Movember: a short statement

‘Thank you for donating to Movember’

It’s because the only men I feel comfortable with displaying facial hair that doesn’t include a beard are Tom Selleck, Merv Hughes and my Dad.

It’s because there’s so many of you taking part this year I would have to take out a second mortgage to sponsor you all.

It’s because if you were all running marathons, climbing mountains or even painting yourselves green and unicycling backwards down Oxford Street I probably would try to sponsor you all individually but as you’re just squeezing some hair out of the gap between your mouth and nose, I can’t quite bring myself to.

It’s partly because I like to support good causes.

But it’s mostly because I’m just happy it’s over and you can all go back to NOT looking like members of the village people.

My donation to Movember has been made. On the best day of Movember – the last one. Well done boys. Now go get the razors out, for the love of all that is good.

Return of the Hockey Novice – This Time it’s Physical

Er, who am I then?

For those of you who don't know me, let me introduce myself. My name is Katy, and just two short years ago I was completely oblivious to the world of ice hockey and all the glorious joys that came along with it. I found (and subsequently lost) Elite League side the Newcastle Vipers, and along the way I wrote about my experiences in this here blog, as I discovered the myriad intricacies of the world of ice hockey; learning the rules, finding out about players and teams, figuring out what the strange language meant, realising with unbridled joy how much facial hair was involved, and quickly falling head-over-heels love with what I now view as the greatest sport in the world.

So I'm not a novice anymore, right? Well, from a spectator standpoint, no. I rather like to think of myself as a fully-fledged hockey aficionado. Ish. As such, I graduated from hockey novice to hockey nomad last season, as I travelled around the UK to follow my new-found passion. And of course, it's tempting to want to have a crack at playing the game myself. But the fact that I'm only just beginning to master the skill of moving backwards on ice skates rather limits my desire to even consider actually picking up a stick and hitting a puck with it.

'Fear not!' Cried Kevin, my longtime ice hockey travel-buddy, 'you SHALL go to the ball (hockey rink)!' 'But HOW?' I enquired in wonder. ‘Ball hockey!’ He replied. ‘It's a fabulous indoor alternative to ice hockey, and best of all, you don't even need to skate! You can just use your boring old regular feet!'

Imagine my delight!

I can't go for long without being a novice at something or other, and as my recent foray into the rather terrifying and yet fabulous world of roller derby proved, despite being completely uninitiated, I am quite willing to throw myself into any activity, even if the outcome might well be pain. For someone who is scared of balloons bursting, hates spinny rides at theme parks and can't actually look at a television if it has a spider on it, I've got a decent set of cahones when it comes to launching myself into something that I’ve no idea how to do. Maybe it’s my competitive streak. In addition to roller derby, I've atttemped bootcamp, street dance, rock climbing, squash, charity runs and assault courses and paragliding with varying degrees of success in recent years, because God forbid I stick to a sporting pursuit I'm actually any good at (swimming, rowing, competitive cider drinking…).

So it was settled. I would try Dek hockey (that's what all the cool kids call it, in case you weren't aware). Aside from a couple of winters in the dim and distant past pathetically dragging my posterior around a frozen field at my all girls' high school, I'd never played any hockey before in my life, but despite this I had to admit I felt mildly optimistic. A sport in which I didn't have to initially master staying on wheels or blades had to give me some sort of a head start, right?

So what is it?

So: trainers. Holding a stick. Running around. I can totally do those things! Yes! It was possible I may even be able to hold a stick and run around at the same time. You want me to also attempt to control a ball whilst doing these things? Well, that might be pushing it. But I'm game. And I had the advantage of a modest level of fitness to aid my in my new endeavour. What could possibly go wrong?

The North East Dekstars are a friendly bunch of hockey fanatics from various walks of life who come together on a Sunday morning (for some insane reason) to hone their dek hockey skills. There are ice hockey players, roller hockey players, and just plain old hockey players, both male and female, young and slightly less young, along with total novices such as myself who have arrived purely for the love of the sport and the desire to try something new. Add them all together and you have an astoundingly jovial and welcoming group of people who are always happy to welcome flailing newbies such as myself into their fold. I later realised that motivation may not have been entirely benevolent. But more on that later.

You must need more than a pair of trainers and a stick though?! I hear you cry! Well yes. Some sort of clothing is to be advised. In addition to clothing, some shinpads, hockey gloves, and a helmet are all compulsory gear. But don't worry if you don't have these things, you can borrow some! You may find yourself with rather a funky smell hanging around your face and hands by the end of the session but to be honest, when you hear about the sweat, you're not going to be precious about a slightly musty hockey glove.

The nitty-gritty

I'm not going to lie to you. When I arrived at my first Sunday session and we were immediately separated into teams play a game, I was not without some degree of trepidation. I struggled into my helmet, which like a toddler trying to put on shoes, involved someone else having to do me up. Except this was putting my face into a cage. Yes, a cage. There are a number of practical implications about having your face fully covered by a metal grid. Drinking water, wiping sweat from your brow and scratching your nose to name but a few, become nigh on impossible tasks. But being a girl, and a relatively narcissistic one at that, I am not going to take the risk of NOT wearing one. I like my face. And I didn't go through three years worth of orthodontistry in my teen years to go losing teeth. What do you think I am, a hockey player or something?!

