|Not listed: Feeding gobling medicine-laced treats and dipping her paw into a blue solution twice a day. I do that when she lets me...Why schedule it?|
With time on my side, I decided to finish my article for Roller Derby Inside Track and put something up here before turning to my novel in progress. Oh crap, I mentioned that in type. Rather than delete it, I will tempt fate here as though I'm an expectant mother who just couldn't wait three months to tell everyone she's going to have a baby. Fingers crossed!
Back to roller derby widowhood. At the end of July, I had the pleasure of calling Roller Consolation 2011 in Manchester, New Hampshire. New Hampshire Roller Derby is where I got my start on the microphone, and that means I go to NHRD's bouts in my least favorite city in New England regularly to call bouts for the awesome people that somehow don't realize that 03109 is awful. JFK Coliseum is a wonderful oasis of cool attitudes, kind folks, and eye-catching competition. I was not alone on the microphone. Kevin UP and Thundadome were with me. The three of us called six bouts. SIX in one day. Highlights include:
- The best game I've called to date with Kevin. The Boston B Party took on NHRD's Skate Free or Die. I've been traveling the east coast with the B Party, and NHRD games I rarely miss. Add that to Kevin's really sharp analysis, his knowledge of Boston's peeps, and letting down his hair, and we rocked it.
- Banter with Thundy. When you get deaf old ladies to repeat your jokes and laugh a second time, you've done well.
- Wearing hot shorts in the oven that is the announcer booth. It was important. Though the amount of questions Dread had to field about the contents of said shorts was both flattering and embarrassing (the former is my feeling, the latter is for my long-suffering wife).
- Actual competition between teams. I hate blow-outs. We didn't really see many. Some contests were decided in one or two jams.
- Dread skated sick. Which foreshadowed the playoff bout in Boston (next post, be patient).
|Dread is popping out of a sea of pink to stomp some stuff.|
I got to see Dread play in three games that day. The fact that she was fighting what would later be diagnosed as viral strep throat made this skating both phenomenal and, well, kind of annoying. Now that we've been involved with the sport for over four seasons, I've gotten used to that mixture of emotions. As a widow, you have to be. Your woman (or man, I see you, Filthy) is going to want to play more than anything. She's not getting paid to do this, which makes the emotional rewards all the more important. You can chastise your skater for being stupid, but ultimately they're going to do what they're going to do. The best thing to do at the moment is be happy, cheer (if you're not on the mic) and hope that she doesn't need to go the hospital right after she gets off the track. Derby Widowhood makes you a worrying mother.
At the after party, Dread and I switched rides home. She was able to leave early, and I was able to hang out with Hayley, some Boston folks, and all of NHRD. A good night and a reminder that derby gives you a constant chance to redefine, improve, and express yourself.