Saturday, July 17, 2010

Husband of the Fresh Meat Mama = Derby Stepfather? A confusing interlude of Povich proportions

The season has only three more doubleheaders (two after tonight)  and flyers are already circulating around the Metro Boston area for the Fresh Meat skate clinics. Bad Person, part of the 2010 class of Wicked Pissahs, posed for the recruitment flyer and it looks pretty sweet:

She wants you to play so bad, because she wants to hurt you.

Around my house, this time of the year is magical. Dread loves try-outs and really goes out of her way to help the new girls learn skills, ride out tough criticism, and meet up with the right skaters who can help them take their training to the next level before the home team draft. Our apartment becomes a flurry of activity, and strange women, with whom I have never had any interaction, invade my home to socialize and share a dream of becoming a Boston Derby Dame. As Dread has gone by the term "Fresh Meat Mama" for two seasons, it's not been lost on me that my marriage means I meet a lot of these potential skaters faster than some of our skaters. Although some of those introductions can feel a little jarring for me, as Dread does foster a level of social intimacy and warmth in these ladies that often transfers a bit onto me. It's like having Maury Povich drop a bombshell in my lap that these ladies in my house are due a lot of respect and affection already, though I don't even know them:

 Pelvis Costello, you ARE THE FATHER!

Our former apartment was a tight, bunker-like command central. Dread would spend long summer and fall nights emailing folks, helping orchestrate pairings of veteran skaters and potential fresh meat called "skater sisters," and talking to me about how excited she is about this or that girl. It's cool, if somewhat repetitive. The only issue I had with this blessed event in the old place was there was no place in the apartment I could sequester myself to meet deadlines without being interrupted with news about this-or-that-lady, any standout interviews (both good and bizarre),  and descriptions of how people are skating at the clinics. However, in the tree house of our new digs, I can now escape to the loft and write with my headphones on, uninterrupted and oblivious to both the merriment and the eventual emotional crash when it's over and not everyone makes it in. Sort of like a real Stepfather, without the added flavor of deviant creep.

Getting ready for it again, I am hoping that Dread still has the same excitement and that the competition for the limited space on the league is both fun and fierce. Now to go do some vocal exercises before the double header tonight. 

1 comment:


    is really all i had to say.