Normally, I was reliably informed, a session would begin with some drills and exercises - this sounded good to me. I needed to get a feel for the length of the stick, the weight of the ball (keep it clean people, keep it clean). But no - we were missing balls so it was straight into the fray of an actual game. A baptism of fire if ever there was one. As we organised ourselves into forward lines and defensive pairings, I was, quite frankly, terrified. My knowledge of the rules was purely based on watching ice hockey, and my instinct to defend would be all I had in my arsenal as I was launched like an unwilling human cannonball straight into a live game situation.

I have no real memory of that first shift. It's as if my mind has buried it so deeply as to prevent the subsequent trauma of the memory resurfacing and haunting me for the rest of my days. Actually, it was more likely because it was a complete blur. The speed of ice hockey baffled me in the early days of my obsession, and this was the same, except now I was actually involved in it. Opposition forwards came at me and I did all I could to impede their progress, but for the most part I remained rooted to the spot as they danced around me. They probably did a few pirouhettes on their way past just to mock me but in all honesty, I wouldn’t have even noticed if they had, as I was too busy trying to keep my eyes on the round orange thing that was zipping about the place like a brightly coloured amphetamine-fuelled mouse, as I desperately tried to prevent it getting past me.

And then I lost the ability to breathe and decided it was high time I was swapped off. As I tried to restore my circulatory system to something resembling normality and took stock of what had just happened, there was really only one thought persisting: I wanted to do it again. And with a two hour session stretching ahead of me, I would have plenty of time for that.

A number of things became very quickly apparent over the course of my first dek session, and for the sake of brevity I will summarise them in a series of unrelated bullet points of varying importance:

- I have the ball skills of a five year old child. Possibly four and three-quarters.

- The fitness I was relying on to at least make me look like a person who could run around adequately was woefully inadequate

- I need to engage in some serous sprint training

- I need to invent some sort of sweat-mopping device that can be inserted through the gaps in my face cage

- Blocking shots with your thighs is incredibly painful and despite the adrenaline of a game situation concealing the pain at the time, the resulting bruises make you look as if someone has beaten you with a mace
- I'm going to carry on blocking shots anyway, because that's all I know how to do

- I really need to eat a proper breakfast in future

- I really, really, love playing this game

This is what Dek looks like! When I'm not playing, that is.

The verdict?

I made my fair share of mistakes that first week (and everyone else's fair share if I'm honest) but it didn't matter. Everyone was encouraging, supportive, and non-judgmental. Advice was shouted by teammates and congratulations offered at the end of every shift in which I DIDN'T do something horrendous. The camaraderie was both heart-warming and a little disorienting. Once out on the court, everyone means business. It's not intended to be a full-on checking game (there is no dropping of gloves here) but it's a physical contact sport, and bumping into people, leaning your weight into them, and expecting the same in return is par for the course. However nice everyone seems, they will not hesitate to put you on the floor if they need to. These are passionate competitors. I tripped people up, knocked them off the ball and probably trod on a few people. I've no idea yet which of these I did legally or which are actually considered acceptable defensive tactics, but I do know I said 'sorry' a lot. Probably unnecessarily. Or not. I felt terribly British. But these people were all so nice, I had no desire to actually inflict pain on any of them. Note to self: I may need to toughen up a bit.

So I made it through my first session relatively unscathed. A bruised thigh, a slightly bruised ego, a pair of legs unclear on the motion required to get up a flight of stairs on my return home and about eight pints of fluid that needed replacing, but despite all this, an urge to return and play again so strong it caught me off guard. It was above anything else, incredible fun.

The aftermath

Well, that was three weeks ago. So did I go back? You bet I did. After an initial recovery period which took about three days as my back once again got used to being held straight instead of at an inhumanly hunched angle, I've played twice since and am officially a Dek hockey addict. In the sessions since my first, I've had my ups and downs; the downs probably outnumbering the ups by a ratio of about 9:1: I've scored an own goal, passed to opposition players on innumerable occasions, flapped, squealed, been hit by a stick, taken a few more balls to the thighs, poured water onto my face in an attempt to hydrate through my cage, seen a man's nose broken in front of my very eyes, (no, I didn't do it), sweated a small river, broken a stick and realised that I am an absolutely hopeless hockey player – for now.

But on the plus side, I've done some sort of, okay things. I've taken the ball away from people a few times. I've gotten in the way – in a good way. I've learnt not to pass the ball directly across the face of my own net. I've learnt to eat a balanced meal beforehand. I've lasted a full session without feeling like I'm going to die. And most importantly, I've met some really great people. There's no doubt I need a LOT of practice. I’m most definitely a hockey novice once again. But I'm just fine with that. (And anyway, if I was good already I wouldn’t have further embarrassing stories to impart to you in future blogs, now would I? Check them out in the weeks and months to come…).

You too can try Dek hockey regardless of your degree of ineptitude – howay! It takes place most Sundays from 9:30 – 12:00 at Gateshead Leisure Centre. To find out more, follow NE Dekstars on Facebook or Twitter (@NEDekstars).

