFF won’t have their meeting their.

...A charismatic pinball aficionado.. 

Not only does he cook for the Vern, he bartends at Billy Rays over the weekend where he is the commander-in-chief amidst punks, metal heads, and locals. John is quite the avid fan of metal, thrash, and buttrock. He has the bar television tuned to the exclusive show, Metal Mania that only plays 70s and 80s metal, from Kiss and Slaughter, to Judas Priest and Dokken. Customers are smoking like a chimney, some are shooting dice, while others pound pints of PBR, all the while Wray keeps cool joking around and singing along. That it until a customer orders food.

“Motherfuckers and your fucking food,” he yells at a customer. Wray portrays a deep animosity toward having to fix food. It’s as if a pinball game goes dead during mid-play. He turns in spite and begins fixing a platter of nachos while mumbling obscenities and turning to me with a wild look of earnestness in his eyes.

While Wray prepares order after order of hotdogs and nachos, I go upstairs to play a round of pinball. Turns out, the machine Monster Mash shuts down during ball one without even allowing me to sigh. I go downstairs to alert John of the concern, and on the drop of a dime he grabs the phone at midnight, dials a pinball machine operator, and leaves a message explaining what happened on a machine. Wray seems content about the phone call and explains how him and CFF call operators all the time to report down machines. He expects it will get looked at in the next day or so.

Within a few minutes, the toaster oven begins to ringing and John hurries over to handle the hot buffet of melted cheese, jalapenos and a mound of chips with other necessary condiments. All the while his patience is growing thin due to some depressing emo band that has been blaring from the jukebox for the past hour, putting a major damper on the mood of John. It felt like the dead of winter with suicide rants on the forefront of the bar. He leans in close to me and says with a smile, “What’s the difference between an emo kid and a pizza? A pizza won’t cut itself.”

Wray is a joker, a keen story teller who can deliver jokes by the minute if necessary, or carry on fascinating stories that involve all sorts of absurd themes. He begins one dramatic story with enthusiasm that took place in his hometown, entitled “the night I was fucked.” Wray bluntly explains how he had just gotten pulled over late one evening.

“I had in my possession, a fuckin’ half-ounce of pot I had just got. I was shitface drunk. I had a 10-strip of LSD in the fuckin’ daily planner thing, in my book bag with every, every sketch book that I had with all graffiti shit. With every illegal piece I ever painted was documented in there somewhere. I had between 30 and 40 cans of spray paint in my fuckin’ van. My sketchbook had Fort Wayne Police stickers on them. I worked at a screen printing place that printed those stickers . . . I’m fucked, I’m like oh my God! I had a pipe, I had fuckin’ papers on me in my jacket, oh and I had another 10-strip in tinfoil in the pocket of my jacket, I’m fucked! Oh my god I’m fucked, I’m fucked, I’m so fucked . . . (the cop) finds the half-ounce of brick weed in my pocket, hauls over his partner . . . And then he finds the pipe. He dumps it out of the bag and is like, ‘grind that up real good’, smashes the pipe . . . He’s like, ‘you know why we pulled you over?’ no idea, ‘shots were fired in the area and you like a suspicious vehicle.’”

The tale continues even further escalating with Wray in the back of a cop car weaseling the tinfoil 10-strip from his pocket to stash it in his shoe while the cops searched his suspicious van. He was certain he was going to jail when the cops started reading Wray his rights. Turns out they had wrongly identified Wray as a faux pizza delivery robber so the K-9 unit was called out. The K-9 unit cop happened to know Wray, vouched for him as a real pizza delivery man and they let Wray go just like that. 

He told another story about how his pinball craze developed at Bakers donut shop in Fort Wayne Indiana. It was here that John and his friends would buy 45 cent coffee with free refills and stock up on prized donuts while slinging quarters and pushing flippers. “They knew how to make my favorite donut,” said Wray with admiration.

Wray is more than the co-founder of CFF, he’s an avid pinball player who admires his members like they’re family and appreciates the time they spend together. He joins them in solidarity throwing chants out into the air like an umpire. “CFF . . . Til’ death!” Lined against the wall are a sea of CFF members shaking machines, sharing laughs and drinking beer. Each machine is flanked with black-clad pinball zealots bearing the CFF logo designed by Wray. He steps back up to No Fear with a grizzly bear stance while a cigarette smoke trickles up his face. This is his love, pinball, CFF and camaraderie.

[jstohl81]

CFF Beat Series - Part 2 (2008)

Crazy Flipper Fingers were called out on their own turf by the rival pinball gang, Balls Of Steel (BOS) within months of developing. It happened at The Goodfoot where CFF had their very first meeting. “They left a note written on special letterhead to CFF calling us pussies,” Wray says. “I was fuckin’ pissed off man!”

BOS left their contact information confirming precisely how serious they were. It was an act that set the precedent for CFF to follow. A rumble had been officially declared among two pinball gangs in Portland. Wray and other members were infuriated with spite. CFF members incessantly called BOS’s leader Clint, leaving drunken, antagonistic rants on his voicemail dripping with hostility. As with any decent rumble, there was a mighty rise of tension that existed between the gangs.

