Thursday, November 3, 2011

Super Widower

Behind every great derby player, there is an even greater wife.

I have completely failed to find myself a derby wife.  Somehow, maybe somewhat explained by Bonnie D. Stroir's foray into untangling the hidden sociological mechanisms behind derby politics, I just haven't gone through with that particular rite of passage.  I just don't get on that well with the ladies.

Or perhaps I'm being fussy, holding out for that special someone that may not exist?  I've overly romanticized the perfect wife, one whom will hit with me, hit me, hold my hair back after the after-after party and let me air my gear out in her car on a tournament weekend, and my heart beats only for this perfect creature who lives exclusively in my derby dreams? 

Actually, no, that's not it.  I think I have failed on the derby wife front because I don't really give a rat's ass.  I'm just a bit too old for that brand of social corralling and I'd rather just get on with playing the game.

Plus also I already have a derby mate. 

Tonight, I was talking to my widower, The Man, about derby - what else? - and he was breaking down a certain player's style for me, giving some insight to his skating habits and suggesting what I can do to successfully block them.  See, he does this.  He watches the games and instinctively recognizes patterns and behaviors exhibited by players and comes up with a counter-move to kyptonite their asses.  He has helped me before during half-time when I've been up against difficult foes and recently gave his brother, Buster Beaton, a bit of advice that helped him juke out one of the best players around these parts (you can try to spot it by watching here).  I think The Man has an excellent derby brain and would be valuable to our league. 

So, tonight I tried to convince him - once again, with a complete lack of success - as always- to join derby.  I said, 'Come on, you already know the game, you like skating, you're already going on a damn derby road trip without me, why don't you just admit it, come out, and sign up already?'

And The Man says, 'But dear, I'm already very involved with derby.  Who cares for your orphans?  Who brings you sandwiches when you're all day officiating at boot camp?  Who listens to you talk about it for hours everyday?  Who makes sure your gear is aired out and you have clean fishnets the game?   Who slices fruit and vegetables for the half time snacks?  Who comes to the bout to sit with family and friends and explain what's happening to them?  Who comes with you to the after party and hangs onto your ass all night?'

And then I realize, omg, I DO have a derby wife!  A real one!  One that cooks, cleans and does laundry!  And gives strategy tips!  I'm not going to ruin a good thing here by encouraging him to actually get on the track, oh no, he's doing just fine, keeping to his place.

So, who needs a derby wife anyway?  Honestly, I trust my teammates to be there for me on the track and the after party.  I skate with a great group of people, players and refs alike, and what good would come from singling someone out?  I'm thinking that either I marry the whole lot of them or none. 

Of course, I can afford to take this lofty position on derby courtship, because I know I'll still have clean fishnets when I need them. 

I know I wouldn't be able to make the time and energy commitment this sport takes if it wasn't for The "He Who Shall Not Have A Derby Name" Man.  So, to the guy who not only brings me bout food, airs gear, washes fishnets AND reads my blog:

Thank You <3  

And, I forgot to mention, I have an extra practice or two this week, if you don't mind...

(Btw, to check out a little media spot for RDRDA, my Nightshades Vs. Gas City, and an interview with three Team Canada players, click here.)

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