Daylight Slayings: NRG Canny Belters v Glasgow Maiden Grrders – Part 2

The Main Event

After a triumphant opening bout, it was with some trepidation that fans of the Newcastle Roller Girls peered over the balcony as the Glasgow Maiden Grrders took to the track for their warm-up. These girls looked tough. Like they meant business. They had choreographed warm-up drills, some rather smart kit, plus their name alone was enough to inspire fear in us English softies. They must brush their teeth with Irn Bru. In all seriousness, on paper the home side would have a tough test, the Scottish side being the second string of a team of All-Stars containing no fewer than 11 internationals who had skated in the recent Roller Derby World Cup. But our Canny Belters are not easily intimidated, and as they took to the track to begin the bout if there were any nerves, you couldn’t tell. They looked fierce as always, and the crowd were ready to roar them to victory.

1st Half

And what a start they made, stamping their authority on the game from the off as Miss Wired took lead jammer and made two great passes, shimmying through the pack whilst Bettie BasHer performed her pivot work with style, the blockers for Newcastle knee-deep in complex tactics already, and the score rocketing up to 20-0. The next jam was a powerjam and Newcastle’s Überschnell fought her way through the pack defying gravity to stay on her feet and pick up 5 points.

Sarah McMillan took lead jammer in successive jams for the Maiden Grrders but called them off presumably for tactical reasons without picking up a great deal of points; Von Sleaze meanwhile had stepped in as jammer for the Canny Belters and was doing some fine work, taking their lead back to 20 points, which was immediately improved upon by Captain Brie Larceny who took lead jammer after the pack was destroyed and picked up a hard fought 8 points.

It was all going Newcastle’s way in the opening minutes, strong jamming and tactical blocking working for them, an expertly executed bridging move (yes, I spotted it) slowing down the winner for the best name of the afternoon, Glasgow’s ‘The Very Hungry Splatterkiller’, and preventing her from picking up any points on her jam. It occurred to me that I had never seen the Canny Belters lose a bout. I wondered smugly if I might be some sort of good luck charm.

Marie Bayonet and Glasgow’s Fighting Torque picked up 4 points each for their respective teams before Miss Wired defied the laws of physics, nimbly sliding through the pack like a spirit in the night to score a grand slam before calling off the jam, leaving the Glaswegian blockers wondering whether or not she was actually 2-dimensional. Von Sleaze followed up with a few points before she was called for a penalty. This led to a long and drawn out debate between team line-up manager Man-Shaped Dog and the referee. No-one really seemed to grasp what was going on but there was a fine display of moves going on down on the jam line, with both teams throwing some shapes whilst they waited to get on with the show.

The break in play seemed to unsettle the Newcastle girls and despite some great blocking from both Kalamity James and Lone Danger, both were eventually sent to the penalty box leaving the Canny Belters short and facing their first real test, sustained pressure from the Glasgow jammer allowing the visitors to almost double their points total in a short space of time. The game proceeded in fits and starts, with time outs and stoppages, Von Sleaze and Miss Wired jamming for NRG both picking up a few points, but whenever the home side stretched their lead the Scottish visitors would close the gap, Sarah McMillan picking up four points for the Maiden Grrders despite a superb backwards bridge from the NRG pack. The score was 63-39.

The momentum was definitely swinging in a northerly direction at this point, the Grrders clawing back more points through lead jammer Rogue, before the slippery Miss Wired made another great breakthrough but found herself unable to accrue any points as confusion reigned, a miscommunication over whether or not her jam had been called off leading to the opposing jammer taking lead; the crowd was mystified. The points board appeared to be experiencing similar bafflement as it kept changing, and I struggled to keep up with the points being scored as they racked up on both sides, but the Maiden Grrders appeared to be taking a firmer grip on the bout and the Canny Belters' lead started to slip away, and was all but gone as a great jam for Rogue brought the visitors within 3 points of their hosts despite even more great pack work from the Belters who managed to slow her down rapidly with the bridging tactic.

Although the lead was trickling away, it could have been a lot worse as the blockers’ excellent discipline had minimised Glagsgow’s scoring opportunities and the Canny Belters were given a massive boost just before half time, as Überschnell had a powerjam and clearly thought ‘have it’, making a series of passes and picking up a fantastic 16 points to register treble figures for the home side and give them a real boost going into the break.

Half time score: 104-75

2nd Half

The second period began in much the same way as the first had ended; with NRG in the ascendancy. Von Sleaze and Miss Wired both picked up points. A jam later saw both ladies in starry helmets collapsing in a heap, Fighting Torque somehow picking up lead jammer and Überschnell being sent to the sinbin. The resulting powerjam was costly for the home side, as the Maiden Grrders pack slowed almost to a halt to let their champion past as many times as possible, and despite a sterling effort from the Canny Belters, in particular the imperious Kalamity James, Glasgow’s girls picked up almost 20 points.

111-95 was the score and a grim war of tactical attrition saw the points scoring slow right down. The Maiden Grrders took the knee on the jam line, but some strong blocking and the return of the hitherto banished Überschnell meant that scoring was kept to a minimum. Fighting Torque had another turn as lead jammer, calling off her jam before NRG’s Bettie BasHer could catch up.

