Two outta three ain't bad.

Well.  There you have it.  The Road Train Rollers are ADRD champions again.  I'm pretty sure we were the underdogs once more, and I'm happy with that.  Let's flashback a week ago (or so) when I posted last.

 

Wait - have you regainsed consciousness from that time just now whan you fainted from shock that I posted a week ago?

 

Wait again - have you ceased laughing about the fact that I assume enough people read this for there to be even a single shocked person about that last fact?  Self-congratulatory motherfucker, I am.

 

Anyhoo, last Wednesday I finally posted about our win against the Wild Hearses which catapulted (and by catapulted I mean 'put') us into the grand final for Adelaide Roller Derby for the third year running - since the first year the league decided to have a final as such.  I left you with the nailbiting thought of who will win this year?  Will it be the Salties, with their lightning jammers - the whippets of the derby world, flying round the track with their ponytails snapping in the very breeze they, themselves create?  The Salties with walls made from Wolverine bones dipped in titanium which was forged by the blood of Zeus and Thor combined?  Or will it be the Road Train Rollers, known affectionately the world (and by world I mean Adelaide) over as the Roadies?  The Roadies who lost their last three games to the Salties, the Roadies who seemed to crumble under the the steely gaze of fourteen sea maidens with an on-track connection as tangible as an anchor chain?

 

The morning of the game I woke up with a grin on my face.  I'm creepy like that.  I prepared a little differently, and was a bit stressed, for the following reasons:

• for the preceeding five days I had been on a new diet.  Think of my digestion as a thin child.  That child was sent to swimming lessons, but as soon as she was dropped off, she scooted around the corner and spent the time at the library, thumbing through magazines about computers and renaissance fairs.  Then put that child in a helicpoter, fly her out above the ocean, and boot her out into a raging, frothy sea state five.  Without an asthma puffer.  Or a life jacket.  With her school bag still on.  That's my digestion.  A flailing weenie who can't swim trying to cling to life with nothing but hope and an unparalleled knowledge of the origin of chainmail.  I was at my wits' end with my bloody digestion.  The FODMAP diet I had been following was increasingly useless and I was bloating like a floaty corpse on a daily basis.  So, my good friend Rusty directed me to a lady who helped me out, told me some things and now I eat like a caveman.  I need detox, she says, so right now I'm going through three months of no sugar and no grains.  While I'm happy to be finally treating my body like the golden shrine that it is, I'm also turning slowly into an evil, snarling harpy owing to the lack of sugary treats.  Thus, my preparation that day was frought with worry at the prospect of trying to skate with less energy than usual.  Why did I not wait until after the final to change my diet, you ask?  Two-part answer: because I am a numpty and also because I was just becoming sicker and more fatigued by the day and I chose the lesser of the two evils.  I packed (instead of a Red Bull, a banana and a container of rice, salmon and mayo) water, seven almonds and a container of baby spinach, capsicum and salmon.  I was shitting my pants metaphorically, but on the bright side I hadn't shit through they eye of a needle physically in four days.
• Our car is broken right now, so the lovely Gateway Girl gave me a lift.  This meant that I had to be running on time, which I wasn't.  Owing to this, I accidentally locked Gateau in the spare room.
• We live forever out of the city now, so anything I left behind would stay behind.  I forgot my carnitine, which was my only chance at a bit of extra energy.

Despite my tardiness, we arrived with plenty of time and I was able to leisurely apply my eye stripe and tease the absolute crap outta my hair before going through our skateout practice and then taking my place for my job, which was taking people's tickets.

 

The skateout...

