Friday, September 2, 2011

Nightmares on Elm Street, we need to talk (or the danger of derby love).

If you've read this blog for more than a couple of entries, you know that I'm the derby widower of the BDD skater, Dreadnought, and I announce in Boston and New Hampshire. New Hampshire Roller Derby (NHRD) is where I started spitting word bullets over the PA and the ladies of NHRD have never been anything less than kind to me. Because of that league-wide support, it's easy to call everything down the middle and bask in the glory of a league that, if it retains talent and pushes itself, can become a New England powerhouse. I take pride in having never, ever been accused of favoritism.

Then they came along...
Pictured: Trouble.

The Nightmares on Elm Street, NHRD's third home team, debuted earlier this season. Dressed in my favorite holiday's colors and rostering some of my favorite veterans and 2011 rookies was cruel enough, but a nod to 80s slasher flicks and the horrible denizens of Manchester that cruise the main drag made it difficult not to smile when they took the track. They were also were the first team to ever give me a free shirt. There's no denying it, this team was a derby home-wrecker.

My emotions have altered my memory of events, somewhat. I think the bear was actually black. I don't know.
Like all unhealthy relationships, there were warning signs. An almost three-minute-long introduction at their first bout made me realize the danger of a team that loves itself almost as much as it loves its fans (danger zone). But they were so good during their first game, I overlooked that misstep. And like all bad relationships, their self-indulgent swagger won them a place in my heart.

Make Out Bandit, what the heck, dude? (Photo from the Slam I Am Fan Club)
When I wore their t-shirt during the setup at Roller Consolation, I was called on it by almost every skater not on that team. "What the hell, Pelvis?" was the best reaction. Assuring those that it was not an expression of undying loyalty for a team that had only been playing together for a few months, I wound up getting a couple of other free shirts from other teams to wear that day. Wonderful, I thought, the arms race for my love had started. Thankfully, I wore red hot shorts that day and most people only remember that.

I left the tournament confident that I acquitted myself and would be ready to prove my impartiality at the last home team triple-header, where the Nightmares would attempt to win the K-Cup in NHRD's home team Championship bout. Their opponents were the Granite Skate Troopers, a team filled talent and power. I wore no team colors, made myself look fresh, and gave equal attention to everyone. Then, as though they knew I was trying to be good, the Nightmares skated out with this:

What. The. Hell.

Nightmares, you're that friend who knows your buddy finds you attractive, but knows he/she has to move on because it won't ever happen. However, once one tries to move on, you show up in a rocking outfit and flirt until your friend is back in your pocket. Maybe you don't mean to do it. No, you totally mean to do it. Thus, I have to state, for the record, I love you. You just have that look, as Roxette would say, that summons up that psychobilly excitement in me. You were tailor-made by cruel goddesses to tempt me away from doing my job correctly. But, it can never be more than just a nod and a wink. The other teams are just as groovy, and I think they're aces. In the end, you're just another team. And it's for the best I clear the air before the derby world goes all jealous girlfriend and accuses me of ill goings-on.

Is everyone else still reading? No? You're so cool.


  1. LOL! it would almost be worth my leaving my couch and subjecting myself to rock music to see you carrying on in your hot red shorts! [nice writing!]