This was a war of nerves, as Glasgow picked up a point here and there, and did their damnedest to stop NRG doing the same, their jammers not giving an inch and forcing NRG’s jammers to call off jams early, eking away at the deficit between the teams and driving in a wedge of uncertainty – they were turning the screw. Captain Brie Larceny took control as pivot, abandoning the high-scoring but dangerous knee start in favour of a rolling start, moving her pack off at speed to see if this could help shift momentum back in Newcastle's favour.

Another long timeout was followed by a hard-fought battle for lead jammer which was won by Sarah McMillan, who proceeded to make a full grand slam pass and pick up 5 points. 112-107 – the tension was building and it was palpable all around the building. Vice Captain Von Sleaze took her turn but was declared ‘not lead jammer’ to everyone’s surprise, however NRG blocker Sniper Viper did some great work to allow her jammer through second time around, this time to take lead jammer and 5 points. Touché.

There were some more cagey jams, keeping the score poised agonisingly with less than 10 between the two sides until Miss Wired and Von Sleaze again added to the points total, the latter despite NRG being a blocker down but ably assisted by two of the remaining pack members who made a bridge to allow her through to pick up 4. Then the Very Hungry Splatterkiller, despite awesome name-selection skills, was not able to beat Kalamity James to lead jammer, the latter picking up 4 points thanks in no small point to some further tactical excellence by the Belter blockers (they sound like heart medicine – and you’ll need some after you’ve messed with them! HA!)

The feisty Fighting Talk beat our own Miss Wired to lead in the next jam and despite a formidable hipcheck from Big Smack and Fries she went on to grab a fistful of points, the Canny Belters’ lead hanging by a thread and made even more precarious when Miss Wired was sent to the bin putting the Grrders on the powerjam – the scales tilted and suddenly the visitors took the lead after a massive jam – it was 129-135. A much needed time-out was taken to settle the jangling nerves.

The sinbin started to fill up with NRG skaters, as they tried desperately to limit Glasgow’s burgeoning lead, but the resultant no-pack situations just gave rise to further penalties and it threatened to spiral out of control. Von Sleaze and Überschnell steadied the ship, both taking a turn as lead jammer, and the hapless scoreboard official struggled to keep up with the frenetic pace of the game, rendering me completely unable to write down the correct score and keep track of the action. It was 132-162 in favour of the Grrders when NRG finally returned to full strength. I think.

Miss Wired and Bettie BasHer both collected a couple of points for the Canny Belters as they tried to sneak their way back into the bout in the closing minutes. The comeback was on – but would there be enough time? Rogue could not extend the visitors' lead as she was pegged back by her opposite number Von Sleaze who made a perfect hit, forcing Rogue to call off the jam. Überschnell took lead jammer next and in a last ditch attempt to draw her side level, tore through the Maiden Grrders’ depleted pack repeatedly, the crowd roaring her on, calling off the jam at the perfect time – 155-164.

There were just 9 points in it and it would go down to the final jam, in which Kalamity James did incredibly well to stay on her feet but could only increase the home side’s tally by one as the Glasgwegian blockers made her life difficult and with a few seconds left on the clock, it seemed to be over. It wasn’t actually over though. Or was it? Nobody seemed to know. Not for the first time that afternoon, confusion reigned. It was an anti-climatic end to what had been a rip-roaring clash between two fantastic roller derby sides but it sadly ended in defeat for the Newcastle Roller Girls, by just the slimmest of margins, the final score 156-164.

Mission accomplished? Did I sound like I knew what I was talking about? I'm not a lucky charm, as it turns out, but it was canny exciting, as they say up here in the north-east, and I urge you to get your fine behinds down to the next bout as you don’t know what you’re missing. Or actually, perhaps you do, seeing as I’ve just told you. But to re-emphasize: hot girls, hotpants, fishnets, roller skates, hits (totally legal and non-rule-breaking ones), excitement, tension, cake, music, popcorn, frivolity and even beer if you care to partake of such things. Nice!

Photos by me! For a change!

Daylight Slayings: NRG Canny Belters v Glasgow Maiden Grrders - Part 1

Preview
It was a few weeks prior to my third live roller derby experience, and I was starting to feel like a bit of a failure. If you included the B team bouts, I’d technically received four whole competitive roller derby-ing’s and I’d even had a go at it myself (albeit that was mainly just the trying to stand up on wheels part of the game). I wasn’t a newbie anymore – I should be some sort of expert by now, surely? Slightly alarmed by the fact that I still didn’t know what the blithering hell was going on for much of the time and with a pathological need to know more about sports I joined the ladies at their pre-bout training session to be put through my paces by senior team member Kalamity James, who schooled me on rules and tactics, and left me feeling like a bit more of a roller derby geek, armed with such phrases as ‘taking the knee’, ‘man on’ and ‘bridging’. I will be eagle-eyed and on the lookout out for these plays on Saturday and with my new-found understanding of the depth of the game (three days revision dependent) I shall bring to you in glorious technicolour the blow-by-blow account of the action between Newcastle Roller Girls and their Scottish opponents.