Years prior to this engagement however was a small pinball crew in Portland known as Team Rocket (RKT) who were coming to an end. Despite the close friendships and passion for pinball, the camaraderie and unity was lacking. However, a new gang was emerging and three members from RKT, John Wray, Russ Wallis (Bonus, never remembers it-superjets didn‘t like name) and Dieter Hundt (Skillshot) were determined to keep their pinball habits going strong. The “founding fathers” as members know them as, conceptualized Crazy Flipper Fingers while at the Pittsburgh Pinball Nationals in 2003. They formed the gang in a friend’s basement of Bloomfield’s Little Italy neighborhood. In October of 2003 the trio launched CFF and from there, the gang pioneered the path for pinball fanatics. 

BOS had been the major rivals of the time, but CFF showed no mercy when it came down to a good old fashioned pinball rumble. Sights were high, booze was consumed, and flippers hit hard. During the rumble they were “not a friendly rival....it almost led to blows,” says Wray with a gaze of candor noting how he had to warn BOS several times that some CFF members couldn’t be physically held back if it came to a brawl.

There was unnerving trash-talking between the gangs and basic primitive rants between the two. Nonetheless, CFF beat BOS, and after the devastating loss, BOS disappeared and haven’t put a score up since. The event marked a well-deserved victory for CFF placing them at the top of the local pinball scene, while foreshadowing the endless rivalries that Portland would continue to offer.

Aside from grudges and heinous rivalries, CFF stay true to their pinball pledge of putting the initials up on as many games as possible, despite the countless “pinjuries” that occur among members, as Wray so humorously says. Tendon pain, wrist pain and the infamous calices that build up as a result of such barbaric flipper finger habits are a few of the detrimental consequences CFF members face.

John had to wear a brace for a while due to wrist pain, and another member, Jay aka Kickback even played with a “nub” for a hand after he contracted blood poisoning from punching a “butt rocker” in the mouth after the guy head butted Jay’s friend. He had to have his hand wrapped in garb. Members assisted Jay in a double-flipper feat where he controlled one flipper, while another member controlled the other.

As far as initiation is concerned, anyone interested in joining CFF must be sponsored by a gang member. John flipped open his phone and showed my five names, all beginning with the word “Prospect”. They have to attend five meetings in a row held every other Sunday at a location that has four or more pinball machines. Other than buying beers for members, the newbie goes through a hazing process involving a couple secrets John conceals behind a wide grin while stroking his frayed ZZ-Top beard.

I talked with the youngest member Josh who goes by the name of Slingshot. At 23, he’s been playing pinball ferociously for three years and was inducted into CFF just three months ago marking him as the third newest member. When asked why he wanted to join, Josh noted how at his work he use to watch them, “throw up insane scores and that got me thinking that there’s actually more substance to it than most people think, it’s a whole other subculture.” Josh’s sincere appetite for the lifestyle has led him to play pinball on an average of two to three hours a day, not to mention he owns the 80s classic Taxi pinball game conveniently located in his kitchen.

CFF isn’t shy about their role in Portland pinball or the country for that matter. They’re in the process of obtaining their non-profit status and inquiring about sponsorship. Rumbles, camaraderie and dedication are a way of life for the gang, and it seems Rose City is the ideal habitat due to its stigma of being the “Pinball Mecca” for such an illustrious crew embarking on pinball domination. Stay tuned for more . . .

[jstohl81]

CFF Beat Series - Part 1 (2008)

Some gangs deal drugs and guns, others loot and steal, and some pull drive-bys in low riders. In Portland, the CFF gang plays pinball. Crazy Flipper Fingers is their name, and instead of packing gats, they pack quarters. They don’t flash gang signs, yet the CFF members do flaunt their colors by wearing an emblem of a skull with two flippers and a pinball on vests, jackets, or shirts making sure they’re visible to possible opponents.

The recognized trio of letters is strikingly evident on many pinball games throughout the city representing exceptionally high scores. At the mighty arcade known as Ground Kontrol, practically every pinball machine has the CFF initials posted on its digital display. Star Trek - CFF - five billion plus. Road Work - CFF - 8 billion plus. The list endlessly continues as if the gang showed up like the Hells Angels in Hollister, California and slaughtered every pinball game with merciless flipper control and heavy endurance.

CFF is more than just a local pinball gang claiming numerous victories in various competitions, they have been involved in the annual pinball tournament at Shorty’s in Seattle and even the national pinball championships in Pittsburgh held every year drawing upon pinball zealots from around the world. Their initials can be found from coast to coast no thanks to one member, Bounceback, who happens to roadie for Modest Mouse and enabling him to put scores up across the states. 

Portland is actually known across the country for its pinball decadence that inhabits the city in a cloak of flippers, fingers and initials. “The city is a Mecca for pinball,“ said John Wray, one of the pioneers of CFF who goes by “Tilt“. One time at the Pittsburgh tournament, a competitor exclaimed in nervousness how CFF member, Danny aka Backglass, hailed from the pinball Mecca. It continues to frequently draw on outsiders while initiating friendly frenzies between fellow CFF members whose demeanor reflects wild hyenas on a kill with vigorous shouts.

Whether it be dives, pubs, or sports bars, pinball is alive and well thriving in the Rose City while the CFF increases its membership to almost 20 locals, driving home the impression that they are a notorious pinball gang to be reckoned with. “Once your in, your in. CFF til’ death!” declares John.