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.
The announcer shit starts hitting the fan. And all I still know if that you earned something, you have every right to defend it, no matter how insignificant it might be in the bigger picture of the greatest sport to originate in the new millenium.
Enjoy.
Enjoy.
“If the Gods could build me a
ladder to the heavens, I’d climb up the ladder and drop a big elbow on the
world”
- Cactus Jack
Chapter XIII: The Controversy - Announcer issues come to a
head
The months and preceding years after the first Dust Devil
were pretty much the glory days of announcing.
With interleague bouts came visits to Texas by nterleague announcers,
and a whole lot of fun. It culminated in
a veritable announcer summit for the double billed Wisconsin/Hot Rods and
Carolina/Hell Mary’s bout. Rockerboy,
Tank, Coach Caesar, The Colonel, D-Lux, Rusty Pickup, and even Bob Noxious were
in attendance at the Geneva of Texas, the luxurious Austin abode of Whiskey
L’Amour. This was also the world
premiere release party of the Butt Butter Churner’s initial song, “Queso’s Mom
is a Fuckin’ ‘ho”. Glorious
But after a peak comes a valley.
With the acceptance of announcers as a professional
position within the league came professional management in formal leadership of
the announce team. Whiskey L’Amour was
dubbed the announcer leader by upper management, and all issues within the
announce team were to be addressed to Whiskey to be resolved before moving up
the ladder. It was feeling like the
girls were understanding the need for leadership, finally. My concerns about the direction of the
announce team would finally have a source to be aired to. But the clash of two monster egos with two
different visions for the announce team would culminate in the end of an era
for the first flat track derby announce team.
By the fourth season, my fears of an internal usurping
were becoming a reality. Procedures that
had been set down years prior by Less were now being hijacked by Chip. As Chip made himself more available to
announce around the nation and more and more leagues took him up on his offer
to announce, an assumption was becoming obvious. He was clearly working himself up and out of
his wrangler status and stealthily positioning himself as an announcer. I really believe that since the first Dust
Devil, he was not representing himself to other leagues as a crowd wrangler,
but as an announcer. If it is true, then
he was doing Whiskey and I a massive disservice by misrepresenting
himself. Chip denies he ever called
himself an announcer to other leagues, and maintains he told them he was the
crowd wrangler.
The first bout was filled with tension as I purposely
directed more questions to Whiskey and Jim in between jams, taking time away
from Chip. He confronted me at the
announce table and asked me why I was taking away his mic time. I told him he was the crowd wrangler and
needed to wrangle instead of being concerned about making calls Whiskey and I
were making. He then got in my face and
told me how much he does for the league and how great everyone thinks he is and
how he deserves more time. Knowing he
was not going to be quiet no matter what I would say and in an effort to remain
professional during the bout, I let him talk and zipped my lip.
But with the new formal leadership in place, I thought it
was time to voice my concern. With the
girls mentioning they needed a fix due to too many voices in the booth, I think
it was a perfect time to revisit our roles and redefine them for clarity. After consulting with Whiskey and Jim about
my thoughts, Whiskey approved my query and prepared for discussion.
I clearly expressed my opinion to the announce team in an
e-mail, describing how I felt. I
described how since Dust Devil, Chip had started to encroach on the roles of
Whiskey and I. I also spelled out the
way I felt the roles were intended to be.
I mentioned the girls need to formalize the voices with interleague
play. I also provided insight into what
the crowd wrangler role was intended for, and even provided examples of what it
could and should be. I offered to help
Chip find more of himself in the role and move away from his assumption that he
should merge with the announcers. In
short, I was not calling for Chip’s expulsion from the team, rather describing
how much fun it could be outside of the formal calls Whiskey and I were making.
Before I continue, I must say I had been warned on
several occasions by Jim “Kool Aid” Jones that, in his opinion, Chip could be very
unstable and irrational. I had not spent
enough time with the guy to know either way.
I found out pretty quick what Jim was talking about.
Before he replied to me, he made a very quick effort to
establish himself as an announcer at nationals by requesting from several
rollergirls to start talking about nationals, which at this point eight months
away. Countering the insincere ploy to
begin organizing nationals, I quickly replied to the e-mail and told the girls
in very vague terms there was some issues within the announce team that needed
to be resolved before any discussion of the roles of announcers at nationals
was to be discussed.