Oh and I also got a sneak preview of the team intros as they choreographed them before my very eyes. The news is, they’re pro’s even when they’re not in the public eye. But then, you’d never have any suspected less, would you.

I even went above and beyond the call of duty, reading and digesting the admittedly slim 43-page rulebook prior to the bout. I’ll be honest, I haven’t read the official rulebooks for many sports, but I’m sure it has to be the only serious sporting rulebook that contains multiple uses of the word ‘booty’, feels the need to actively define choking, biting and kicking as illegal moves, and seeks to penalise someone who is the victim of being tripped or pushed over, merely because they land in a sprawling position. Heaven forbid! Also illegal, apparently, is extended touching to an opponent’s illegal target zone. Oo, and indeed er. This sport is pure filth. Nevertheless I found it thoroughly enlightening, plus it had a glossary to which I will be referring frequently in my post-bout write-up. So expect to hear things that make me sound like I know what I’m doing!

Now, on with the action!

So two more good hard roller derby’ings were about to be administered to my delicate self, but boy did I feel ready for it this time! Armed with my awesome bits of stuff courtesy of my extra-curricular roller derby activity, I was ready to take on the world, one jam at a time.

B Team Bout: Whippin’ Hinnies v Furness Firecrackers

In a sport as relatively new as roller derby, rules are being challenged and subverted at all times, and the migration of the pack back from the pivot line to the jam line is one key tactic which seems to be deployed by all teams, A, B or C. Having had the ‘team photo start’ explained to me fully I now knew what to expect and the Whippin’ Hinnies made full use of it in the opening jams of their bout, ‘taking the knee’ on the jam line to get the advantage over their opponents and get their jammers off to a flying start. They had it down to a fine art in fact, and so well drilled were they that their first three jams were without reply, jammers Penny Bizarre and Carm Like A Bomb picking up four points each in turn to take a commanding early lead 12-0.

The jams kept on rolling for the Whippin’ Hinnies and they extended their lead to 20 points without reply, playing a simple tactical game, picking up lead jammer and making one full pass of the pack to gain four points before calling off the jam. They were clearly sticking successfully to their game plan, the first deviation coming when the Firecrackers finally picked up lead jammer, but she proceeded to fall and was unable to pick up any points, Carm Like A Bomb pouncing and picking up another 4 to punish her opponent’s mistake.

The bout kicked up a gear, as a no-pack situation caused by Furness allowed Guinefear of Jamelot (fabulous name) through to lap the opposing jammer and score five points to the Firecrackers’ 1. 37-2. The first full two minute jam came shortly afterwards, Penny Bizarre making two successful passes, slowed by the opposing blockers on her third but still crashing through, picking up 15 points and allowing the Hinnies to storm into a 46 point lead. Some feistiness started to creep in and penalties began to be dished out, and the home side showed their first signs of weakness, no-pack issues allowing Furness to pick up four points to take their score into double figures. However with Carm Like A Bomb picking up lead jammer on the next jam any worries were soon laid to rest, one of the blockers laying a good hit on an opponent to allow her teammate through to take the score to an impressive 65-11, Carm calling off the jam before Furness were able to pick up points. Some good blocking from Newcastle minimised the visitors’ chances to extend their lead and despite the jammers trading penalties just before half time, both teams were able to pick up a few more points each to go into the break 74-16.

It would take some sort of monumental collapse for the hosts to lose this, surely? You would think, but nothing can be taken for granted in roller derby where a good jam can see a team pick up 20 points or more, so the Hinnies would need to be careful and continue to stick to their so far very well-executed game plan. The teams traded points early in the second half, Furness with a couple of powerjams, some selfless blocking from Meli McSly leaving her on her way to the penalty box but preventing the Firecrackers from a rout of a jam as they started to creep back into the contest. That's taking one for the team if ever I saw it.

The score stood at 82-34 and Furness were chipping away at the deficit but the Whippin Hinnies took control once again, the omnipresent Carm Like A Bomb scoring a ‘grand slam’ on her jam (5 points, as she also lapped the opposing jammer) and continued sterling work from the blockers keeping the Firecrackers’ scoring down. There was no doubt the teams were more level second half, the visitors cottoning on to the taking the knee start, managing to use it to their advantage on a number of occasions, and the scores increased on both sides of the scoreboard. Jamming for Newcastle, Indijo was tripped by a Furness skater but managed to rack up four points, and Dollface Dynamo picked up a few more. Furness were about to take lead jammer but a great take-out from the Hinnies allowed Carm to get through instead and take the home side’s score to three digits. 101-46.

A rare two minute jam saw a raft of points for Furness jammer Hell for Heather, but the Hinnies picked some up too and it looked unlikely that the Cumbrian girls would be able to oust the determined Newcastle skaters. Their heads dropped and the unassailable lead grew and grew, a final jam seeing Penny Bizarre make pass after pass, picking up an incredible 23 points. Final score 137-57. Much love and cuddles ensued.

Newcastle’s B team go from strength to strength giving the team one of those very nice dilemmas – who to select for the A team? Carm Like a Bomb and Penny Bizarre both stood out and will give Captain Brie Larceny a selection headache during future bouts. Well done to all of the Whippin' Hinnies on a well-deserved victory!

