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Thursday, March 31, 2016

BLOOD: YouTube Review "The Voices" by Horrors of the Universe

By Bowie V. Ibarra of ZBFbooks.com

Check it out.
My buddy Steve-O brings you a great little review from his home in SATX.  
Check it out, and leave your opinions in the comment section below.



Follow Steve at his Horrors of the Universe YouTube Channel HERE.
And if you need a story filled with Zombies, Blood, or Fights, look no further than HERE.

And if you need more zombie horror, check out the 'Down the Road' zombie horror series from Permuted Press.   Down the RoadDown the Road: On the Last Day, andDown the Road: The Fall of Austin.  Pick them up in paperback or Kindle today.
 

 
 
BOWIE V. IBARRA earned his BFA in Acting and MA in Theatre History from Texas State University.  Network with Bowie at his official website, ZombieBloodFights.comtoday.

Monday, March 28, 2016

FIGHTS: LOUDMOUTH - Chapter 8 - Buckshot Betsy and Sparkle Plenty

At the end of my past life, I earned the right to be the first flat track derby announcer with the Texas Rollergirls.


What follows is a very old, very unauthorized, and very unedited version of the document I produced describing my experiences during the genesis of flat track derby.  It would be some of the last moments of my past life.

Enjoy.

LOUDMOUTH: Confessions of a Flat Track Derby Announcer

By

Bowie V. Ibarra


Copyright 2007  Bowie V. Ibarra

“Keep smiling’.  Keep shinin’
Knowing you can always count on me
For sure.
That’s what friends are for”.
- “That’s What Friends are For”, 1985

Chapter VIII:  Buckshot Betsy and Sparkle Plenty

            Driving home from my hometown of Uvalde late one Sunday afternoon, I noticed a very peculiar baby blue Jeep Cherokee just outside of New Braunfels going up IH-35. 
Buckshot Betsy
            Originally, it drew my attention because of its obnoxious color, standing out from the traffic like a large baby carriage, or pram if you are from Great Britain.  As my vehicle revved closer, bold white letters spelled out the Texas Rollergirls website, which is http://www.txrollergirls.com by the way.  I revved even closer and pulled up beside them.
            To my genuine surprise, it was Sparkle Plenty and Buckshot Betsy.  The girls were pretty much a duo.  You didn’t get one without the other, it seemed.  You kind of get the feeling they would do everything together, like rob a bank or kill someone.  Well, maybe not the “kill someone” bit, but rob a bank, for sure.  Their friendship came across as that strong to me.  They were staples at some of Austin’s early Air Guitar Championships, and I seem to remember being told they advanced very far in the tournament.  For the longest time, their MySpace picture was a great action shot of the both of them rocking out on a stage somewhere, Sparkle dropping the lyrics while Betsy rocked out with the guitar in a pose reminiscent of the ‘80’s glam rock days.  It was a great picture.
Sparkle Plenty
            I waved enthusiastically at them and I think they were also pleasantly surprised to see me, too.  I wanted to call Sparkle from my vehicle, but felt it was not necessary.  I guess I did not call because I don’t necessarily feel their equal, from a pro-wrestling perspective.  I don’t mean wrestling them, either.  
            Anyway, what I meant by a pro-wrestling perspective is that they are the stars of the show.  I’m just the lowly announcer.  My job is to make sure to get them over.
            It still made me very happy to see them.  The moment brought back a moment from the early days of the league when Sparkle and Buckshot gave me an impromptu phone call, leaving a really cool message about how great my announcing was and how they were happy to have me on board with them.
            I remember thinking initially that it was good that they left the message.  XXXXXX certainly would not have understood their sincerity and would have probably gave me a piece of her mind.
            Sparkle eventually formed a more professional bond with the announce team while emerging as one of the best pivots in the nation.  Buckshot respectfully kept her distance which meant a lot when she did say things to me.  She lauded my work when Tucson came over for a second battle with Texas, and I still remember how sincerely pleased she was when she told me she liked some of the things I came up with.
            The Texas announce team likes to joke that very few people pay attention to what we have to say.  That is, if they can even hear us.

  But I like to think that Buckshot and Sparkle are listening and I hope that every once in a while, I can make them chuckle while making them proud.


======

More to come...

For more info on the Texas Rollergirls, visit their website HERE.

Friday, March 25, 2016

FIGHTS: LOUDMOUTH - CHAPTER 6 - The Texas Rollergirls Announce Team

At the end of my past life, I earned the right to be the first flat track derby announcer with the Texas Rollergirls.

What follows is a very old, very unauthorized, and very unedited version of the document I produced describing my experiences during the genesis of flat track derby.  It would be some of the last moments of my past life.

Enjoy.

LOUDMOUTH: Confessions of a Flat Track Derby Announcer

By

Bowie V. Ibarra


Copyright 2007  Bowie V. Ibarra



“Good God!  Good God!  Would somebody stop the damn match!  Enough’s enough!”
-  Jim Ross, WWE Announcing legend, during the infamous Mankind/Undertaker Hell in a Cell match

Chapter VII:  The Texas Rollergirls Announce Team

            For the most part, the announce team has remained a constant.  Here is a brief biography of the people who have formally lent their voices to the Texas flat track revolution.

WHISKEY L’AMOUR – PLAY BY PLAY
Nicknames:  The First Lady of Flat Track Derby Annuncing
Sign: Aries
Memorable Quote:  “Whoopty Frikkin’ Doo, this is Roller Derby.
Gimmick:  A voice of many colors, Whiskey will forever be remembered for her outrageous costumes and bright smile.  Retired after the National Championship 2007.
Oh, yeah.  And her boobs.
Consecutive Three Time Announcer of the Year Award Winner.

LES McGEHEE – MASTER OF CEREMONIES
Nickname:  Motormouth
Gimmick:  An old school skating announcer complete with vintage suit and skates.  In his brief stint, will be remembered for his extremely witty remarks and ad-libbed praise of the Texas Rollergirls.  His “foreigners” bit is still used to this day.
Notable Recognition:  Master of improvisational comedy and author of “Plays Well with Others”, a veritable bible of improve comedy advice and sage words for living.

CHIP QUESO – CROWD WRANGLER
Sign: Leo
Nicknames:  The God of Gouda, The King of Chamobere, The Ayatollah of Gorgonzolla, Prince of Provolone, The Chedder Jackass, The Monterrery Jackoff, Cheiftan of Cheddar, Mozzerella Masterbater, Velociraptor.
Memorable Quotes:  (Something that resembles English screamed over the microphone.  Probably Gaelic.)
Gimmick:  Rarely referenced love of cheese.  Known for schmoozing with every rollergirl and league in his general vicinity or driving distance.  Never met a camera he didn’t like.  Also known for randomly joining group photos uninvited.
           