 

I'll freely admit I'm one of those people who make sure that everyone knows they hate elaborate skateouts.  I'm a bit of an asshole about it.  'I'm a sportsperson, not a performing seal' I say, 'if I wanted to dance, I'd be a dancer' I say.  But I do it because my league wants to do it and I love my league.  But... on Sunday I faced something I did not expect.  I enjoyed it.  Ugh.  I did, I really did.  When I was five, my parents put me in jazz ballet.  That's not a joke.  I was terrible and lazy, didn't practice, so they put me in the babies group.  I turned on my heel and walked out, never looking back once.  In hindsight, I think I had a chip on my shoulder about it.  So, any time I'm required to participate in organised dancing, I freak out a little bit.  That's why I'm always in the back line.  Now, this time, I wasn't the only one who didn't want to, or the only one freaking out.  So, I took it upon myself to count out the beats.  I watched Letta (the choreographer) with a dedication usually only seen in seasoned stalkers - you know, the ones with restraining orders.  I somehow started to take pride in getting all the moves right and helping other unsure people with the counts.  All of a sudden, it hit me: I liked it, and I liked it because it was similar to the Army.  It was like drill.  I was excellent at drill, and pretty damn good as a drill commander.  I even had guy soldiers tell me 'I usually hate when chicks call drill, with their high voices and shit... but you're ok...'  Little did they know I had my uterus turned into a tobacco pouch (wanna pinch?).  Anyway, I ended up actually liking it, and here it is:

 

(click here and look out for the goober in the black eye stripe and little hat)

 

So we did the skateout as a league, and then the Mile Die Club and Wild Hearses played off for third.  Hearses won, but with about 5 mins to go, they stopped the game and spent the rest of it playing queen of the rink, which is where everybody gets on the track, and tries to hit each other down or out, until there is only one person left.  It was very cool, and a great way to end that game, I reckon.

 

Then we were up.  Again, I had resigned myself to the fact that we could lose, and it would have been ok if we did, I just wanted to have fun.  I knew we could win if we played as a tight unit, but if we didn't, the Salties would crush us to dust, like bread sticks in a vice.  Regardless of the outcome, I just wanted a close game, for the crowd, and for the pride of both teams.

 

We got off to a good start.  The last few times (including practice bouts at training) we've opposed the Salties, they usually get a jump on us, as if they are raring to go just a bit more than we are.  We usually take a few jams to wake up.  This time, we got going straight away, and it wasn't long before Kit Cat was presented with a power jam and took a cool 19 points, to put us at 11 vs 32.  Not at this point, or ever during the game did they let up though, and we had to fight for not only every point we put on, but to stem the flow of points from them when they were on fire.  Both teams played nickel and dime derby until Phil grabbed 17 points for the Salties, putting them at 37 to our 48.  I think the thing that kept the game interesting was that closeness, and the fight in each team.  Our usual problems with the Salties are penalty spirals and ineffective blocking to minimise their power jams.  So, we trained to rectify those things, and I think that worked for us. 

 

Half time saw the score at 69-88, our way.  Known as the comeback queens, we weren't really sure what to do with ourselves.  We went to the changeroom, chilled out, talked shop for a bit and I choked down some baby spinach and salmon.  Yum.  I was right about the lack of energy, it was certainly not my best game ever, I played much better the game before.  It's not about me, though, and I resolved to just play my hardest, whatever that was.

 

As I always say, I can't remember much from bouts.  I can remember doing one good thing, the time I snuck through on the inside, as seen here:

 

 

I can also remember being hit so perfectly by Moe that I careened into the crowd for the first time ever, feet first, as seen here:

 

 

 

 

The rest I have to get from Twitter, and I quote: 'The roadies come roaring out of half time full of fire.'  The battle recommenced and continued much the same, it was just a struggle, for both teams I think.  I've never seen the Roadies block like that against the Salty jammers - there were a few times we had them trapped for quite a few laps.

 

With twenty minutes left, the score was 79-129, our way, not even close to anything consedered 'breathing room.'  Shortly after, Undies scored 19 points for the Dolls, she had a bloody brilliant game.  She later scored a 21 point jam, and the score continued to climb.  I was only jamming, which I don't really like to do, as sometimes if I'm suffering a bit of a lacklustre performance, a block can pep me up a bit.  But no matter, Kit Cat, Killa, Kaos and occasionally Pirate were all on fire and our blocking teams were not letting up. 

 

The final jam began with the score at 174-193, our way.  It had fallen to my turn to jam, and I thought of the final jam of our last bout, in which I wore the star.  I compared my performance to that day and knew I wasn't the right person for the job.  Kudos here to our amazing benchie team of Busty and Malty, because it was Busty who asked me to jam that last one in the Hearses game.  It was Busty again who gave me the panty for this one, and when I told her I didn't think I was jamming well enough and that she should give it to Kaos, she hesitated for only a second before she said ok and did exactly that.  I'm pretty pleased that a) I know myself well enough and am not motivated by greed and pride to admit when I am having a bit of an average game and b) that my benchie knows me and the game well enough to know when to push me or leave me.