I then got the e-mail from Chip, which challenged my
manhood multiple times before stating he had not even finished reading the
e-mail. He claimed he would not “run
away from criticism or fault” and insisted I should “man up” and call him. He then plainly refuted his crowd wrangler
role by writing, “BTW I AM AN ANNOUNCER SO F U FOR SAYING I AM NOT”. He then redefined his wrangler role by saying
he also provides color.
His claim continued with how many meetings he attends and
how many rollergirl events he attends, all of which announcers are not required
to attend. Yet he continued to claim
these extracurricular activities somehow give him carte blanche to do as he
pleased within the announce team. He
ended the message by implying that if the rollergirls from within the league
and without were to vote on who is the best member of the announce team, he
would come in second to Whiskey.
With our egos colliding, I asked for some
assistance. My friend, Jeromy Sage, had
access to a computer and proceeded to help me word my e-mail response in the
cruelest way possible. Jeromy was a
fellow Aries, but unlike me, had harnessed and mastered the cruel and blunt
aspect of our personality. Nurtured in
the locker rooms of the fiercely competitive world of professional wrestling,
Jeremy knew how to hold his own and knew the definition of what it meant to be
a “man”, from the pro-wrestling perspective of testosterone and
masculinity. On the way back from
recording an episode for the international distribution of IWA Puerto Rico,
Jeromy goaded a carload of people into a Whataburger parking lot ready to fight
for the sin of cutting him off. As
appealing as a midnight fight in a Whataburger parking lot was, I didn’t want
to go to jail and drive back home to my wife and daughter with a new nose and
missing teeth. Jeromy was the perfect
person to help me harness my inner asshole and fight fire with fire.
Immediately, Jeromy thought I should be more insulted at
the consistent “be a man” theme that permeated the initial e-mail and just go
out and fight him. As much as that was
the correct response, I had to think of my family and how jail time would
inhibit my bedtime stories with my baby girl.
So we responded by pulling no punches and telling him he
was an egomaniac. He was a liar to tell
other leagues he was an announcer.
Whiskey was awarded best announcer three years running and all she did
was show up to games, and that the person that I see in the mirror is a man
dedicated to his wife and daughter who would never leave them and do all he
could to support them and stay with them.
Yeah, it was dirty. But so was
Chip.
The e-mails were ugly, and with a bout just around the
corner, things were going to get worse before they got better.
The second bout was my worst performance ever, and I was
even more displeased that it came during an interleague bout with one of my
personal favorite teams: The Alamo City Rollergirls. Tension was high and it was abundantly clear
to those who were paying attention that the philosophical battle was bringing
the quality of the call down. We had
agreed to share a microphone so the visiting announcer could have their own, in
a hospitable way. But the microphone
that was shared was between Jim and I.
Chip knew we meant his mic, but stated that I was the one that
volunteered to share the microphone.
I was angry beyond belief. Jim Jones was disappointed with his comrades,
and provided a relaxation method that was a temporary salve to the tension and
my inner rage. While trying to do a post
mortem on the show, Whiskey had a meltdown that found her yelling at the top of
her lungs “Shut up! Shut Up!” before
storming off when Chip and I once again went at it at the booth.
The bitter battle raged on. An accord was struck by Whiskey and Sparkle,
an important piece of legislation that would set a formal direction for the
announce team.
A shrewd speaker, Sparkle formally announced the purpose
of the roles, going so far as providing a percentage of time on the mics. Whiskey as play-by-play would be 40%, I was
to be 30%, Jim as Master of Ceremonies would be 20%, and Chip as Crowd Wrangler
was to be 10%. A final attempt by Chip
to lay claim to making color calls was swiftly shot down by Sparkle, who stated
quite clearly that those calls are to be made by Whiskey and I. Sparkle had made our roles as clear as
crystal, or the glass Benoit beads Coach Caesar sticks up his butt while
looking at dragonflies.
Going into the next bout, I had not been any happier
calling a game. In fact, I was elated.
It felt like a new world, like when I was a kid walking into Toys R Us in San
Antonio and shopping for Atari games.
Not only were the roles finally defined, but this would be the first
bout in which we were to be paid.
But the tension remained, and the seeds of dissent and
deception planted at this time would reap a bitter harvest as nationals
approached.
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More to come...