JIM “KOOL AID” JONES – MASTER OF CEREMONIES
Nicknames:  The Sinister Minister, “Flat Track Cult Leader”, “Bastard son of Dionysus”
Sign: Libra
Memorable Quotes:  “The couple that swats together… stays together”.
           “The Hustler defense just fell apart like Chip Queso’s marriage”.
Gimmick:  A super-intelligent cult leader who calls matches with one of the sharpest eyes in derby.  He is easily the quickest wit in flat track today, second only to Motormouth.
Known for:  Forming the emo/folk/emo band “The Butt Butter Churners” and composing the signature standard “Queso’s Mom is a Fuckin’ Ho’”.  Proud supporter of “Find A Ref A Friend”.  www.findarefafriend.com
           
HOT WHEELS
Nickname:  Penalty Princess
Memorable Quote:  “Aw, shut up!”
Gimmick:  A devilish MILF with frightening dominatrix influenced outfits.
Known for:  Spending her final season whipping people’s asses while pregnant.

THE SCARLOT HARLOT
Nickname:  The Redhead with Bedhead
Gimmick:  Retired Hell Mary bad ass who filled in for Hot Wheels after her retirement.
Known for:  Short temper and big hits on the track, and a bright smile, amicability, and sense of humor off the track.

JULIO E. GLASSES
Nickname:  Iron Announcer Texas
Memorable Quotes:  “It’s a game of angles”.
Gimmick:  Silly latin crooner turned chef.

Known for:  Singing rollergirl inspired song excerpts  and making obscure references, studying the names of the visiting rollergirls as well as the home team during skater warm ups.  Leads physical and vocal warm ups of announce team.  Sometimes takes restroom breaks during bouts.  Frankie the Zarape, ZarapeGate, and ZarapeBowl.

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

FIGHTS: LOUDMOUTH: Chapter 6 - The Wedding

At the end of my past life, I earned the right to be the first flat track derby announcer with the Texas Rollergirls.

What follows is a very old, very unauthorized, and very unedited version of the document I produced describing my experiences during the genesis of flat track derby.  It would be some of the last moments of my past life.

Enjoy.

LOUDMOUTH: Confessions of a Flat Track Derby Announcer

By

Bowie V. Ibarra


Copyright 2007  Bowie V. Ibarra

“Well, they’re going to the chapel and they’re going to get married.”
            - The Dixie Cups, “Chapel of Love”

Chapter VI:  The Wedding
           
            The wedding of my wife and I was the greatest wedding ever, bar none.  Though I was severely hung over, I had one of the greatest times of my life with family and friends.  Let me tell you how I met my eternal beloved…..

          XXXXXXXX
            My friends had converged once again on my friend, C.J. Odam’s apartment (later to be Texas independent pro-wrestler and Shawn Micheal’s protégé, Jeromy Sage) for an ECW pay-per-view.  I remember choosing Grolsh as my beverage of choice for the evening, and drinking every bottle.
            A neighbor had arrived outside of our circle of friends, and he was not very bright.  So when the event ended, my friends and I convinced him to be our wrestling dummy.  He gladly obliged, and we all proceeded to beat the crud out of him.
            It was a real shitty thing to do.  The guy sincerely just wanted to have friends, and we beat him up.  I hit a perfect senton splash on him while he was on the ground and felt pretty proud of myself.
            My buddy C.J. and I began to scuffle.  Being the hardcore guys we were, he motioned me to be thrown into the steel fence surrounding the apartment complex.  I figured the long metal bars would bend and not break. 
            As I propelled myself toward the gate, I leapt into the air.  But C.J. pushed my body in an opposite direction right as I planted my foot.  I literally heard the ligament pop as I flew back first into the gate.
            Almost immediately, the intense pain in my left knee had me gasping for air like I never had before.  My knee began to swell like a melon almost immediately.  A friend who was studying to be a trainer claimed I tore my ACL.  In a flash, my dream of moving to Mexico after graduation to learn the art of lucha libre was over.
            I had to drive back to New Braunfels where I was living with a couple who was housing me XXXXXXX.  Before I continue on the ACL story and how it brought me to XXXX, let me briefly describe my experience with this family.
            The Hartwigs were an elderly couple living on the wooded outskirts of New Braunfels, Texas.  They came across as the epitome of elderly happiness.  Their smiles were charming and their energy felt sincere.  I found their offer to rent out their room in the New Braunfels newspaper.  XXXXXXXXXXX.
            But all was not well with the Hartwigs.
            The wife was an alcoholic who had shot her husband just months before.  I discovered this bit of information over coffee one morning on the way to work.  A bit of an awkward moment.  Mr. Hartwig also liked to shoot his pistol out of the porch in his backyard.  He claimed to have a six shooter that once belonged to Pancho Villa.  He also liked to say the “N” word a lot, and I don’t mean “nipple”.
            They were very kind to me and I was sad to hear months later that Mrs. Hartwig had shot and killed her husband before burning down the house and trying to hang herself from a tree in the front yard.  XXXXXXXXX.
            So I spent the next few months in a pain that resided temporarily until the surgery to repair it, in which it returned with a vengeance.  Vicatin is very special.  Not only does it relieve pain, but you lose lots of weight, too.
            Graduating from college just short of a year after my father’s death, I was returning to my hometown to rehab my leg I was not sure would be any good afterwards.  I felt pretty pathetic, and was having a hard time adjusting.  My body ached and I learned the definition of bedsores.  I was miserable.
            As I healed, I spent some much needed time with my mother.  Perhaps it was God’s way of sending me back to her.  Lord knows she struggled in the months leading to my father’s death.  She loved my father so much, she was ready to quit her job just three years short of retirement.  My mother was a saint to me and to my father, and we were eternally blessed by her. 
            As I think about the situation now, I really think that was the reason.  We needed each other then, as we still do now.  Perhaps even more so.  And had my leg not gone out on me, I might have continued to forge ahead with my life without thinking and meditating on my loss.  Not only that, but realizing how important my family is.  Many family members were there for me in my moment of need, and I greatly appreciate them.
            During this time at home, mother and I traveled to San Juan near the Texas/Mexico border.  It is a pilgrim ground for Catholics who want to visit the shrine to the Virgin of San Juan.  It was quite a spiritual awakening for me.  The statues depicting the stations of the cross were quite moving.
            I also made an interesting statement that my mother observed and thought was very funny.  As I was being spiritually refueled for the future, I told my mother, “I want to bring my first wife here.”
            “Your first?” she asked.
            Funny thing was, after the honeymoon on the way home, I took my wife there.  And she’s my one and only, because if she leaves me, I will never marry again.  It’s the hardest thing I’ve done in my life.  Having to work with Chip Queso is a close second.
            At any rate, I eventually recovered and returned to San Marcos.  I went back to work at Jones New York: The Executive Suite, where I had previously spent some time.  It was a simple test to see if my leg could hold up to the work.  After a few months, I gained more and more confidence in my leg.
            So what does blowing out my leg have to do with my marriage?  Had I not blown out my leg, I would have never met my future wife at my job at the outlet mall while selling suits.  I was a good salesman, by the way.  I learned all I could about worsted wool and regular wool and how a suit should fit.  I was inspired to work there thanks to the influence of professional wrestling legend Ric Flair.  In my youth, I was scared of Flair and the dastardly Four Horsemen.  Composed of the Minnesota Wrecking Crew members, Arn Anderson and Ole Anderson, as well as San Antonio native Tully Blanchard, the Horsemen ran roughshod over the NWA and WCW.
            As I matured, I finally understood the image Ric Flair was projecting: an aristocratic tough guy who talked the talk and spent his hard earned money engaged in a hedonistic lifestyle.  This way of life found him wearing the best clothes and accessories, riding in expensive cars and chartered jets, and seducing the women like some roughneck Valentino.  Everything a young twenty-something could appreciate and strive for.
            Working at Jones gave me a chance to put together an assortment of suits that I wear to this day.  Although, despite the bulging waistline.  Damn, those haberdashers were right about making the waist a sizes up from the current size.  I never thought my waistline would get bigger than 30.  Ahhh, marriage.
            So one Friday night I go on break.  Naturally, I head to get food.  It would be the first time I was to lay eyes on my future wife.  I checked out the various places to eat around the food court of San Marcos Outlet mall.  I eventually worked my way to a Mexican themed food place called “Fiesta Mexico”.  Working behind the counter was a lovely young maiden XXXXXXX.
            I asked her if I could make a special order.  She replied by saying, “Just tell me and I’ll give you anything you want.”
            In the immortal words of George Constanza of Seinfeld fame, “It moved”.
            To this day, she insists she was not flirting with me.  But the magic of the moment and the words that I felt in my heart (or wherever you might think I felt those words) that dripped like honey to my ears gave me the inspiration I needed to get to know this girl a little more.  Imagine that.
            She was not wearing her uniform, which was peculiar.  She was dressed in a simple cute top and a denim mini-skirt.  The legs were reeling me in.  She wore black Mary Jane’s with socks and had hints of glitter on her face, arms, and chest.  XXXXXXXXXX.
            XXXXXXXXX....