So Kaos it was.  She was up against Phil, who is amazing, but so is Kaos.  I couldn't watch.  My team gathered together, arms around one another but I stayed seated, I felt sick from nerves.  Some random dude in the crowd berated and heckled me enough to make me join them, but I closed my eyes.  Then I opened them to see Phil get lead, but Kaos right behind her.  There was no time left on the clock, so no possibility of another jam after that one.  This meant it didn't matter that Phil was lead, and all Kaos had to do was keep up with her.  Phil got through, Kaos got through, Phil got through, Kaos got through.  Everyone was knackered, but the blocks never got any softer, and the jammers never slowed.  And so it went.  Time passed as it has a tendency to do, and in two minutes we found ourselves champions, with a final score of 190-204.  We couldn't believe it.  We'd had a crazy season - starting strong then hitting rock bottom.  We had such a close call with the Hearses to even get in the final, and then we won it.  I'd done everything I'd wanted: I had fun, we all did, and it was a close game.  We were so calm on the bench and on the track, we even had devonshire tea in the box, here is Kit Cat offering someone a cup of 'tea', for real:

 

 

All in a rush, it was over, the last eight months of craziness, fighting with my intestines, Bell's Palsy, buying a house... I'd made it through, and it was time to party.  Hard.

Considering the length of this post already, I will describe the after party with a combination of dot points and pictures.  Here goes:

 

Wheaty looked like this:

 

 

 

Squatters looked like this:

 

 

• Which was where we also recreated the scene from dirty dancing where Johnny lifts up Baby, itself a re-enactment of the train from Newcastle last year, complete with 'I've Had The Time Of My Life' sung by all of us to the accompaniment of vigorous clapping,
• and we also re-enacted the Skato and the leg slap:

 

That's Mercedes' hand print.

• We then went to a place called Sugar, which is where things get a little hazy.
• Then we tried to get into LaSing, but it was closing,
• So we went to Hungry Jack's:

 

Which was where I found myself with a mayo moustache and goatee, Colonel Sanders style.  Why isn't there a picture of that?

• Next thing I knew, we were walking to that soccer bar on Hindley st, where we played the worst game of pool, ever.
• It came to be that time, there were five of us left: Lori, Mercedes, Guns, Undies and I.
• We split up to go home.  Since we live in the boonies, we went to crash at Lori's place.  Here we are on the train at 6am:

 

• And here we are on the way to Lori's, when we found a trolley and a pipe and put the two together:

 

That's Lori doing the finger all the way at the back.

And that was that.  We left Lori's on the 3:16 train the next day, looking like this:

 

 

Note: still have my eye stripe on.  We didn't even go straight home, we went into the city and had tacos cos I only had a few hours left of my break from detox.  When we got home Gateau had pissed up a storm where I accidentally locked her in the spare room.  Well played sir, well played.

 

And that's it.  The end to a crazy derby year, but not the end to the craziness that is my abnormal life.  Stay tuned, dumb shit happens to me all the time.

 

Tricks :)

 

P.S. just had to pause before finishing this to clean up dog spew in the hallway with dog footprints through and around it.  Bon.

Welcome back Kotter... or should I say codger?

It's rare that I will refer to myself as 'old', even more seldom as a 'codger', but I feel like one today.  I'm all creaks and groans and I have dropped things on the floor and left them there because I am just not doing any bending today.  I'm not even talking heavy shit: I blew my nose and missed the bin with the tissue.  Yup, I'm that gross.  And sore.

