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.
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
“Yippee-Kay-Ay, mother fucker.”
- Bruce Willis, “Die Hard
Chapter II: The
audition
It was a simple process to audition to be a part of the
announce crew of the Texas Rollergirls.
Three roles were up for grabs:
Master of Ceremony, Play by Play, and Color Commentary.
Deciding I was totally in the dark about the rules of
roller derby, I thought Master of Ceremony was going to be the best role for
me.
The requirements of Master of Ceremony was to create a
unique introduction for several players.
The players had hilarious names.
Anna Mosity. Misty Meaner. Tinkerhell.
Vendetta von Dutch. As much as I
wanted to play with many names, I was required to pick only three. I did make more, though, in case they needed
them. It was always good to be prepared
for an audition, especially when the process of the audition was unknown.
I remember my most favorite of the lines I created. It was for Tinkerhell:
“From the bad side of Never Neverland, ladies and
gentlemen, please welcome Tinkerheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeell!”
Dressing up in my best business suit, a two-buttoned navy
blue suit with a red power tie, I drove my vehicle to the once free 6th
Street parking lot under the IH-35 overpass.
I was a bit nervous, but excited at the opportunity.
The address for the audition was Beerland, a place off of
7th street. The journey up
the street was a bit of an adventure in itself.
To get to Beerland, you had to travel up 7th street near the
Austin Police Station. Ironically
enough, the same street was the place many people went for their drugs. Homeless people littered the sidewalk, and
their glaring stares at the Hispanic in a blue business suit made me wonder
just exactly when I was going to get mugged.
Fortunately for me, the lack of eye contact, brisk walk,
and fading daylight prevented any pickpockets from messing with the “’fraidy
Cat” in the blue business suit as I turned the corner. Somehow the urine stench of the building
housing Beerland made me wonder if I was overdressed. I never thought it was possible, but the
building progressively became older, danker, even in the sunlight. A large black sign with “Beerland” written in
white and a font similar to a distinct beer label hung on the wall like the
beacon of an antiquated salon. All the
place needed was swinging bar doors and cowboys ready to shoot the “sissy” likein The Three Amigos.
The crowd also changed.
Somehow cleaner than the bums I passed to get there, yet just as
edgy. I was getting a little nervous I
was looking like to much of a stiff for this crowd.
Fortunately for me, waiting at the door was a familiar
face. He greeted me with a smile and
hearty handshake. His name was Les
McGehee.
Les McGehee was a man I met during my college days while
performing with ComedySportz. He was the
literal and spiritual leader of the Austin ComedySportz team. Though I only performed against the Austin
team on special occasions, Les is one of the few people who consistently hit it
out of the park every time. I make no
exaggeration with that statement. Les
was like a comedy alchemist, turning turds into comedy gold. He would go on to write a book about
improvisation and life entitled “Plays Well with Others”, a veritable Bible of
improvisational pearls and advice.
“Bowie Ibarra. How
the heck are you?”
“Les, holy crap! I’m fantastic now!”
“What are you here to try out for?”
“I think Master of Ceremony.”
“Well, I think they have someone in mind for that right
now. You should probably be a good
play-by-play.” The subtext was
clear. Les was pretty much a shoe-in for
the Master of Ceremony role.
Now I was even more nervous. I did not know a thing about the game. How could I call play-by-play. Granted, I would love that role in professionalwrestling, but I knew the rules of professional wrestling.
I tried to relax, relying on my improvisation skills to
get me through.
After Les talked with me briefly about his life and mine,
I found a seat. I felt like a fish out
of water among a bunch of punk rockers.
I knew for a fact I was going to get my ass kicked. Though I’ve always been able to be a social
chameleon, able to meld in different groups, I had never been around legitimate
punk rockers and the ilk. Their
reputation as toughs and rounders had preceeded them, and I felt as if I need
to proceed with caution in this foreign land of beer.
