Thursday, September 30, 2010

Regionals: Part Two

The next morning was a bit tougher than the first one. The mechanical bull had burned off much of my nervous energy, leaving me exhausted and in much-needed sleep before calling the first bout of the morning. The game was Steel City vs. DC. I was announcing with Double Destroyer and Ida Feltersnatch. But before we went to the venue, I suggested we get breakfast.

"I just need to shower and have a few minutes to get together," said Reverend Al.

In my tired brain, I forgot that I was not dealing with a mere dude, but one who really needed to "get ready." Below is a timelapse reenactment of what I believe transpired in the bathroom while we waited for thirty minutes:





To be fair, he didn't go back to putting on the lipstick, so we didn't have to wait the full three hours. 


Once in the elevator, we made haste to the lobby, hoping to get in line for the buffet. When the door opened, however, the sheer brightness of the Freemason ladies dressed in their ceremonial robes blinded us. Yes, the Crowne Plaza was filled with Freemasons for some sort of convention or ceremony that we could not wrap our heads around. As we rounded the corner, Poppa Feevs let us know that the line for breakfast was insane and that we had better look elsewhere. When the king of the tailgate (whose primary mission on bout day is getting you fed) tells you to give up, you do.

Dejected and sad, we found a Dunkin Donuts where I ate a microwaved bacon, egg and cheese sandwich. I don't normally eat breakfast, but I didn't eat much the day before and needed energy. Sweet, intestinal wrestling energy. My guts feeling betrayed by their pompadour-coiffed master, I got ready to call me some games.

With a constantly mutating schedule, I was blessed that Rockerboy of Carolina and Justice Feelgood Marshall of DNN threw me into as much stuff as they did. Even sweeter was that I was able to call games for some teams more than once. Familiarity with the skaters is a big deal in this sport. When you're rifling through papers to find out the name and number of someone kicking ass, you don't want to miss any action. And I am proud to say I didn't.

In between bouts, I took some time at the roller derby quilt with the missus, Hayley, the Prince of Pain, and Johnny Deep.
The three of them look like they're doing a photoshoot for their band, Purple Paine's, new synthpop album. Yikes.
My throat felt raw around noon and Dread began laughing at the sound of my yelling which had started to sound more and more like Denver's own Dumptruck. I reined in a bit, but you can hear my voice getting gravelly in the DNN replays. As the night wore on, Dread became less thrilled with my vocal damage when Dumptruck, Reverend Al, and I stood behind her and whispered "sweet nothings" into her ear. If your imagination took you to a bad place, that's your brain working against you, not I.



One thing I noticed throughout the day was the Rockerboy was the epitome of speed as he ran through the crowd, setting up the mouths, working with the staff, and calling games with the type of energy reserved for the meth-addled fools of South Caro--- oh yeah. Nevermind. He stopped by the derby quilt and asked Dread if he could test the authenticity of the quilt.  That's the only moment where I thought we lost him.
I never thought one could drool horizontally and not be in orbit.

At the end of the night, Philly and Gotham had already cemented their spots at Regionals and Boston had to go toe-to-toe with their longtime rivals, Charm City. Carolina won against Montreal by two points. This win was marred by a controversial call that later turned out to be totally legal. Whether or not people agree with it is another matter entirely.

Still aching from the mechanical bull, and unable to sound like myself if I had to talk over anyone, which is my default volume anyway, we went out for Asian tapas. Okay, let me back up. We were supposed to meet up with Rocker and Dumptruck, but apparently they had stopped in a bathroom to emulate the Reverend Al's beauty regimen, and we arrived at a saloon at the right time only to find Ed Hardy and spray tans instead of Southern accents and Sass. Thus, we went for Asian cuisine at Haiku. Haiku's food was the ONLY meal I want to remember from the trip, as it was actual food. Delicious. So delicious it inspired this:

Bars filled with Douchebags
New plan, where do we go now?
Eat well, then hotel.
 
Back at the hotel, we briefly chatted with the ladies of MRD, who had taken over the poolside to shout threats and cursewords at passersby. We love those ladies, they're true New England. <3

Instead of falling right into bed, the Reverend Al gave a speech about teamwork that was impassioned as he was pantsless. Nothing gets you more fired up than a former MMA fighter with the voice of Harvey Firestein explaining group dynamics in very small underpants. For once without a smartass thing to say, I let him finish his speech and we all went to bed....

Tomorrow, Part Three! Jokes! Hoarseness! And newfound appreciation for iPhones!

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