Join me later for a play-by-play review of the action in the Main Event!

Photo by Idene Roozbayani

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

So last September, I popped over to America. And while I was there, I happened to take in a top level sporting occasion, as famous baseball rivals LA Dodgers took on 2010 World Series Champions the San Francisco Giants. ‘What?!’ I hear you cry! ‘You paid good money to see a glorified version of rounders played by a bunch of overpaid fat blokes? You weirdo!’ Well, yes. That’s exactly what I did.

I’ve had my ups and downs with American sports over the years. I’ve always thought baseball seemed like a crass version of cricket without any of the intricacies or skill of the latter, and that it seemed interminably boring. During my time living in the States I maintained a mild interest in American football and even got to the point of understanding some of the rules. I watched high school basketball. But I quickly lost interest in both once no longer surrounded by them. Football is LONG. I mean, it takes a really long time to accomplish anything. Gameplay occurs for just a few seconds at a time and is punctuated by long periods of time where teams change from offence to defence, discuss tactics, and generally just fart about. And there’s SO MANY of them. Squads of 100 players appear from the benches once a game is over to slap each other on the behind, and for the amount of play that actually goes on, that’s just too many.

Basketball is the polar opposite. It’s fast, fluid and the squads are small. It has much more of a purity about it. But despite the fact that I think it is a far more athletic and skilled game than football (aside from the quarterback and running back positions who I accept require a modicum of speed and talent) it bores the trousers off me; it’s repetitive and so high-scoring the results often seem arbitrary. Plus the sheer absurdity of the physical dimensions of the folk who engage in the sport at a top level is so mind-boggling it's hard to feel any empathy for them as athletes.

(NB I’m not going to comment on ice hockey in this post; I don’t consider it one of the true American sports, what with it being Canadian and all that, plus I believe the brilliance of it as a sport lifts it right out of this sort of a discussion anyway).

So I chose baseball for my live sporting experience. Something about the idea of seeing a game live had real appeal: beer and hotdogs, sitting in the bleachers, trying to catch a ball when someone hits a home run; it’s the stuff movies are made of, the real authentic American sporting experience, and I wanted me a piece of the action. The timing couldn’t better, with just a couple of weeks to go in the regular season, and my visit to San Francisco coinciding with a three-game series with their long-time rivals the LA Dodgers.

My First Baseball Game

The first two games of the series had not gone the Giants way. They were low-scoring and both went in favour of the South Californian side. It wasn’t looking promising. Having spent almost three weeks travelling around the US I had had a chance to learn my stuff. And learn I had. Sports bar after sports bar I visited, selflessly, all in a bid to ensure readiness for my mission – to understand the rules by the time game day came. I was of course forced to purchase beer products from these establishments in order to spend time utilising their television facilities, but I put myself through this physical abuse in the name of learning. I even did some extra-curricular studying, sitting on patios with even more beer products (forced upon me by local store owners, I hasten to add – you just can’t say ‘no’ to these people!) studying rules on Wikipedia and scores on the MLB website. And so I was ready.

One of the first things you notice about large groups of sports fans in America is the level of general optimism. It could be argued it’s to do with the ridiculously high amount of sugar and E numbers rushing around the bloodstreams of all Americans, but I don’t think so. The quintessential American sporting experience is a much more chipper affair than a dreary Saturday afternoon in November watching a football match, surrounded by a bunch of grumpy blokes whinging about the quality of the pie-filling and shouting abuse at referees. Being a British sports fan can quite often be a depressing experience. In San Francisco by contrast, despite coming off the back of two straight defeats to their arch rivals, you still get a stadium full of happy, friendly people, who want nothing more than to enjoy a nice day out with a vast array of heart-attack inducing snacks and beverages. It’s refreshing.

Oh, and may I say, what a stadium. Just, wow. The AT&T Park is like some kind of weird reverse tardis. It looked massive from the outside but felt perfectly intimate within. It was open and yet enclosed. And the grass!! Okay, it probably wasn’t real. But the green-ness was a breath of fresh air. I came over a bit Charlie Dimmock before I remembered I was wearing a bra and all similarity was lost.

I can’t fail to mention that the date was 9/11/11, exactly 10 years after the terrorist attacks on the USA, and there was an appropriate amount of respect paid, with flags, banners, relatives of some of the victims, soldiers, a flyover, and a great many nationalistic songs. I would normally be gently scathing in my reaction to Americans, well, being American, as British people tend to be to overt acts of nationalism on home soil, but this was something else, and it was moving to be a part of it all.

The game itself got underway in a massively understated way. Two pitches had occurred before anyone really realised it had started and I was keen to get involved straight away. I paid full attention and was thrilled to discover I actually knew what was going on. The studying had paid off. The first innings passed by without any scoring and I felt fully acclimatised (or ‘acclamated’ as the Americans say. Mystifying). The fans in the bleachers were friendly and the atmosphere was buoyant, if not particularly boisterous. One thing we DO do better is chants. Crowd singing didn’t extend beyond ‘let’s go Giants’ and ‘Beat LA’, but there was plenty of music played over the tannoy along with the traditional Hammond organ, and plenty of ‘audience cam’ amusement including the most bad-ass grooving popcorn-seller I’ve ever had the pleasure to witness. There were games, highlights from other matches, players stats and even an adorable piece in which the home players described their own personal anthems, which even featured some singing from one of them – a really nice touch.

