A Girl...

Derby Dolls

WHEREAS, Simon likes to take good, long, hard looks at things that interest him;

WHEREAS, he therefore prefers still photographs to slideshows;

WHEREAS, there is roller booty involved;

NOW, THEREFORE, in consideration of the above acknowledgments and representations contained therein, and other good and valuable consideration, and being that my boyfriend is a sweetheart and a fox, the administrating party (me!) hereto agrees to the following:

1. To post a modest portion of the 214(!) photographs Simon took at roller derby last weekend.

2. To write a little narrative to accompany said photographs.

This embodies the entire agreement and understanding between and among the parties hereto with respect to the subject matter hereof, and may not be changed, modified, amended, waived, discharged, or terminated except by an instrument in writing signed by the authorized representative of the party (or, in the case of an individual, the person himself) against whom enforcement of such change, modification, amendment, waiver, discharge, or termination is sought.

Booya!

So, yeah, 214 pictures were taken with my camera at last Saturday's match between the SF Shevil Dead and the Oakland Outlaws. 214 pictures. I guess someone was a little overexcited about girls in tiny skirts...

In his defense, every photographer knows you might have to take one hundred crappy shots to get three good ones, so it pays to be prolific. So now, out of the 214 he took, I have deemed almost 7 percent of them worthy for your discerning eyes. That's like...a whole bunch! *Barbie voice*Math is hard!*/Barbie voice*

I hope hope hope you'll take the time to look at them because it took me a frickin' long time to get these web-ready, what with the cropping and resizing (willy-nilly as it is) and the adjusting of levels and such. So please--look at them. They're neat, I promise.

--

Before we get to the action, first let me get something out of the way. Part of the reason Simon was so excited for this derby bout was because, in all his infinite cleverness, he had decided after the last bout to design himself a T-shirt upon which he would scrawl a witty tidbit of support for his team. Here's him writing "IVA CRUSH ON IVA VENDETTA," in honor of one of the derby girls.

I didn't think much of it until coworkers and friends and even Simon himself told me that it was awfully tolerant and generous of me to let my boyfriend appear in public wearing a custom-made shirt declaring his affection for another woman in big red letters. But it's a good thing I wasn't bothered by it because as soon as we took our seats in the rink, Iva and all her teammates started pointing and giggling, and then Ms. Vendetta herself skated over to Simon and pointed him out to her boyfriend, who was watching from the sidelines. I, being the cool chick that I am, popped off my lenscap and captured the moment for posterity. Aw. No matter that the toxic marker fumes from the shirt gave me a headache and shakey, sweaty palms and stomach cramps and nausea. It was all for the love of Iva and her signature Ivattude.

In the end, we all profit from Simon's having endeared himself to the team, because for the rest of the game he pretty much disregarded the no-fans-allowed-beyond-this-blue-line rule and got my camera close up to the action. Or at least the bench-warming before the action. (Note the necklace of the girl on the right.)

For those of you who have never been to a roller derby match before, the official point of the game is for the one "jammer" on each team to push her way through the pack of "blockers." This means a lot of shoving and grimacing and crashing into a tangled heap of skates and helmets and tattooed arms and legs. Which brings me to the unofficial point of the game: to act like a badass. These ladies are pretty much Suicide Girls on wheels--tattoos, piercings, goth dye jobs, ripped fishnet stockings, extremely deliberate eyeliner, and blood-red lipstick. They are fierce. And the fans are just as tough. I mean look at this stuff.

In case you were wondering, I fit right in. I offset my flaxen tresses and dimpled cheeks and grape BlowPop with my standard Punk Rock Uniform: my Ramones T-shirt from Urban Outfitters. Oh yes, I am so very hardcore. And Simon? Call it coincidence or a flash of fashion prescience, but his shirt coordinated perfectly with this promotional headband. Beer. Yay. I got me a free Pabst shirt.

If you're in the area and you want to attend future roller derby events, I highly suggest you spring for the inner-rink tickets. The Pabst schwag is nice and all, but the view can't be beat. Even if you have to contend with the goofus cheerleader wagging his skinny bum in your face. We prefer authentic derby doll bum, thank you very much.

For as much posing and cuteness that goes on (see also: the penalty sign), the girls really do play a good game.

There is speed, grace, teamwork, and strategy. In fact, the Oakland Outlaws were so protective of their team secrets, they made it clear that Simon in his Iva shirt was not welcome on their half of the rink. They kind of scare me. Their eyes glow red because they are evil.

But damn are they good players. With nice legs.

What was that? Did I just compliment the opposition? Them's fightin' words.

Okay, so maybe the fights are fake, but the play is all real. And at the end of the three-hour game, it's hard not to respect the ladies who are out there delivering the smackdown and yet remaining all girl. Just because we women are liberated from our past as the oppressed gender doesn't mean we can't wear teeny-tiny skirts while kicking ass. That alone should be enough to turn anyone into a feminist.

Posted by Leah at February 1, 2006 09:05 AM