The place was a beer soaked, dirty, and smoke filled
box. Some of the finest cheap beers were
on sale at the bar. I was pleasantly
surprised to find Pearl on sale. I
purchased one and took a seat.
The crowd was raucous, but one particular girl was
especially vociferous. She was yelling
obscenities and other insults out loud.
It was a fair assumption that she was drunk. She was cute and quite humorous and was
dressed up for a ball. Her yelling was a
bit annoying, but it was funny. She was
eliciting laughs from everyone in the room despite her boisterous voice. She must have been a roller girl.
On a large projection screen above a small stage where
bands usually play, clips from derby bouts were playing in rotation. I remember one camera angle the cameraman
took from the floor, pretty much shooting up the dresses of the jammers as they
were about to jam. One of the skaters
was wearing thigh highs with pretty pink bows just below her ass cheek. “Oh, my goodness,” I thought. “What the hell have I gotten into, a
burlesque show?” I opted, naturally, to
keep my disposition as professional as possible.
I seem to remember the auditions starting with the
DJ. I also seem to remember only one
showed up. His name was J.J. and he sat
behind the turntables like a pro, spinning punk rock and other obscure rock
tunes, at least to my limited punk rock knowledge. He was the epitome of cool, switching from
song to song while puffing on a cigarette, like some kind of musical satyr spinning
tunes for a forest party of wild animals.
It was then time for the people to try out for Master of
Ceremony. I stood on the stage, looking
out at the wild looking people and stern faces.
I was very nervous, but executed my performance with all the poise I
could muster. I was happy hear some of
my jokes go over. I thought I did pretty
good.
I watched one man go up for the part. All he did was yell. I was no professional at the time, but I
didn’t think that was going to work.
Another guy went up.
He was enthusiastic, but didn’t come across to me as anything
special. He had the energy, but seemed
to lack charisma. His gimmick name was
funny, though: Chip Queso.
It was time for the announcers to try out. The loud girl in the back made her way to the
stage. She was very pretty, but still
seemed very drunk. Her name was Whiskey
L’Amour, and she knew what the game was all about. She did very good, even though I had no idea
what she was saying in regards to derby jargon.
I was then asked by someone, perhaps The Wrench, to go
ahead and try out for announcer. I
thought either Les had pulled some strings for me to try this role, or perhaps
they thought I did good on the M.C. bit.
Like in all auditions, the answer is always “yes”, even if it should be
no.
They put me on the stage with Whiskey L’Amour. I had to be professional. It was like improvisation, you had to share
and work off of your partner. But my
partner was a real motor mouth. She
would not stop talking. I had to choose
my words wisely when there was a break in the action. She was good, but did not seem to have the
sense of sharing that announcers needed.
I provided some very brief insight when I could, making sure to do what
I thought was the number one job of an announcer: put the product over. In this case, get the rollergirls over for
everything.
Watching the clips, it was very obvious it was a
sport. The athletic ability was
apparent, and I made sure to illuminate that point every chance.
“The skill and athleticism is outstanding.”
“What tremendous balance these girls have.”
“The athleticism is amazing”
After a very short clip, they asked me and Whiskey to
stay up again for a longer one.
When I got down from my audition, I felt really
good. I knew I was one of the better
ones in the room, and I felt one of the three roles could be mine.
As I sat down, there was a giant puddle of fluid in the
chair. Somehow, some mystery liquid had
been poured on the seat of my chair. I
immediately assumed someone was trying to pick a fight with me. I was actually very upset. This was one of my good suits and it came
across to me like someone was messing around with me.
I turned around and glared at no one in particular. No one seemed suspicious enough for me to lay
blame on. Perhaps it was an accident.
Though I almost remained seated in the chair out of
embarrassment, I moved to another chair using common sense.
When I had moved, Chip Queso approached me.
“Hey, man. You did
really good up there.”
“Thanks.”
/ / /
/ / /
The very next day, I received an e-mail from The Wrench.
I had earned one of the three spots as color commentator
for the Texas Rollergirls.
=====
More to come... stay tuned...
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