/   /   /   /   /   /

            I have to admit, committing myself to marriage at the ripe old age of twenty-eight was daunting.  I had not even had any kind of series or long term relationship.  My relationships were more or less in my imagination.  Like long term mind prisons stunting my emotional growth.
            XXXXXXXXXXXX
            XXXXXXXXXXXX
            So I proposed on that bridge over the Riverwalk on the Mexican day of Independence from France. 
/   /   /   /   /   /

            Putting the wedding together was, naturally, a strain.  Renting the venue, buying the clothes, and money for the photographer (that as of this writing has yet to get our pictures to us) cost money.  Scrapping together the dough was tough.  But fortunately, family was there to help with that.  My family, that is.
            XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
            We had the rehearsal dinner the night before the wedding and I treated my groomsmen to select alcoholic beverages.  It was also the night of some great cage fights, with Randy Coture toppling Chuck Liddell.  It was a night of excitement and anticipation.
            XXXXXXXXX.
            Maybe I should not have, because the next morning I was hung over with a cruel vengeance.  Chris Arnall, one of my groomsmen, shared the tequila I had gifted him.  Not a good idea. 
            The next morning, my suegra had menudo for everyone, but I was the only one that showed up.
            When I returned home, I threw up my breakfast in the parking lot and tried to sleep off the hangover to no avail.
            Though I was in pain thanks to my tequila induced intoxication, I was still able to muster up enough willpower to be in the ceremony, take wedding pictures at the state capital (that I wish I could see), and make our way to the reception.  The mariachi band was already playing and we sat at the table like a king and queen at a royal banquet.  I will never forget how happy XXXXXXX was.  The mariachi came to our grand table and played a few tunes as the food was presented.  I remember wondering when we would be served, as I was still suffering greatly from not eating the entire day.
            Our next featured performance was from a folklorico group in Austin.  As they began, we were finally served.  I was so ready to eat.  The meal was prepped to the highest standard and smelled so good.
            As I was prepared to consume the dish, just moments away from satiating my hunger, XXXXXXX pulled me by the arm.
            “Let’s go watch the dancers.”   She wanted to move closer to the dance floor and away from my precious food.  It was like putting food in front of a homeless guy, then making him go pick up your laundry.
            “What about the food?” I asked in hungry desperation.
            “C’mon.  Let’s go,” she insisted.
            So we strolled down by the dance floor to watch the dances.  The first dance set was from Coahuila, then Jalisco, and finally Vera Cruz.  The dancers were fantastic, and the Vera Cruz candle dance was moving.
            The final dance of the night was to include XXXXXX and I.  It was the traditional marriage dance to “La Bamba”.  The choreography includes and actual tying of the knot made from a long red cloth.  The real stunning part is that the knot is tied with the feet and not the hands of the couple.
            XXXXXX and I had practiced sporadically during the weeks leading up to the wedding and thought we had it under control.  I was coordinated but lacked the technical chutzpah and grace of the dance members.  As a former folklorico dancer, XXXXXX was moving in perfect form to the rhythm.  XXXXX  is always so extremely sexy when she dances, and she was magnificent on this night.
            Things were moving along just fine until we reached a literal snag.  The small nails on the front of XXXXX boots were sticking to the cloth.  Having bought traditional boots, XXXXXX had neglected to make sure the nails were set in the tip of the boots properly.
            Suddenly, we were losing time.  The song was finite, and the knot needed to be tied before the end of the song or we would look ridiculous.  It would signal a cruel portent for our married future.
            Within moments, the professional dancers were already done with their knots and dancing around us.  Time was running out.
            The final verse was starting and the song would be over in seconds.  We were very close to finishing.  I did not think we were going to make it.  With a pair of simultaneous tugs, we finished as the final notes were sung.  As the last note hit, XXXXXX and I revealed our knot to the audience.
            It was a small moment of true triumph, and an example of what a marriage should be.  Two people who love each other enough to devote their lives to each other.  Under great pressure, a couple can achieve anything they set their minds to.
            The dance was a victory, but there was one more personal message I needed to communicate.  Later that evening, I paid tribute to my father.  I wished he was there physically, but knew he was there in spirit.  To the audience, I proclaimed that I wish I had the courage to be half the husband and father he was to me.