So, in true Robyn (narcissistic) style, I take this opportunity to welcome myself back to my own blog from the murky depths of my honours thesis panic.  I call it the thesis madness of 2011.  Don't get me wrong, I am happy that I did honours, and I'm not trying to say that it's the hardest thing in the world to do.  Bazillions of people do it and way harder stuff like expel a tiny human from their hooha or climb a freezing mountain and return sans several toes, but for me, in my life, it was hard.  I had to juggle the thesis madness of 2011 with continuing sickness and a break-up also.  I was not in the least surprised that I left it until the last possible minute that I could - after all, I have done that my entire degree.  But, whoa, the relief when I handed that sucker in!  So, that's done and now I can return to the world of writing for pleasure and hopefully one day, pleasure AND money.  Dirty, dirty word money.

Ok, so that done, let's talk about the Grand Final double header.  From my personal point of view, I had a bit of a tough season.  I never got to the fitness level I wanted to, injured my knee over and over and was sick constantly.  I did not play to my potential in our game.  I call it the great non-event of 2011.  From a team point of view, we had a bit of a rough start too.  We managed to get ourselves into the Final, buuuuuuut...

The Salty Dolls (who we played) were undefeated all season, and were on fire.  They came at us like a bull at a gate, and we came at them like a sloth at a tree.  Like usual, I can't remember a lot but I do know that everything we talked about, everything we practiced basically got left behind in the changeroom and we just populated the penalty box with pretty much two blockers per jam instead.  The Dolls never missed a beat, capitalised on every jam and left us at half time trailing 87 to a pathetic 19.  We had a pretty good chat in the changeroom and came out for the second half ready for some action.  If only it mattered who won halves, because we outscored them 61-59 in the second.  Just that pesky 68 point defecit from the first half killed us...  That, and penalties.  Bride of Skatan: ejected.  Violent Krumble: ejected.  I've never been caught behind so many walls in my life. 

So.  Without doubt the better team won on the day, on the track.  The afterparty is another story...

We began at the Ed Castle.  I was sitting with friends and my girlfriend Mercedes.  One of my oldest and best mates Tash was there, and Tash and I have a running joke/game of punching each other in the vajayjay.  Punching each other lightly/playfully, not actually hard blows.  Really mound punching, not, you know, underneath.  So we were all chatting, laughing and generally being jovial and then Mercedes called me over.  I thought she might be going to pinch me on the arm skin so I said 'no, you're going to pinch me', to which she replied that she wouldn't.  I made her promise.  I strode confidently over, thinking I was going to get a cuddle, and walked directly into her fist smashing into my box.  It dropped me to the floor like a sack of shit, in front of everyone.  I didn't cry, but Thor's hammer did it hurt!!  I was in shock that she would do that.  She was in shock that it connected so well.  According to her, she didn't mean to do it that hard.  Tash had told her to do it.  My poor punani was in shock and I briefly considered an ice pack but then decided to just kill it with booze.  I call it the great junk punch of 2011.  The pain gradually subsided and the table talk moved on from speculation over why my own girlfriend would punch me in the mermaid's purse.  Then, a little while later... comeuppance.  I wasn't planning any revenge, because Mercedes clearly felt terrible about it, so this happy accident led me to believe that the universe itself just wanted her to know that punching your girl in the junk is just not on.  I had just gone and fetched drinks for us and she had a brand new pint of cider in front of her.  I got a little animated (as I do) and brought my fist down on the table to emphasise whatever point I was making.  The cro-magnon table punch promptly tipped the cider directly into her lap and she wound up with frozen junk and looking like she wet her pants.  I call it the great cider caper of 2011.

From the Ed we went to LaSing and, well, that's when shit got weird.  Vader and I did our usual duet, this time to Built This City, and we all kept drinking.  The spring rolls flowed like wine and at some point I snagged myself some Pad Thai (I think) and was feeding it to people.  Somehow I had made myself two new friends, a guy with a wicked mohawk and wearing a Road Train Rollers T shirt and also a little gay guy who kept telling me I had a great rack.  I do.  I then let him feel it and he, in return offered that I could cup his business.  Never one to be rude, I had a little feel.  I couldn't discern any bulge to speak of in his baggy jeans, so he undid them and showed us all his undies.  He then explained the advantages of that particular underwear, in that they lifted his belongings up and out, so as to present them better maybe, I don't know.  I then poked him on his junk and left it at that.  We stayed at LaSing until the lights came on and then I got myself three meat patties from Hungry Jack's and went home.

