Andi, Mayo, and I left Durham while it was still a lovely afternoon to meet a crew from my early college years for a pre-bout dinner (and to watch the Penguins rout the Flyers in high def) at the Village Draft House. About an hour-and-a-half of laughing, eating, and commenting on a hockey game no one else was watching, it was time to go. As far as we all knew, it was still quite lovely outside. That is until, on our way out the door, our waitress mentioned that we should drive safely because the weather looked menacing.
Things started to get windy as we made our way over, either that or the road signs were also really into the The Soviettes song we were listening to in order to be properly psyched for the event. Still, no rain.
That is, until we parked the car. Then? A Tsunami. Things let up and we made the run to the back door of Dorton, only to be told we would have to go around to the other side. So around we went, just in time for the sideways downpour of rain. Andi had armed herself with an umbrella, which she held almost perpendicular to the ground for most of our run around the arena. That was good enough to keep the top half of her dry, but her jeans and sandals were soaked through. Mayo and I were soaked through from all accountable fronts. Nothing says potential fun like sitting around in wet underpants for the second time in a weekend.*
Still, undaunted, we took our seats and began reading though the program and enjoying the alter egos of the various Rollergirls(Elka Meano got my vote for best name, with an honorable mention to Trudy Struction). What I should have been doing was reading up on the rules of roller derby, which were printed over several pages in our programs.
Without a formal appreciation for the rules, to say nothing of the strategies, of roller derby, I had to go by instinct. Having chosen to root for the Debutante Brawlers based solely upon the fact that I liked their players' names more than those of the Trauma Queens, I started screaming uninformed smack talk.
"Skate! Skate like the wind! You can't stop her! It's like you're all on square wheels!" I'd scream before taking a look at the program to see little tidbits like the names of the player positions. Armed with a little bit of information, the screaming could be either more or less ignorant. I'll let you decide which shouting "Jammer! Jammer in the face!" falls under.
If nothing else, my poor attempt at engaging the sport at least served to amuse the group sitting in front of us. They just happened to be the halftime entertainment, The Durham Senior Divas, who requested that I get as excited for them as I was for the roller derby action that I was alternately screaming at and reading up on. Unfortunately, all of their routine was directed towards the opposite side of Dorton arena. This is a seating error I won't be repeating next time.
By the second half, the crankiness one usually associates with soggy undergarments set in and I started pleading for more pronounced violence on the track. Either in response to my cries or as a result of the Rollergirls' legs tiring out, we were treated to some seriously awesome and painful-looking wipe outs.
In the end, my Debutante Brawlers survived a late-game comeback attempt from the Trauma Queens to get the win. The sun had started to peek through the clouds, and it was clearly time to head home and slip into a nice, comfy, dry pair of pajamas. I'll be back to see the Carolina Rollergirls again, though. Next time, armed with actual information and a weather forecast, I expect to have even more fun.
*On Friday evening, in one of the more fun ComedyWorx shows I've ever been a part of, I received a crotch full of Dan Bain spittle as a result of his hilarious - but anatomically unsound - portrayal of a whale. I really had no idea he could put that much of the contents of a water bottle in his mouth. I saw Catie Braly for the first time in a bajillion years following that show. When we went out to catch up, the moistened undies were placed in the gym bag with my ComedyWorx pajamas while I was reminded why blue jeans and going commando have never mixed.