            In the end, it was the greatest wedding ever. 

+++++

More to Come...

Thursday, March 17, 2016

FIGHTS: LOUDMOUTH: Chapter 5 - The Rockstar Realization and the Delicate Balance...

At the end of my past life, I earned the right to be the first flat track derby announcer with the Texas Rollergirls.

What follows is a very old, very unauthorized, and very unedited version of the document I produced describing my experiences during the genesis of flat track derby.  It would be some of the last moments of my past life.

Enjoy.

LOUDMOUTH: Confessions of a Flat Track Derby Announcer

By

Bowie V. Ibarra


Copyright 2007  Bowie V. Ibarra

“T-T-T-Totally, dude”
- Shop Boyz, “Party like a Rockstar”

Chapter V:  The Rockstar Realization and the delicate balance

            I’ll never forget the night when I realized the Texas Rollergirls were going to be bigger than the Beatles, and it looked like the gang and I were going to be allowed to ride their coattails.
            A game was scheduled in Dallas, Texas.  A ragtag travel team of available Texas Rollergirls was to promote flat track for a league of eager north Texas rollergirls hungry for derby action.  Assassination City rollergirls would be our host, and the crosstown rivals, the Dallas Derby Devils, would also be in attendance.  Both teams had been practicing and were soon to make their marks in the annals of flat track derby.
            The rollergirls had procured a travel bus for the trip.  It was a very special bus that, from what I remember, Gibson guitar sponsored.  I would join a contingent of rollergirls and coaches in this vehicle, riding up to Dallas and back in style. 
            The bus was a large white vehicle that somehow reminded me of a mass transit bus you would see in New York City, or the Austin Capital Metro Bus.  One side of the bus was a large tinted window and I seem to remember some kind of transparent promotional poster on one side.  The interior was nice as well: leather seats and a big karaoke machine.  It was also equipped with lots and lots of space for drinks, and geez did these girls fill up those ice chests.
            As we hit the road, the girls began playing on the karaoke machine.  Maybe I have not been to enough karaoke bars, but these girls really rocked to every song they played.  It was certainly a contrast to the last karaoke bar I was at…..
           
            It was on my honeymoon.  My newly wedded wife and I took our honeymoon two weeks after our wedding in Padre Island.  Before I go on, let me suggest to everyone reading this book who is planning on getting married to take your honeymoon immediately after the wedding.  Do not take several days off.  Go straight there.  The trip felt two weeks too late, and though we have preserved some great vacation moments on film and video, the time between the wedding and honeymoon was too far apart to be fun.
            Anyway, Padre was probably the last place we should have gone for our honeymoon as the place, being off season so to speak (with “season” being two weeks every year in March), was like being in an earthbound purgatory.  The people running every dive along the coastline seemed to be cursed to work the place from open to close forever.  I think the people working for the owners were also serving some cosmic indentured servitude as well, as their moping and shambling speed reminded me of a George Romero movie.  When you are a “land lubber” like myself, you tend to expect things like good customer service and smiles from the people you are handing money to.
            I will never forget on about the third day we went to this dive.  I knew the owner was very obviously some long lost descendant of Sisyphus.  The guy never smiled and it took the third visit to realize why.
            As I walked into his coastline establishment on that third visit, it was abundantly clear the man had been driven insane, destined to listen to the King of the Parrotheads, Jimmy Buffett himself, until he shuffles off this mortal coil.  On each and every visit, I heard “Cheeseburger in Paradise” at least twice each time.  It annoyed me and I was only there for a little while each time.  That guy was having his soul scourged every hour of every day of the year for eternity.  It must have been like hearing animals slaughtered, or listening to Chip Queso calling a game.  A fate worse than death.
            At any rate, the mainland was just as bad.  Before XXXXXX and I were to engage in one of our first big fights as a married couple, we traveled to a bar for some drinks.  In a bar right next to ours, it was karaoke night.  But not like a fun karaoke night, but the karaoke nigh of lost souls.  I have never heard more depressing songs sung horribly in a row before.  A room full of souls fit for a group suicide.  Where’s Jim Jones and his bowl of Kool-Aid when you need it?
            Anyway, so the Dallas trip….
           