In the second innings, I wondered why it was the second innings, as nothing discernible had really changed to speak of – I’m still to figure out how and why innings start and end. Some seemed to go on for an age and others flew by. Both teams scored in the second and the atmosphere picked up. The Giants’ pitcher seemed to be doing a fine job at not letting the batsmen hit many balls (get me totally being down with the lingo!), and also in his favour was the fact he was named Madison Bumgarner. Yup. Ah who am I kidding, I’m not going to go into any detail about the actual game as I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about, plus almost half a year has passed since the game, but I’ll cut to the chase and tell you that we won 8-1 (yes, WE – I’m a Giants fan, dontcha know).

We absolutely crucified them!! It must have been me. They were miles better than LA who couldn’t score to save their lives and whenever they did get a good hit were despatched clinically by an almost faultless fielding performance by the Giants. Their pitchers struggled to contain the Giants’ on-form batsmen despite trying some cynical tactics which massively backfired on them, (‘walkin’ ‘em in’ according to the bronzed biker dude next to me who seemed quite happy to adopt us as fellow fans despite our total cluelessness). It was a schooling, plain and simple. How this team had lost the two previous matches to this bunch of no-hopers was beyond me!

I don’t know if I’d necessarily call baseball players ‘athletes’. There are certainly a number of them who ran pretty fast. There are others, equally, for example the popular Pablo Sandoval, who are how shall I put this? A tad rotund. He sort of walked fast, from base to base rather than ran. But he scored points so who am I to argue? Their bodies may not be their temples, but they can sure throw fast and sport a baseball cap jauntily. So from the interminable yet exciting 5th and 6th innings, suddenly it was the 7th innings stretch – I still can’t figure out what THAT was all about other than everyone got up and danced. The last two innings flew by, people left, we were sunburnt, the place was a total trash can, the sun went down, we went out for beer. A good day was had by all. Except the LA Dodgers.

To conclude, I’ve no idea why it’s taken me this long to publish this other than that I returned to normality, ice hockey and to a lesser extent football took over my life once again, and I immediately lost interest in anything baseball-related. Would I go again if I was over in the States? Absolutely. Do I actually care what’s gone in in the MLB since, or will go on this season? Not a jot. But I sure as hell enjoyed being a part of it for a short while.

A Very Merry Rollin' Christmas

The day was Saturday. The weather was unpleasant. The head was fuzzy. The Lightfoot Centre in Walker was still an insane-looking seventies contraption. Except about 25 degrees colder than the last time I'd been there. The reason for my voluntarily leaving the house on a cold, drizzly weekend afternoon, when I would otherwise have been reclined on my sofa taking in the day’s football news with a variety of savoury snacks? There could be only one: the latest Newcastle Roller Girls home bout.

Festive punnery abounded in the bout, cunningly titled ‘While Zebras Watched Our Blocks’. It would see two teams from Newcastle taking one another on in the opening ‘B’ team bout before the main event: a clash between Newcastle’s Canny Belters and Edinburgh’s ARRG Cannon Belles (yes, the two names are similar. Yes, I did get confused on occasion. My notes, full of abbreviations as usual, made little sense when I realised after half an hour that both teams were the ‘CBs’. I digress...)

It had been a while since my brief foray into the brave new world of roller derby, and bearing in mind that foray had been, well, a bit pants really, bearing in mind it consisted a great lumbering oaf (me) trying to remain upright on four wheels, I was chomping at the bit to see the professionals in action. The atmosphere was jolly and the day started with a reminder of the rules of the sport which was a welcome relief as I’d gone a bit blurry on them if I’m honest, but I quickly remembered they involved women crashing into other women, women creating moving walls, women using one another as weapons, and similar such fun.

And so to the B team bout, which was to whet the appetite for the Christmas feast on offer that afternoon. I’d like to state how impressed I was from the outset. There is a real depth to the NRG squad now, which becomes apparent when you see they have enough skaters for two credible sides to take one another on before you even get to the main team. Also the quality of the second string skaters compared to the last time I was in attendance has vastly improved.

Sleigh Belles vs Christmas CrackHers. Just out of shot, Santa has been spotted. Naked.

That said, it was still delightfully mental. There was a lot of squawking, and some exceptional crashes and pile-ups, but aside from the odd one being caused by a person tripping themselves up, they generally came off the back of an excellent check or block, so well done those girls. Uberschnell in particular did some good jamming (check my technical terminology) picking up bucketloads of points for her team. I spent some time trying to figure out penalties but didn’t do very well. For some reason it always seemed as though the person who was wronged was sent to the sin bin rather than the aggressor. Perhaps my eyes just weren’t quick enough to register the myriad things that were going on at any one time. Or maybe roller derby takes a dim view of people tripping and getting in the way. How very dare they!

