Tuesday, June 29, 2010

ECDX = the best way to recharge your derby batteries


Pelvis here!

The East Coast Derby Extravaganza (ECDX), formerly known as ECE, was a blast. Before I go into the details of this super-fine weekend, I want to answer a question that I have fielded from numerous people. "Why did they change the name?" I believe the change was necessitated because when said aloud, it confused fans hoping to see the resurrection of one of gangsta rap's illustrious pioneers:


Straight outta Feasterville.

The trip to Pennsylvania sucked. Each mile on the Jersey turnpike was increasingly frustrating until the only words I could utter to an equally impatient Dreadnought were curse words and oaths of blood vengeance against the miserable suckers that caused an accident that delayed us by TWO HOURS. The two of us made it to the Red Roof Inn in time to check in and then race to the Sports Center to see the first two games of the weekend. 

The sportsplex was fantastic. Though it's only three roller hockey rinks in one building, there is ample room for the massive crowd of skaters, officials, announcers, and fans of derby with room to spare. Something was amiss that I could not identify until I realized that this was the first roller hockey rink I had been to in six months that did not reek of bodily waste. I applaud Philly for that. 

I also give them an insane amount of credit for a setup that allowed for video, announcer tables by the track, and other magical facets. If I could join forces with them for a year, we'd create a bout production team so perfect that we would ascend to heaven at the end of the season.

Pictured here: A rare, clothed Al Mighty
 
We ended the night going back to the hotel, where the Garden State ladies were drinking and roughhousing on the motel's lawn like modern-day Bacchante. Assuring them their revelry would be no disruption to our rest, Dread and I retired. Garden State did not. They partied through the night, kindly waking me up with their shrieks of horror at the dawn's first rays hit the horizon.

An artist's depiction of my wakeup call, courtesy of Garden State.

Calling games was a blast. New England Roller Derby was in full effect. Though each of the teams fought mightily, many of them lost when paired up against teams of fantastic might. Not one of them should be ashamed, because many of these losses were slight. With all the bouts, both challenge and tournament alike, it was hard to keep everything in perspective. Thankfully, there was a pool to take the edge off.

Being able to swim with Dread, the ladies of Boston, Johnny Deep, the Prince of Pain, and Monsieur Chum Chum de Week was a gas. Being among hundreds of derby women and men made it even better. Poolside was a catalog of skin art and sexy butts. It's rare I comment like that, as I like to keep it classy. I may be married, but I'm not dead or blind. High Fives for all that sexiness.

After swimming, I got to call yet more games, hang out with people from around the nation, and roast the Reverend Al Mighty who had long abandoned the concept of clothing for roller derby greatness. 

Seriously, google him. Check him out. I'll wait. See him? That is the dude we were roasting. A dear friend and wonderful snuggler, but it was pretty easy to eff with him. Though his rebuttal was impeccable.


The weekend roared through Sunday and into the late Pennsylvania night. The last bout was my favorite. Boston took on Rose City. The latter being the subject of my favorite documentary of ALL TIME (Oh crap, I forgot to mention on here... my article was posted). The Massacre played well, and it was hard not to cheer from the mike. Both teams are master tacticians, able to change their styles to neutralize their opponents' strengths. Unfortunately, Rose City were able to adapt faster and won in the second period. But it was far from a blowout. 


After a brief stop at the hotel, I left Dread to go to the after party. This is where the widow-hood switched hands. Content to sleep next to her before our long trip home, she urged me to go out and have fun. "You'll regret it if you don't," she said. And she was right. While we are lucky to be so supportive of one another, we do need our space on these weekends. So, Rockerboy and I headed to Philly's Bowl-a-rama where I chilled with my fellow announcers, danced with Providence and Rose City ladies, and mingled in the way only Pelvis can. Which means I got away with speaking my mind without becoming an uber-douche or talking shit.

The ride home was a terrific cooldown, as we ate seafood by the Connecticut shore. A traffic jam inspired us to take a detour that added an hour to our journey, but it was worth it. The lush greenery. docks  and homes of Essex Island were gorgeous. But there was one sight that will stick with me for months to come:

This woman is weird.

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