Boogie Man dances for joy at Rupp Arena

By Mark Story / Herald-Leader Sports Columnist

'Boogie Man' dances for joy

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Video: Darren "Boogie Man" Moscoe

FRANKFORT — Jodie Meeks and Patrick Patterson are not the only ones who have sent energy coursing through Rupp Arena this basketball season.

Rupp has developed its own Boogie Man.

He appears in Section 19 during the first or second TV timeout of the second half. He is summoned to action by the introduction to the old Tommy James hit, Mony Mony.

When he hears that, Darren Moscoe, 43, becomes a hip-gyrating, elbow-flailing, dancing dervish.

"I just love it; I love to dance," Moscoe says.

Now, any appearance that the Boogie Man makes on the arena's giant video screens is greeted by a Rupp roar.

That's a fairly amazing phenomenon in an arena where the crowds have long been known for being buttoned-down.

"That guy is the single most effective crowd-interactive device we have," says Dave Stawicki, technical director of Rupp Arena's video screens. "And none of us even know who he is."

Few people who get a smile from watching the Boogie Man dance in Rupp know how difficult a path he has traveled to get there.

Of everyone who has ever performed in any capacity in Rupp Arena, perhaps no one has overcome more obstacles than Darren Moscoe.

Seizures, brain tumor

When he was attending school in Frankfort, some of Moscoe's classmates had nicknames for him.

Some called him "Fits." Others went with "retard."

The youngest of Jean and Kenny Moscoe's five kids, Darren was about 10 when the seizures began.

His older brother, Raymond, first noticed it when the brothers were playing dodge ball.

"Any other time, Darren always tried to catch the ball," Raymond says. "But this time, it was like he was in some kind of daze. I went to my mom and told her, 'Darren must be having some kind of hot flash.' But at first, we just sort of overlooked it."

In youth baseball, Darren was a pitcher.

One day, while playing in a Frankfort youth league, Darren, for no apparent reason, stopped throwing the ball overhand and would only toss it underhand.

"For me, that was when I first really realized something pretty serious was wrong," Raymond Moscoe says.

Eventually, the doctors said Darren had the neurological disease known as epilepsy.

They put him on medicine designed to prevent the seizures (which generally are caused by a sudden surge of electrical activity in the brain).

Yet Darren's seizures intensified. At times, he would be in a trance-like condition in which he was subject to wandering off without warning.

Other times, the seizures could leave him flat on his back, with his body jerking uncontrollably.

"We'd have to hold his tongue so he wouldn't swallow it," Raymond Moscoe says.

It was those seizures that led his classmates to call Darren "Fits."

"People can be so cruel," Jean Moscoe says.

Darren hated the teasing. He hated being different. Especially, he hated not being able to control his body.

He got angry.

In medical circles, tying fits of anger to epileptic seizures has long been controversial. Advocates for those with epilepsy fret that such linkage stigmatizes those who have the disease.

Still, whether it was caused by medical reasons; whether it was a reaction to the taunting he took; or whether it was just rage at drawing such an unfair lot in life, Darren went through a very angry phase.

He got tossed out of public school.

After his parents divorced, Jean, a petite woman, was unable to control Darren, so he could no longer stay at home.

At least twice, Darren's rages ended with the police being called.

Ultimately, he spent time in a state psychiatric hospital and, later, in a special home dedicated to caring for those who could not care for themselves.

His brother, Raymond, kept coming to his rescue.

Once, Darren had a seizure and fell off a second-floor balcony at a facility. Another time, Raymond went to visit him in a hospital, "and they had him restrained and so sedated, he barely knew who I was."

After each instance, Raymond, a former college baseball player at what is now Bellarmine University, took his brother out of care and brought him to live with him.