Hunky Z and I were in the smelly, crowded beer garden getting a little loaded even by our own high standards when Canada's second rate national anthem was being sung by a good looking pink-haired girl at the edge of the roller derby oval below us. Across the oval from the singer stood about 100 roller girls with their game faces on. Like the dope growers around here like to say, I was living the dream.
"Look over there," suggested Hunky with an elbow to my ribs. He was pointing to a woman in a wheel chair being swatted with a spanking paddle for not standing for the anthem. That is a roller derby crowd for you: whatever class we might have we do not like to show off.
Naturally Hunky and I both were jealous of not getting the spanking ourselves. Especially since the first roller girl we spotted at Derby Night in Canada was Andi in a wee apron and winsome little pig tails.
We were both looking forward to seeing the barn storming team from Montreal. Would the hash-baked girls from back east have what it takes to smoke the best roller girls in Canada's western marijuana lands?
Montreal played Victoria's Eves of Destruction first and the motherfucking Quebecers bloodied the Victoria girls' noses. Hunky and I had left the beer garden for a seat at the edge of the oval to see the spectacle. The Victoria girls were none too happy about the treatment they got either. One bloody-nosed Eve threw a vicious body slam into one of her Quebec opponents that spread her out on the concrete like a pail of blood and the whole crowd could hear the Victorian lady cuss, "Take that bitch!" as she did so.
This was my kind of roller derby.
Between periods Booty Quake walked by and stepped on Hunky's fingers a couple of times. He probably still has not washed his broken fingers. Booty has great hair and Hunky likes hair so much he once had a crush on Ron Duguay. Between periods of the last match I bought myself a few extra large pairs of pink panties from one of the Victoria teams' merchandise tables. When you get to be the age Hunky and I are, if it gives you a hard on you will buy it. I was afraid the panties might be too tight but they fit me just right.
Next bout featured Dope City's own squad of all-stars against the touring all-stars from the fearsome Motherfucking, Alberta Roller Condederacy. The Dope City girls, all decked out in my favourite colours of Black and Red, put the girls from Calgary back on the broken down bus they rode out west in within no time. The dirty Albertans did manage to knock Busty Licious out cold before the bout was over however. Revenge is just a jam away in roller derby. "The Dope City girls look fucking awesome but they'll never beat those fast French bitches," Hunky told me authouritively. We both think we have seen enough roller derby to be able to handicap the matches. I agreed with him. "They're going to have to hit them hard and often but it is hard to hit what you can't see." The girls from Montreal could skate like a thoroughbred with the right medication.
Montreal next knocked off the other team to paddle over from the Island of Vancouver. Their star player is Bitter Ail. She had been stretching out on the floor near us in preparation for the match. We were agog.
In the final the girls from Dope City showed us all they had, clearing to an early lead and never having to look back. It was a tremendous display of teamwork, violence, athleticism, determination and sex. By the time the last jam of the night rolled around all Dope City had to do to hoist the Derby Night in Canada Cup was to get their jammer in the lead first and cruise, which they did. That was when Montreal's football lineman sized blocker #118 threw the dirtiest check in roller derby history on tournament MVP Roller Girl. The French cunt Bertuzzi'd her talented enemy, probably the sexual fantasy of more than half the men and women in the audience. You could hear the fists of the audience clench tighter as the crowd went dead silent after the first immediate calls from at least a couple of the audience's more shitfaced members to call loudly, "Kill 118!" thereby re-entering the world of Ron Maurier, the world of their youth. The medics rushed to Roller Girl's aid and, after determining she was still alive, escorted her to the dressing room. #118 was thrown out of the arena before the crowd had a chance to exfoliate her hair by hair.
Final score 66-48. Dope City has a great sports team - and it is not the Canucks or the Lions. (And I would like to again thank everyone who makes Dope City roller derby a reality. Hunky asked me during our night out, "You think they'll ever play GM Place?" They might before you know it. If that roller derby movie they're making in Hollywood catches the imagination of people, roller derby could really take off up here. Sort of like Urban Cowboy made being a dumbfuck cowboy cool and profitable.)
Hunky and I then headed to Jimi's drink 'til you drop we were late for. We were almost hit by four drunk drivers as we approached the ugly end of what had been an all day party. Turned out all the drunk drivers we had just about veered into had just left the party.
I sucked back a quick half dozen before watching a teenage boy paw one of Jimi's daughter's breasts as I was loading Sonja into the car at night's end. Half way home Sonja painted a ten foot long flame of jelly bean shooters down the side of my car.
On the seventh day, God invented Saturday night.