Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Regionals: Part One

We were fifteen miles away from White Plains before I noticed my car's gas light was on. Since picking up the Reverend Al in Providence, I was determined to make double-time to our destination while looking out for the ever-sneaky highway patrol and trying to stay engaged in the conversation. After Dread, Hayley, and the Reverend Al were made speechless by a joke I expected to be less funny than it was I took the next exit and we refueled the tank and our bellies.

Once in White Plains, we checked into our hotel and attempted to get some Zs. The night before a tournament is much like Christmas Eve. I can't sleep, because I've never quite grown out of the feeling that sleeping before a big day means I will miss something. That, and my mind was unable to rest after seeing the Reverend Al's idea of pajamas.

He actually doesn't wear the shoes to bed, so there's that.

We did sleep for an hour or so, only to be awoken by an overjoyed Reverend Al Mighty, who loudly sang "Springtime for Hitler" until Dread got moving. After each of us showered, we took the ten minute ride to the venue. White Plains isn't large. It's roughly the size of Waltham, Massachusetts except it's densely populated with blowout hairdos and muscle-queens. Still, the ladies of Suburbia Roller Derby don't fit the zip code's stereotypical mold and they are among the fairest of skaters in the land...though their ability to run a tournament is far more important.

The arena was glorious, its appearance a cross between high school gymnasium and a theater with balconies. The hybridization of these two venues conjured images of other hybrids in my mind, such as Massacre widows embracing their lofty perches whilst continuing to vocalize their support of a ruffle-butt revolution.

Not pictured - Tommy Rock's fainting spell after the win against Montreal brought on by lead face powder and "vapors."

Calling the first game with the incomparable Dumptruck was a dream come true. Being able to just have an entertaining conversation about derby while still providing color commentary was sublime. Throughout the day, I ran back and forth from the DNN table on the stage to the announcer's nest on the floor of the venue. Thankfully, my voice held up.

After the last game of the night, it was a quick stop to the hotel. The Reverend Al and I wore matching outfits out on the town that made me realize how my Dad must feel on holidays. We barhopped through the fist-pumping dives of Mamoraneck drive until we arrived at The Thirsty Turtle. It was here where Hayley, Baby Fighterfly and I took turns on the mechanical bull.

One-handed, but she did kiss the bull beforehand.
Baby and Hayley had impressive times (Baby 28, Hayley 24). The operator of the bull was a bit of a douche, cranking up the speed on those he thought were drunk and slowing down the bucks on the women who rode the bull in short skirts. A 58 second record was called out before I hopped on, but the lady wasn't wearing underpants. Undaunted by the fear of contracting the "Herpe AIDS," (A vile quote from a local) I hopped on. 19 seconds. Still, the ladies of BDD and PRD deserved to win. As the night wore on, we were aware that the young men of the Jersey Shore White Plains night scene were unsure what to do with the flashy and classy that had appeared from nowhere at their favorite nightspot. Did we not realize this was their place?

Pictured here: Townie waiting for his turn on the mechanical bull.
We did. After a few incidents of chest-beating and dog-park antics, we decided to call it a night. We went to sleep, dreaming of derby and spray tans.

Tomorrow: Day Two! Where Rockerboy goes crazy, the crowd goes wild, and I slowly become Tom Waits!


  1. You are awesome! I can't wait for Day 2!!!

  2. Come on, now. The Reverend Al wore SO MUCH LESS by way of pajamas. He was full on "Dread's dad at 3AM yelling a burglar out of the house" only less aggressive and more, well, Reverend Al.

  3. Smashing Pumpkin said...

    Where is part 2? You can't leave me hanging like this? More nasty spray tans! More Rev Al scantilly clad!

  4. Give the.. ahem... lady... with no underpants some credit, she really "stuck" to the bull with miraculous power. Sometimes it seemed she was riding with no hands, but glued(?) to the saddle!

  5. PeeJay, if I could only scream in exclamation points, I would do so.