“Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” - Proverbs 16:18

A few years back, on a summer road trip to the small hometown my wife and I grew up in, we took our kids to the old roller-skating rink.

This wasn’t just any rink - it was THE rink.

The place where, thirty years ago, my wife and I had spent our teenage summer nights skating under a disco ball, drowning in 80s music, and, ultimately, well, as corny as it might sound - falling in love.

When we saw it was still open, we couldn’t believe it.

Nostalgia hit us like a freight train.

We thought it would be fun to show our kids where it all started - where their very existence was, in a way, first set in motion.

More importantly, we wanted to show them what it was REALLY like to be cool.

Because, obviously, 80s music, arcade games like Pac-Man, Space Invaders, and Frogger, and, well, Roller Skating was the pinnacle of everything rad, tubular, and totally awesome.

When we walked through those doors, it was as if we had stepped into a time machine.

Everything was the same - the sticky carpet, the flickering lights, the faint smell of stale popcorn and teenage sweat.

Even the music.

As "Goodbye Stranger" by Supertramp fired up through the speakers, I was hit with a sudden wave of confidence.

Maybe, just maybe, I still had it.

Now, keep in mind, it had been three decades since I last skated.

And even back then, I was less of a roller-skating virtuoso and more of a survivalist - sticking to the basics, never attempting anything that might involve lifting both feet off the ground at the same time.

My wife, on the other hand, had been graceful.

Elegant.

The kind of girl who seemed as though whe was born with wheels instead of feet, and who could skate backwards effortlessly while solving Rubik's Cubes and politely fending off desperate boys begging for a couples skate to Madonna's Crazy For You.

But that was then.

This was now.

And I was about to prove to my kids that their dad was still a force to be reckoned with.

With all the confidence of a man who has no idea what’s about to happen to him, I strapped on my rental skates, ignored the sensible approach of easing in along the wall, and instead, launched myself onto the rink floor with the kind of reckless abandon usually reserved for action movie heroes.

And, miraculously, I was fine.

At first.

Sure, I was a little wobbly, but I was moving.

I was skating.

And my kids were watching.

Was that… admiration in their eyes?

Had I just catapulted myself into "cool dad" territory?

Somewhere off in the distance I thought I heard my wife call out, warning me to be careful.

But I waved her off.

What did she know?

And what's the worst that could happen?

I had this.

I was flying, baby.

Then suddenly, my son, Zach, glided up beside me on the left and gave me 'the look'.

Then he zoomed up ahead, casually looked over his shoulder and continued to give me 'the look'.

He didn’t say anything, but I knew.

I KNEW that 'look'.

It was a challenge.

Dad vs. Son.

A battle for family dominance.

So I took off after him, and as we hit the far end of the rink, not only did I somehow make the turn, I actually flew right PAST him.

Sure I was a little shaky, but I felt like I was still in control.

And I was now AHEAD of him.

It was amazing.

It felt incredible.

I was winning.

And then, something called 'physics' happened.

I don’t know exactly what went wrong.

One moment, I was gliding effortlessly.

The next, I was airborne.

Now, have you ever seen an Olympic skater execute one of those flawless, mid-air split jumps - you know - where they gracefully fly up into the air, do the splits, and then top it off by daintily touching their toes?

Well just imagine the opposite of that.

My legs flailed out in every which direction, a spectacular display of unintended acrobatics.

I hovered there in mid air for what felt like an eternity.

Supertramp echoed in my ears.

My kids’ faces were frozen in expressions I had originally mistaken for admiration, but now, in retrospect, I realize they were looks of horrified embarrassment.

And my wife?

Her face was panic-stricken.

Or maybe it was the look of a woman silently tallying up how much my life insurance payout would be.

And then - impact.

I hit the floor with such force, I swear the entire rink momentarily lit up.

A sound, not unlike a gunshot, reverberated through the building.

Then, silence.

Darkness.

And pain.

So much pain.

As I lay there, sprawled out like a crime scene victim, my son - who had been right behind me - had no time to react.

I felt his roller skates slam into my guts as he crashed straight into me, then went airborne across the rink before colliding with the far wall.

Then I hear a record player scratch and the music stopped.

All of the house lights came on.

People rushed over.

Through the fog I saw my wife's face suddenly appear above me as she bent over.

"Are you okay?"

But before I could answer, my daughter’s voice cut through the crowd.

"Mom, something’s wrong with Zach’s arm. I think it’s broken."

Suddenly, the attention shifted.

My son was now the main event, and rightfully so - his arm was bent at an extremely odd angle that was comletely impossible.

It looked like something you might see after eating too may tabs of LSD (not that I've ever done that before - heh heh... ) - or something you would see in a surrealist painting by Salvadore Dali.

The poor kid had broken his hand completely off of his wrist.

And it was all thanks to me...

Then came the slow, humiliating escort off the rink floor.

Two teenage employees and a dad who clearly did CrossFit hoisted my son and I up like we were wounded soldiers being carried off the battlefield.

All the rink patrons lined up on either side of us, forming a gauntlet and watching in solemn silence as we passed by.

Some of them looked as if they were genuinely concerned - but most of them looked as if they were desperately trying to hold back their laughter.

I made eye contact with the janitor standing near the back of the crowd with his mop and bucket, who nodded at me, as if to say, "We both knew this was coming, didn't we buddy"?