The Grand Final for 2011 did not play out as we had hoped, but we partied hard nonetheless and, as usual, won the afterparty.  Today, I'm covered in bruises, still have a sore jootz and am still giggling about spilling that cider, so it wasn't all a loss.

Hey, p.s. now that I'm finished Uni I need a job.  Anyone got one going?  I will work for any currency but bananas.

Tx

And history was made...

Ok, well you can say that about anything, I know, but go with me here, I'm about to recount a tale of heroic exploits, sweaty backs, smashed faces and no, I do not mean the football, I'm talking about something much, much MUCH better than that. ROLLER. DERBY. GRAND. FINAL.

Ok, so let's start from the start. Kat and I were organised for once, and actually got to the showgrounds a half hour before we had to. I felt good about it til I realised that it was locked and we couldn't get in. We were at the Rose Tce entrance so we walked around to the Goody Rd one, shut too (ugh). THEN we had to walk all the way round to the farmers market. All this time I was aware that everyone who saw me was like 'what the...' as I was in my boutfit with my hair all teased up, my eye stripe and my top hat on. Kat was in a tiny dress with fishnets so while people were fearful of me, they were perving on her.

We eventually got in and the pandemonium started. I got geared up and had a lil skate on the track we were going to use, as it was different from the usual one. I warmed to it straight away. It was more slick than the usual, but less slick than where we practice each week, it was perfect for me actually, cos I like a little slide, but not too much. Then, we got to our jobs, mine was selling raffle tickets. I'm good at this, cos I can shout loud and have the ability to make people feel bad for holding out - 'C'MON PEOPLE, I KNOW YOU GOT A DOLLAR IN YOUR POCKETS, DON'T MAKE ME SMASH HEADS HERE'. The crowd was already huge, the line snaking several times, and it was only just after 12:30, doors opened at 2:00. I finished my book and went back in to skate some more.

At this time I asked Caddy to tease my hair up for me. 'make it real big' I said. As she was teasing, she was giggling, and she told me that maybe she'd made it too big, maybe I wouldn't like it, so I checked it out in the mirror. If a lion mated violently with Tina Turner and had a dodgy looking kid with a black stripe over her eyes, she would look like me. I gasped, touched it softly and whispered 'it's perfect'. Caddy asked 'why do you want it so big?' I gave her crazy eyes, pointed at my head and said 'to put fear in the hearts of my enemies. Would you fuck with this?'

At some point someone told me there was someone outside with hair like mine and that they must have dressed like me. I laughed, cos that was the first time I'd done that to my hair, so nobody could've known, that must've been their real hairdo. Sweet.

Ok. Fast forward to the skate out. I was a little unsure about it, I'll admit. I'm not really a musical theatre fan, and it was a take off from West Side Story, which I've never seen. Why I liked it in the end, is that Mr W and Candy sang a duet together and it was so camp and fabulous that it sold me. I think the crowd liked it, well there wasn't any booing, so they must've.

So. The first bout, Mile Die Club vs The Salty Dolls. Poor MDC hadn't won a bout all season, so there was a lot riding on it for them. They started strong, but then gradually got a lil razzed and the Salties started to get a grip on the scoreboard. I watched as Champion Ruby planted a canopener straight into Lula Fortune's face and I thought to myself 'oh my, this is gunna be interesting' (yes, I actually so have the phrase 'oh my' in my inner monologue).

The first half went so quickly. It was time for us to warm up, so I didn't see the second, but from the sound of the crowd, it was going off like a frog in a sock. Letta Loose from my team is a mad kickboxer so she brought focus mitts for our off skates warm up. GREAT idea. I got a lil overzealous, which, teamed with the fact that I have no boxing skill almost bowled her over backwards. 'Take it easy psycho', she said, and I felt very complimented! My hair was clearly working.

Karmen Getme set up a good vibes shrine in our changeroom. All of us put something there to boost the good juju, I contributed with the bowtie I wore to the skate out of my first bout ever, which was the first time I ever got lead on Barrelhouse Bessy. That's important, more on that later.

