Under-slept, with an absinth hangover to scare a small child away, I awoke at five pm Saturday evening to an excitable friend calling with news that she’d landed three tickets to the Victorian Roller Derby championship.
My friend's Kate, Fergus and I trekked out to the Reservoir sports centre with a lovely taxi driver named Frank. On the way we played a game called 'who would make the best gps tracking voice?' I apparently won, by stating that it could be none other than THE man; Snoop Doggy Dog' I mean, how could you get out of your car if you were driving around with your own mother***** homey gps? Yo, in the next fitty meters turn leeeeeft.
Fifty dollars later we arrived at the Reservoir Sports Centre. My friend Kate picked up our wristbands from a girl with a quiff that would have put Elvis to shame, and before we could say 'gin and jiuce' we were front row roller freaking derby"
The game is simple. And it aint even worth explaining the rules, or any of that technical hoo ha, because that would just be plain boring. Two teams of hot rockabilly girls, with tough names like Kitty Von Crusher, Mandy Tory Punsihment, and Skate Bush. Tussle and ruffle around a rink together, blocking and knocking each other out of the way for points.
Just go watch it.
Find your local roller derby association and go watch these pistol's who will make you think Tarentino's girl's are soft. Boom.
Oh, and stay away from Absinthe would you.