            The girls rocked the karaoke machine.  While listening to the songs, I overheard a couple of girls quoting “Napoleon Dynamite”, a movie that connected to many people at the time.  In an effort to join the quote-a-thon and be friendly, I did my best Pedro presidential stump speech.
            “Hello.  I don’t have much to say except that I’d like to get some holy santos to put up in the hallways to protect the kids and bring good luck.”
            It was greeted with lukewarm appreciation.
            Apart from learning their names at practices, I had never really hung out with the girls.  They seemed untouchable to me.  Specifically, they were the stars, I was just a voice meant to get them over with the crowds.
            I was hanging out with “Kool Aid” for the most part, but Crazy Dukes was very amicable as well.  There was an interesting vulnerability to her.  Throughout the trip, she would make comments that drew laughs from everyone around her.  Unfortunately, they were chuckles of the “laugh-at-you” variety.  It was actually kind of charming.
            Someone else who was very cool to me on the trip that I never expected to ever hold a conversation with was Dinah Mite.  Sure she was an athletic dream physically, I was more in awe at her status as one of the greatest flat trackers in the league.  I kept a respectful distance, more out of reverence than 7th grade “fear of the pretty girl”.
            Through scattered conversation, I found out she was a metal head.  She apparently was a big fan of Megadeth, which somehow took me by surprise.  Considering she posed in an artfully done nude photo with an electric guitar covering her naughty bits for a local rock station, it somehow made sense.  Her Aquarius air complemented my Aries fire and we got along as casual acquaintances.
            We arrived at the venue to little fanfare.  It seemed like we were early and in a part of town that was not like I pictured.  The place was called “What’s Fun World”.  It was your standard skate place: Part Chucky Cheese, part ‘70’s retro, and a little stinky.  I somehow remember it being very purple.
            When we got there, girls were gearing up and skating on the track.  The track itself was a stark contrast to the Playland surface.  This Dallas track was a textured rubber material colored and designed for kids, built for grip.  It was going to be very fast.  It would be an interesting night for the girls on this new surface.
            Slowly, the crowd started filtering in.  A contingent of Triple D’s (Dallas Derby Devils) had also shown up.  I seem to recall the Assassination City girls were once part of the Devils.  The “start-a-league-then-split” trend started with us and seems to be a tradition with many teams to this day.
            Since it was a special bout, I made sure to dress up nice and special.  I put on my off-white dinner jacket, black slacks, and black bow tie with suspenders.  Pretty sharp.  Stylin’ and profilin’ as always.
            The announce team had a mic issue, with two mics being set up in two very different areas.  It was an interesting coordination, but we made it work.  Chip and Whiskey stayed on the floor while Jim and I stood in a booth above the floor.  At this point, our performances were still very informal with no set times to speak, but we had our titles.  Those titles had no bearing on when to talk, although they probably should have as the years developed.
            Though in our early days our announcing was quite informal, there was still a sense of competition, of claiming a bit of territory among the announce team.  It somehow went unsaid, but we all seemed to feel like flat track was going to take off and we all wanted to lay claim to our small fiefdom within the league.
            In my opinion, the senority of being a part of the first flat track league was beginning to show in the dynamic of the announce team.  With Les’ departure at the beginning of the second season, we were left with no real leadership.  As a professional, Les took the reigns and really defined our roles in the beginning.  There was a definite learning curve and a lot of growth still needed for our crew.
            But as a team, some of our growth was taking a different evolutionary path.  And like evolution, it was making itself stronger in order to thrive.
            On this night, it was the least of our worries as we had to deal with an infiltrator to our ranks: Pinky.
            Pinky was one of the original Texas Rollergirls and served her team, the Hot Rod Honey’s, with honor and skill.  Pinky was very slender, but very capable, with a reputation for dislocating her shoulder.  I remember the first championship game in which she took a tumble and shifted her shoulder out of joint.  I watched in horror her shoulderbone jutting out beneath her flesh at a very unnatural angle.  It was even more horrifying to watch the medical crew attempt to put it back in.  The condition led to her retirement.
            So on this night in Dallas, Pinky was apparently assigned to the announce team.  She joined Jim and I in the booth.  It was not the most pleasant of set ups.  As a “less is more” proponent, four voices is a lot when gone unchecked.  Five is way too many in our group of unchecked voices.  Jim and I were having a hard time figuring out how to tell her she was not doing so well.
            Again, it was our lack of authority.  No one was in charge, formally, so no one could really tell her how to perform on the mic.  She was alright in the end, but there was a lot of grabbing of the mic out of our hands on this night.
            The crowd was also very cool, too.  For Dallas.  I halfway expected girls with big hair and Rocky Mountain jeans, but was quite wrong.  The venue was BYOB, so people could bring their own drinks.  A couple walked in with a case of Milwaukee’s Best and graciously gave me one.  O.K., maybe I asked for it, but it was still cool of them.
            The bout was a lot of fun despite the tension and we were ready for the afterparty.  Before the bus took off, I got a chance to talk to Vendetta von Dutch, who stepped on the bus for a few moments to check it out.  She was clad in a leather jacket with a large Kiss Army patch.  Though it was a stupid question, I asked if she was a fan.  Stupid, sure.  But it was a chance to get in the head of one of my favorite rollergirls.
            I asked her a controversial KISS question: with or without makeup.  As a true fan, her answer was for me to ignore their unmasked body of work.  When asked what one album I should have of Kiss, she quickly stated “Double Platinum” is the must have KISS CD.
            Before long, the trip to the afterparty began, and I really was surprised at how wild many of these girls were.  It was kind of like being with a bunch of guys in a football beer league.  Drinks were passed around and they even pulled over at one point so a couple of rollergirls could pee under a bridge.
            We were about to pull in to the location of the afterparty when Crazy Duke’s boyfriend called.  He allegedly had an eye for trouble and had arrived before we got there.  He “cased” the bar and claimed there could be trouble brewing.  It made sense to me as it was Dallas and my perception of the people of the city did not jive with a bus load of free-spirited Austinites, despite being hosted by like-minded Dallas girls.
            The bus pulled up in front of the bar.  A small crowd had gathered outside.  It was a little surprising to me.  As we stood to exit the bus, Jim Jones stood behind me and, patting me on the shoulder, whispered “We’re rock stars, man.”
            It was a bit of a shock as the people cheered for the rollergirls and how I was fortunate to be a part of this moment.  I placed my hands together in a votive gesture, bowing to the fans before shaking a few hands.  It was an amazing feeling.  I had never considered Jim’s perception of the event, but it seemed a precise observation.
            The bar was nice, though edgy enough to house a rollergirl afterparty.  The DJ was Dallas chic and sophisticated, playing his musical set over the loudspeaker from his I-Pod and a modest mixer.  That alone amazed me at the time, even though the technology has advanced that much since then.  But it was a reminder of the kind of money I always picture people in Dallas having.
            Naturally, the girls made themselves at home, and I must admit, I felt a little out of place.  It would not be the last time.  Dinah came up and talked to me briefly, which was cool.  But apart from that, most of the girls were bathing in their well deserved glory.
            I did try to socialize a bit.  A blonde lady standing near a pool table motioned to me to talk to her.  I should have known she was trouble, and not the rollergirl by the same name.  She was the literal definition of the word.  She asked where we were from, and we began a conversation about flat track derby when her hulking boyfriend strode to the pool table.  He heard her comment that she wanted to be a rollergirl, and her boyfriend drew the conclusion that she, “didn’t eat enough pussy to be a rollergirl” before threatening me to stay away from his girl.
            The last thing I needed was to have some juiced up musclehead try to pound me into the ground.  Fights are always very appealing to me, but rationally impractical.  Returning home beat up and bloody is kind of a hard situation to explain to the wife.  And what would happen to my white dinner jacket.  That would be the saddest part of all.  So I amicably finished the conversation despite the glare from Captain Steroid and said goodbye to the lady, feeling more alone than ever.
            I found my male collegues in the restroom and the moment felt abuzz with lustful intentions.  Jim was struggling with his devotion to his girlfriend and seducing a rollergirl.  Chip, in the midst of a divorce, seemed to be living vicariously through Jim, following him like the little Chihuahua that follows the big bulldog in the Bugs Bunny cartoons.
            In a moment of clarity, I told Jim if the pull to this particular ‘girl was so strong, he needed to respond to it and dump his girlfriend.  I explained there would be a time when he would not have the opportunity again, so he needed to live in the moment.
            It was pretty much a commentary on my situation.  Having joined the rollergirls just months before getting married, it was a bit of a difficult transition.  Being around so many cool girls, I had to really adjust my feelings toward them.  It was kind of a mental conditioning, a reeducation and hard change of perception that would occasionally make me aloof, ignoring obvious charms.
            But do I completely ignore my female friends in derby.  Absolutely not.  Though my female friends in derby are few and far between (read: several hundred miles, in most cases), I have never crossed the line with any of them and have remained faithful to my wife and child.  If anything, I have kept things social with a drink and conversation, which are super rare.  Some people are just really cool and I’d like to get to know them in the social setting.  This was at the heart of my discomfort, being at the mercy of this travel team.  More on that later.
            Vendetta and her husband, 8-Track, and myself decided to escape the bar for a few moments and try to find a place to eat.  It turned into a cool little adventure.
            Apparently, we were in the portion of the city that was the couple’s old stomping ground.  Vendetta’s husband was a tall, gruff man with a small ‘50’s style quaff of hair and a ducktail, stubble, a cigarette and a leather jacket.  The boots he wore were probably worn to many of the same places he was describing.
            “There used to be a bar in that building there that was kick ass, but now it sucks.  There was one over there where I got into a fight once.  But the people that go there now suck.”  It was our very own punk rock travelogue of Dallas, a scene I would never thought the city could have.
            We found a place we thought was open.  It turned out they just stopped serving food.  Dallas certainly was not like Austin.  On the way through the shop to use the restroom, I said hello to an aspiring Assassin who was looking cute in leg warmers and pumps.  On the way back, 8-Track called me out, commenting that she saw me making time with the girl.  Maybe, but it was just a fleeting moment and did not mean anything after the moment itself.  I cannot even recall what the brief conversation was about. 
            The evening was wrapping up and we were about to load onto the bus once again.  I was feeling rather nauseous, as the stagnant smoke of the bar had given me a headache coupled with the tummy ache the beer had provided me ever so generously.  I knew the bus trip home was going to be very unpleasant.  So I needed to find a place to throw up. 
            I stepped about a block away from the bus to try and throw up to no avail.  “Kool Aid” even tried to gag me with his finger, once again to no avail.  He even offered to choke me with his schlong, but I politely refused.  Now that’s a friend for you.
            I remember going back on the bus and seeing Punk Rock Phil flat on his back in the back of the bus.  The smoke and beer had got to him, too.  I remember how enormous his belly looked as he groaned in misery.  Phil refused to throw up, claiming proudly he had never thrown up over drinking in his life.  I’d never met the guy formally and seemed to be a real superfan as far as I knew.  I’m pretty sure he’s a coach today, and could not tell you his relationship to any rollergirl at this point.
            The proceeding three to four hour back were the most miserable four hours I have ever spent in my life.  Had the bus been a traditional bus, it might have been a good trip.  But the positioning of the seats in limousine style instead of traditional bus seats, so it was nearly impossible to sit comfortably.  Not to mention White Lightnin’ and several other girls proceeding to party the rest of the trip, being very loud and hilariously obnoxious.  Those girls definitely know how to party.
            We arrived back at Playland very early the next morning.  Monday morning traffic was already congesting the highways and the bright sun was poking my eyes.  Dinah Mite went back on a promise to lend me her MegaDeth CD.  I guess she was just as tired as I was and ready to get home.  Or just plain forgot she said she’d lend it to me. 
            I still had to negotiate the morning traffic to get home.  I was miserable, but my body was providing me with a little energy, the initial morning boost before the body figures out its out of gas.
            Though the ride up was enjoyable and the call average, in the end, I’m not sure if taking the bus was worth it.  Arriving home so very late to my wife to our new home and infant child, I felt very guilty.  There was no real welcome home when I finally got back.  XXXXX was left alone for an entire day with the baby.  It probably would not be a big deal if it was work, but it wasn’t.  I came home with nothing to show but a cruel exhaustion that would only build more resentment in my wife toward the rollergirls.
           