More warming up in the deafening roar of Mile Die fans as they took third place, and we were out on the track. I mean it when I say I wasn't nervous. I'm sick of that shit. I was always nervous when I played hockey, feeling ill because of it, and it's useless, so I scrapped it. These days, I just tell myself that I'm gunna try the hardest I can. Whether we win or lose, I can't give more than my best, and that's what I did.

The bout started tentatively, we got on the board first, but the Hearses followed soon after. They are an amazing team, lots of depth there, and with leaders like Pixie Pincher and Nyx Bellatrix, with Bessy in the mix also, well, let's just say that they're formidable opponents.

Now, I gotta admit, and I apologise, but I can't remember much. One thing I can remember is that my first jam of the game was against Bessy, just like my first jam ever. And, like that first jam, I got lead! It must have been that bowtie on the shrine. I think I jammed lots in the first, I do know that I jammed last before half time, and I thought I was going to pass out. I was so hot. I managed to get my breath back though. At this point we were 13 points down, I think. Back out there, and things got hairy. Both teams were getting penalties, and there was a jammer in the box a lot of the time. People were getting desperate, blocks were flying all over the shop and I think we were all pretty damn tired. It stayed close until I think the last six minutes or so. Then, things got crazy, and time went into fast forward, like a Benny Hill flick without the music. I think from memory, Mad Dog Mims had a great jam, then Kit Cat Krunch, then me, and all of a sudden we were 20 or so points up. Our blocking was amazing. I felt like we'd finally clicked as a team and were truly working as a unit. I didn't let myself dare believe that we had it in the bag, especially as Violent Krumble was in the box and Bessy was up to jam. Bessy is just someone that you can never ever underestimate. She was on fire too, lapping the pack. I think we had blockers in the box as well. She skated amazingly, but then Krumbs was back out, earning points, and we knew we were safe. The clock chimed zero and we were champions.

What a crazy bout. The Hearses were undefeated all season. It was Vaderella's last game as she's retiring, so I was even more super duper happy to give her that send off. Incidentally, it sealed the hat trick year for me. I retired from ice hockey after we won the national championships for the fifth time, my ice hockey team I coach won gold in their division for the first time, and my derby team won the championship. High fives all round.

Now, to the afterparty. I re-teased my hair for the event. The Ed Castle was packed with derby girls and supporters, it was jumping with positive energy. I was flitting around, socialising, dancing, drinking, spilling etc. I lost a dance-off but was gracious in defeat. When the lights came on, we migrated to La Sing in Chinatown, and that's where things got messy. I was standing around, chatting, when I heard a crash. I looked over to the stage and Kit Cat had fallen into a cavity in the wall back there and was struggling to get back up, beer intact. I thought to myself 'oh my, things are getting good'. I've blogged before about the karaoke-goers who are very serious aboutt their 'craft'. Well, there was one there. Incidentally, the tranny with the fripples that I usually d and m with wasn't there. Sad. Anyhow, there was a serious singer up doing a song, can't remember which one. Canon Wonderful grabbed the mic and began singing over the top of him. Who was better I cannot say, but who was funnier, I can. Canon, hands down. I was helping her do highlights. The man became very upset and glared at us. He said 'Do you want to do it then?' Canon replied 'yep' so he left. Then a very angry chinese man came over to sort us out. 'You cannot steal other people song! You don't do it again! Now Behabe! BEHABE!' I nodded and confirmed that I would 'behabe'.

There was a football team in there with us, who kept choosing shitty songs, so I got on the mic and shouted 'You all are pussies and you're choosing pussy songs!' The chinese man glared so I stepped down.

All in all, dedspite the lack of my perpetually hard-nippled tranny friend, it was a great time. We got home about four, went to bed and I awoke feeling like I'd been danced on by John Goodman. I think that some of the soreness was from the bout, some was from dancing and repeatedly punching my arms in the air. I was supposed to go to uni but my car wouldn't start again, so I stayed home, feelin very happy in spite of the alcohol poisoning and derby tenderising.

Now I'm in Canberra for a week, chilling with Kat and my sister's family and I'm loving myself sick about it. So, until I'm back in Sunny Adelaide,

Thank you for tuning in, this is Burt healy saying...

Hey! Hobo man, Hey! Dapper dan, you both got your style, but baby you're never fully dressed, without a smile...

Tx