After dragging us past the arcade room they made their way over to the dining area and plopped us down on the benches of a table.

I was sprawled out on one side of the table, my son on the other.

At the table right next to us was a Mexican family all dressed up in black suits and fancy dresses throwing a birthday party.

The birthday girl, dressed in her pink princess dress and silver tierra, blinked at me as if she were trying to understand why an unconscious giant had just been deposited next to her and her cake.

Was I supposed to be the pinata? Or one of her birthday gifts?

Then the EMTs arrived.

After they assessed my son, they proceeded to lift him up onto a gurney and whisked him away to the waiting ambulance.

The crowd watched solemnly as he was rolled out through the doors, my wife and daughters following behind.

Then some of the folks in the crowd glanced over at me with looks of disgust and disdain for being such a terrible father.

And then I was alone.

Just me, my shattered dignity, a ripped something or other thing-a-ma-jiggy in my groin area...

...and a six-year-old little Mexican boy standing there staring at me from the birthday party at the next table over, who I assumed was the birthday girl's little brother.

He just stood there - looking at me - wearing his pointed birthday party hat.

Then he decided that what I truly needed was some nourishment.

Before I could protest, he extended a sticky fistful of chocolate cake and began trying to stuff it into my mouth.

Some of the cake made it inside my mouth, but most of it wound up smeared across my mouth, nose, and face as he continued to try and stuff it in there - trying to feed me as though I were some sort of wounded, helpless animal.

Which, I guess, I was.

And that, my friend, is humiliation in its purest form.

Now here is the part of the story where I am supposed to try and make a clever, seamless segway into what any of this has to do with trading....

Well - actually there is alot.

Because diving into trading without a proven plan is pretty much like what I wound up doing on that skating rink.

You think 'Hey that looks easy - I could do that'.

So you just jump right in - not knowing what you don't know.

Maybe you even have some beginners luck and do a few circles around skating rink (or do a few trades that actually go your way).

You think 'see this is easy!'

Confidence swells.

You tell yourself, "I’ve got this. In fact, I am an unstoppable force. I'm going to be an effen trading millionaire!'

But then, all of a sudden, before you know it, you’re airborne, panicking, helpless, and heading for a painful reality check.

I don't know where you are in your trading journey.

Maybe you’re just getting started, and you've just finished lacing up your skates and you are just getting ready to dip your toe into the market.

Or maybe you've already laced up your skates and your making your way past the arcade room towards the roller rink floor feeling a bit hesitant with a slight wobble beneath your feet.

Or maybe you’re already out there on the floor clinging to the walls, scared to let go, having no plan and no clue how to do this and worried that one misstep will have you flat on your back.

Or maybe you’re already out there, pretending to be a pro and acting way too confident, pushing way too hard, trading without any rhyme or reason, with really no idea what to do, with way too big of a position, without any 'know-how', or what to do if things go wrong, without any training, without any experience, without any plan, without any system, without any guidance, without a clue, and without a WINGMAN - someone who is in your corner and who has been there and done that taking you by the hand and showing you step by step exactly 'how to do it' -

Instead you are finding yourself out there on the floor, clumsily flying around putting yourself (and your trading account and even your family's finances) in extreme danger, only to finally realize that you might be in over your head and are most likely destined with a disastrous ending where you have nothing left except a whole lot of pain, a bunch of embarrassment, a whole lot of regret, and a metaphorical fistful (or face full) of squashed up cake being smashed and smeared all over your face.

Much like skating, successful trading is best approached with some very basic common sense - some pre-thought, some pre-planning, some study, some training, some guidance, some practice and some support.

You need a WINGMAN

You need an approach that has a battle tested plan and a system and wingman support that allows you to build skill and strategy and provide the kind of structure that can help you get started safely, build momentum, and eventually skate with true confidence allowing you to go out there on the floor and do amazing things without risking catastrophic wipeouts.

So if you're interested in a solution like this for your own trading - in partnering up with a great group of active traders and a trading 'Wingman' (me) who will take you by the hand and get you up and skating effortlessly out there on the floor - just email me at Dan@BoomerTrade.com with the words: 'WINGMAN' in the subject line or body of the email - and I will get back to you.

I'd love to talk to you.

And if it turns out we're a good fit together, I'd love to be YOUR Wingman.

Just email me at Dan@BoomerTrade.com with the words 'WINGMAN' in the subject line or body of the email - and I will get back to you - and let's see if we're a good fit.

Talk to you soon,

Dan (Boomer Dan, that is)
661-202-0979

P.S. For years I read all the option trading books, took all the option trading classes, watched all the option trading videos, but still just spun my wheels and never really got anywhere.

It wasn't until I finally found someone who had already been down the road before me, made the mistakes, and figured this whole options trading thing out - and then let me work with him, working together 1 on1, doing calls, showing me what was working and what wasn't working - and basically agreeing to 'partner up' with me in a way and be my 'Wingman' - that is what finally moved the needle for me and finally got things really moving and off the ground.

If you're interested in a solution like this for your own trading - in partnering up with a great group of active traders and a trading 'wingman' (me) who will take you by the hand and get you up and skating effortlessly out there on the floor - just email me at Dan@BoomerTrade.com with the words 'WINGMAN' in the subject line or body of the email - and I will get back to you.