/   /   /   /   /   /


            This sounds like an appropriate time to talk about how I met my wife, and the greatest wedding ever.

Monday, March 14, 2016

FIGHTS: LOUDMOUTH - Chapter 4: The Girls of the Flat-Track Derby Revolution...

At the end of my past life, I earned the right to be the first flat track derby announcer with the Texas Rollergirls.

What follows is a very old, very unauthorized, and very unedited version of the document I produced describing my experiences during the genesis of flat track derby.  It would be some of the last moments of my past life.

Enjoy.

LOUDMOUTH: Confessions of a Flat Track Derby Announcer

By

Bowie V. Ibarra


Copyright 2007  Bowie V. Ibarra

“The eyes of Texas are upon you all the live long day…”
-  from the traditional song of Texas “The Eyes of Texas”

Chapter IV:  The Girls of the Texas Flat Track Derby Revolution
           
            I have always found “warrior women” types appealing.  I think it was from my great appreciation for Richard Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkyries” from his opera, “Die Walkure”.  Maybe it was Linda Carter’s “Wonder Woman” from my youth.  Or maybe its just my not-so-secret leg, ankle, and female shoe fetish.  At any rate, working with the roller girls while engaged and subsequently married was a bit of an emotional and sexual struggle for myself, an inner conflict between the Freudian id and superego.
            The girls were a wild bunch in the beginning.  A bizarre conglomeration of punks, teachers, mothers, vamps, wives, librarians, party girls, and athletes, to name a few of the categories you could put the girls into.  Thought they all came from different backgrounds, I was pleasantly surprised at how sincerely nice and amicable they all were.  Sure some were surly on occasion and most everyone had an attitude, but they were always respectful when greeted with respect.
            The following is a list of some of the now legendary girls that made an impression on me as athletes, skaters, and people.  The list is not nowhere near comprehensive.
           
            Dinah-Mite will be remembered by me as one of the first living legend in flat track derby.  Granted, many more have been born since (read: Snot Rocket, The Vecchio sisters, Beyonslay), but she was the first, in my opinion.  Dinah Mite was the prototype of the ultimate roller girl.  Blockers routinely bounced off of her when she jamed, effortlessly blowing them off and skating past them.  Dinah really caught on to the game fast.  A gorgeous blonde mother with the tanned body of a mythical Amazon warrior, she was pretty much unstoppable and shimmied and moved around the track like she owned it during the early days of flat track.  She was an expert not only as jammer, but at pivot and blocker.        
            Flat track, and injuries, finally caught up to the phenom, but she will forever have the reputation of being one of the best ever.  If there ever is a Flat Track Hall of Fame, she would be my nomination for Charter membership.
           
            White Lightning’ - In my opinion, the meanest, baddest roller girl to ever put on a pair of quads, and probably my favorite rollergirl ever, second to none. 
            Ever.  I stand by that. 
            Sure there are some cruel players: Pussy Velour, Cat Tastrophe, Anna R. Key, Starr Doom, Choco Ono, or Mummy Dearest and Osa Peligrosa, but no one has skated with the skill, proficiency, and destructive power of White Lightnin’.
            The girl blocked with vicious efficiency and played the jammer position like a blocker, taking out jammers as well as blockers while racking up points.  She pretty much attacked any player in a different jersey regardless of the necessity.  One of the only roller girls to say they have taken out Dinah Mite on several different occasions.  Only Doe Holliday of the Tucson Saddletramps and Curvette have come close to comparing to White Lightnin’.  Easily at the top of my list of favorite roller girls ever.
            On a humorous note, during a practice, I watched White Lightnin’ take out Sparkle Plenty with a cruel block.  Sparkle quickly got up, and with the lighthearted humor of Miss Plenty, commented on the hit with a big smile and words to the effect of, “Yeah, White Lightnin’ hit me.  It hurt pretty bad, I’m not going to lie to you.”
            And that was during practice.

            Anna Mosity - Similar to White Lightnin’, but cut from a very different cloth.  Another in the early tradition of cruel blockers, Anna Mosity had no problem mixing it up with anyone who stepped in her path on the track or off of it, regardless of gender.  Anytime anyone hit her on the track, she made them pay.  She was one of the earliest enforcers of the Hell Marys.  Whether she was on the track or off of it, you could bet she was going to get in a fight.  I watched Anna Mosity get in a fight at a bar with Pixie Tourette while organizing the first Whammies at the Jackalope.  Both girls were swinging wild at each other and knocking over tables. 
            Anna Mosity and Rolletta Lynn had a fierce rivalry on the track.  I once watched Anna tackle Rolleta, take the mount and smash Rolletta’s head into the track until she got a concussion.  She was the enforcer for the Hell Mary’s, even taking on takeout artist Bettie Rage that caused a bench clearing brawl and an award for Best Fight for her team (Best Fight 2005 - Bettie Rage vs. The Hell Mary’s, featuring Anna Mosity).  Anna was a fierce rival of fellow roughneck Barbie Crash.  A fight was guaranteed when the Hells played the Honkeys and those two hit the track.
            Anna Mosity was best known for her panties, and started the Rollergirls trend of having writing on panties.  Written in stark white on her black panties, “Nuns Suck” would be one of the earliest forms of effective audience teases the flat track derby world has ever known.  One of her earliest pictures, with Strawberry pulling up Anna’s skirt, revealing the writing as she coquettishly bit a fingernail, was rumored to have been painted on the wall of an art school.  It was pretty much assured that those attending the bout would see her round ass, which, in my opinion, built her a solid fan base.  Her ass put asses in seats.  Anna Mosity was the embodiment of the roller girl ethos: tough as nails and sexy as all-get-out. 
            Anna is one of very few roller girls I can sincerely call a friend, and I was saddened at her retirement.   I recently saw her at a derby event, but have not seen her since.  I genuinely hope she is doing well. 
            Despite her being out of derby, in my opinion, her legacy remains. 

            Pixie Tourette - Sexy, sassy, and nuclear physicist smart, Pixie Tourette is another girl that drips with sex appeal but has a very rough exterior.  Pale white, bleached blonde, and walking the earth with the sexiest pair of legs to ever grace a derby rink, Pixie is one of the wild cards of the Hot Rods.  When this California native is on, she’s an efficient blocker that takes jammers out with a scientific efficiency.  She once took out Dinah Mite and was nominated for Best Take Out 2004.  I had to pick the winner, and wanted to pick her despite the audience opinion. 
            A flirt of the highest order, her sexual aggression was tempered by her nerdy charm. 
            Short tempered at times, Pixie once delivered the vaunted pro-wrestling “Heart Punch” to me in the middle of a bar after telling her I thought her team did well in the championship game the Hot Rods lost.  I still have irregular heart beats.

            Misty Meaner - When I think of the Hell Mary’s, the first image that comes to my mind is of Misty Meaner skating around the track.  Misty was the most graceful, calm, and intriguing roller girl I’ve ever known. 
            I remember during the first season, when Misty would become the lead jammer, she skated with a kind of calm grace, a stoic determination to perform her job and rack up points for her team.  Maybe it was her eyes, perpetually stuck in a gaze that made you think she was sleepy.  It was as if she was emotionless, or perhaps like a poker player, putting up a façade as not to reveal how she was feeling to her opponents.
            Whatever it was, she was one of the most beautiful visions to hit the track.  I’ll never forget the following season, when that stern, almost apathetic, look on her face turned into stern determination.  There was an intensity in her face that made you know she was going to rack up points, take out roller girls, or whatever it took for her team to win.  She even told me she had visions of victory, dreaming about flat track bouts.  As an announcer, I turned it into something in regards to their gimmick.  I would say she had visions, in which angels from God were speaking to her, providing her with information for her bout.
            Misty Meaner was always one of my favorites, and I was sad to see her retire.

            Vendetta von Dutch - One of the first roller girls I ever met, and easily the coolest roller girl ever.  If roller derby had at its roots a punk rock mentality, then Vendetta von Dutch was the poster girl for flat track.  Tattoed, caked in make up, and punk-rock glamorous, Vendetta kicked ass on the track.  I thought she was the coolest roller girl, so when I heard she did not like my intro for her (“She’s the best part of Italy and the worst part of Germany), I immediately changed it.
            She was one of the first roller girls I met the very first day I came out to learn my role.  Amicable, witty, and bitingly honest, Vendetta was a great friend.  Vendetta and Misty were actually two of the girls that my wife actually thought were cool when she was giving derby a chance.  Both of them talked to my wife like she was an old friend from the neighborhood, making her feel safe.
            Vendetta’s husband was punk rock for life.  Both of them, from Dallas, knew the punk rock scene intimately, and even took me for a tour of their old stomping grounds after a show in Dallas.
            Flat track provided a much needed outlet for Vendetta.  The story goes that Vendetta actually made the three hour drive from Dallas several times a week to make practice in the early days of derby.
            A librarian by trade, Vendetta is very popular with the young kids she works with.  She says the kids refer to her as “the librarian with two different color hair”, referring to her bleached blonde highlights streaking her black hair. 
            Some of the funniest things said over the mike have been said by Vendetta.  When thrown in the penalty box by refs during the Hot Rod/Dairyland bout, Jim Jones made the mistake of asking her a question in the box.  She responded with one of the funniest lines I’ve ever heard, considering her trip to the box an award:
            “I’d like to thank all the bitches that made that penalty possible.”
            Vendetta von Dutch represents the rebellious soul that is flat track derby.

            Cat Tastrophe - Gorgeous, spunky, and irritable, Cat Tastrophe has always been someone I’m careful when approaching.  A Leo, she is very temperamental, and could sometimes be found coming to practices in tears.  Despite her unpredictable temperament, she has established a legacy of determined efficiency and dependability for her team, the Hot Rod Honeys.
            Initially, Cat Tastrophe was a noted rival of Dinah Mite.  Many even compared here skills and talents to the purple clad Hustler.  In my opinion, no roller girl since the beginning has consistently been a test for Dinah as Cat has been.
            Watching her over the years, I have learned one thing:  you cross the Cat, you pay dearly for it.  You can almost see her writing her shit list as the game progresses, promising in her mind that the person that dared lay a hand on her or say a bad word to her is going to be punished for it.  I once watched her cold cock then rookie Belle Starr with a right hook at the end of a period, flooring the rookie in surprised astonishment.
            Whether you agree with it or not, Cat Tastrophe is the Queen of any flat track she sets skate on.  She will expect that respect from everyone who steps on it with her, and will literally destroy anyone who stands in her or her team’s way.
            You have been warned.

            Rolletta Lynn - Rolletta Lynn is one of the first that I ever considered hardcore.  Friendly and quirky, Rolletta was a serious competitor when it came to flat track.  She was known to work closely with teammate Patsy Crime. 
            I realized how serious the girls were one night when Rolletta was knocked to the ground near turn three.  She hit the floor hard and had not even had the chance to shake off the pain when she was met with a skate right in her face.  The skate hit her right in the mouth, and without missing a beat, she got to her feet to finish the jam. 
            After getting checked by the medical staff, she returned to the game and finished.
            “She’s hardcore!  She’s hardcore!  She’s hardcore!  She’s hardcore!”
            Rolletta currently lends her skills to the Queens of Pain of the Gotham Girls Rollerderby league in New York.

            Voodoo Doll - Sexy is an understatement in reference to this tall drink of water.  I don’t think it’s too bold to say that never has there been and never will there be a roller girls dripping with knowing sexuality as Voodoo Doll.  In the early days, she was probably one of the original fan favorites, with whole websites devoted to her worship, literally.  Virtual altars erected (no pun intended) in devotion to her. 
            Apparently born and raised in the southernmost portions of Texas, Voodoo had a hard time in her youth being such a tall and stunningly beautiful young “guera”.  She gained her toughness fighting groups of “cholas” jealous of her beauty.  Stories abound of whole bars becoming silent when she entered and exited, with all eyes dumbfounded at her beauty.
            I found Voodoo Doll to be a very friendly and approachable lady.  She had no problem with a person that was respectful to her and didn’t make a big deal about her looks.
            Recently, she gave birth to a baby with her husband, a noted Capoeria stylist.  She has yet to return to the track.

            The Crusher – In the mold of the legendary 8-Track, Thaaaaaaaaa Crusher was a menacing force on eight wheels.  One of the few rollergirls to have Dinah Mite’s number on a consistent basis.  Though she had a very bright future in derby, she was permanently sidelined by injuries.
           
            8-Track - Probably the most dominant and skillful blocker in flat track history.  She was honored with the title of “Dust Devil MVP” at the first Dust Devil.  Mean as a junkyard dog on the track, she was a kind and loving person off the track.  She held my baby girl Gwendolyn while her loser dad was taking pictures during a derby photo shoot.  My baby fell asleep in her arms.

            Muffin Tumble - Cute, compact, and combative, Muffin Tumble is a sultry assassin on wheels.  Her development as a skater was consistent and rapid, and she is now one of the power players for the Hell Mary’s.
             
            Barbie Crash – There are rough players and there are mean players.  And then there are dirty players.  Barbie Crash’s audacious disregard for the rules of derby would make Rat City blush and say, “Hey, wait.  That’s dirty.” 
            I dubbed Barbie Crash “The Dirtiest Player in the Game” as, in my eyes, she flagrantly disregarded every rule in the book to gain an advantage.  And she was good at it, too.  She had a knack for knowing when refs weren’t looking to execute her diabolical strategies.  She was always ready for a fight, too. 

            Sparkle Plenty – The now legendary Sparkle Plenty is a tall and very slender Boricua, though you would not know that fact due to her very fair complexion.  I must admit, she set an example of the potential for rollergirls for me as the seasons progressed and proved to me that the sport is all inclusive when it comes to size and shape.  I thought she would be knocked around the track like a rag doll in the early days, but watched as she would own other rollergirls with superior technical skill and a grace that is unique to her.
            Sparkle was responsible for the first set of rules of flat track, and many of the guidelines and set up were initiated by her.  She is also an effective speaker and leader, having to wrangle the massive “personalities” of the announce team with superior wit, intellect, and an enigmatic use of timing in choosing her words.
           
            Buckshot Betsy – Gorgeous Honky jammer and flat track legend.  Unique, but fit build, Buckshot became one of the faces of the Honky Tonk Heartbreakers in their three year dynasty before defecting to the Hell Mary’s.  If you face a Texas All-Star team, you will have to compete against Buckshot.

            Sedonya Face – From the planet LoveTron, Sedonya has been a permanent fixture for the Hustlers in her legendary career.  An enforcer for the Hustlers, she is known to speak her mind in defense of her team whenever and to whoever.

            Dottie Karate – Dottie Karate, or Karate Dottie in the proper Japanese sense, will forever be one of my favorites.  We both shared an appreciation of Japanese culture that melded into my intro for her, announcing her name like the Japanese pro-wrestling announcers I listened to via bootleg videos.  Kara-tay DAH-taaaaaaaaaaayyyy!!!  Her gimmick helped me live out my dream of announcing wrestlers at the Tokyo Egg Dome in Japan.  Every time.

            Bettie Rage – Apart from the Rat City team, I don’t think there is a single rollergirl who has been met with utter contempt on the track then Bettie Rage, and I love it.  Bettie is 100% more subtle than her former Honky Barbie Crash, but just as sinister.  With skillful glee, she will take out jammers by any means necessary, and have no problem doing it.
            On the podcast for the Honky/Seattle DLF bout, after taking on a DLF member and failing in the attempt, I got her over as a take-out artist.  In the background you can hear an angry rollergirl yell, “Betty Rage, you fuckin’ bitch”, before she groans and yells, “You Cheater”. 
            When you can get a fan that enraged and engaged in the game, you’re doing something right.
           
            Strawberry – One of the legendary Hell Mary’s team players.  Evident from the first day I laid eyes on her, Strawberry had the greatest hair in flat track, second to none.  She is also notable for her flair for the dramatic when calling off a jam. 

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More to come...