Aside from that I felt more comfortable with the rules, although I must say there was an odd-looking starting position which I didn’t quite understand, the four blockers from one team kneeling down on the start line in formation, as if they were about to have a team photo taken. It wasn’t very effective as the jammer nearly always broke loose immediately, skipping over the collection of sluggishly arising blockers and making her way to some points. The bout ended with an injury but it didn’t look too serious; the victors were the Christmas CrackHers (ba-dum tshhh) narrowly beating the Sleigh Belles. There was a bit of a love-in and then we were on our way to the main event, which followed a ‘surprise game’ involving wrapping up audience members like Christmas presents – well why not.

We opted for ground level viewing, protected from the action by nothing more than a wooden barrier – it was to be like trench warfare, with glitter. The skaters from NRG took to the track to warm up looking fierce, and exceptionally thin I might add, and received a Hollywood-style introduction which was no less than they deserved. The Cannon Belles did a sort of group chant/ raindance/ meditation. The atmosphere built and we were underway.

It was a cagey start, the two teams ranked 6th and 14th respectively (the Scottish team the higher ranked) feeling each other out early on (oo-er). But there wasn’t much time on the clock before GG Fox and vice captain Von Sleaze picked up the Canny Belter’s first points, the latter taking advantage of the ‘team photo’ start adopted by the Cannon Belles, similarly ineffectual as it had been in the prior bout.

They're canny. They're beltin'. And oh my, are they fabulous. Hollywood entrance by the NRG girls.

I daydreamed about how cool it would be to be a jammer. I defy you to watch roller derby and not want to be one. It’s the roller skating equivalent of being head cheerleader. Or the one at karaoke who can actually sing. I mean, seriously. You get to wear a star on your helmet, and if you’re faster than your opposite number, you get your very own referee skating around the inside of the track pointing at you with his arm in the air. Your very own man telling you ‘you’re the best! Yeah!’ whilst you zoom serenely around the track, protected by a bevy of lovely ladies, picking up points for your team and making everyone cheer.

And with a wistful sigh, I’m back in the room. I’ll simply never be that cool.

The bout was noticeably more tactical than the B team affair had been, with lots of very slow starts and tense exchanges between blockers and jammers. And penalties, boy were there a lot of those! Some of them were self-explanatory, for example Von Sleaze tripping the opposition jammer when she was clean through and about to start picking up points – the equivalent of a trip in the box in football. Lucky there’s no red card. She came on and proceeded to get sent straight back off again. In fact the vice captain appeared to be carrying out some kind of bet as she amassed at least six penalties that I can recall. I wonder if she won the bet? She’s a dirty girl, nonetheless.

She's quick, she's hard, she'll drop you on your arse, Von Sleeeeeaze! Von Sleaze!

Aside from all the misdemeanours there was rampant point-scoring going on, GG Fox picking up some more along with Bettie Basher, who was living up to her name and throwing some quality hits, and the Canny Belters streaked into the lead (oo-er). But shortly after, Kaos Moss picked up a bucketload of lovely points for the Cannon Belles and the visiting side clawed their way back into the bout. Then there was another intriguing blocking tactic in which the Canny Belters performed a kind of limbo. This was much more effective than ‘team photo’ start as the opposing skaters all fell over.

Captain Brie Larceny jammed her way to another couple of points and the home side crept back into the lead. In the early part of the first period the scoreline remained tight, the two teams trading the lead for a while, until the turning point came, with some minutes left in the first period (I was far too enthralled to be looking at any damn clock – there were scantily clad sportwomen zooming past my very eyes for crying out loud!), when GG Fox picked up a staggering 17 points on the powerjam to take the Canny Belters leaping into the lead by the halfway point.

The second period was delayed due to Big Smack and Fries having some helmet trouble (oo-er). This time was passed pleasantly by the girls; there was singing and dancing on the start line and generally being friendly and such. I don’t know if it’s a case of too much ice hockey but I do wish they’d be a bit more aggressive at times. Even during altercations they remain pally and well, you know, a bit of a strop and a punch in the arm wouldn’t go amiss once in a while, know what I mean? Okay it’s official, I watch too much ice hockey. I’ll try to stop myself from yelling ‘bench clearance’ next time. Although I'm willing to bet that Von Sleaze would be up for it.

That’s not to say there isn’t physical contact. Oh no, there’s plenty. Hip checks and shoulder barges are the order of the day, and I definitely spotting some mounting going on early in the second period. Anywaaaay. Oh yes, the action. I knew I was supposed to be doing something other than talking about sporting violence and making childish euphemisms.

The Canny Belters had a commanding lead as they entered the second and the imperious GG Fox picked up even more points early on (what did they put in HER Lucozade?), followed by Bettie Basher in her incredible gravity-defying top, almost - but not quite - displaying more than just her bodacious jamming skills. Hot on her heels, Von Sleaze burst from the traps like a bullet from a gun to collect more points, taking the NRG girls’ score to over double that of their opposition and place them firmly in the driving seat (oo-er. Oh wait, that one wasn’t rude. Double entendre fail).

CAUTION: Mounting may occur at any moment. Stand well clear.

The Cannon Belles’ key jammer, Kaos Moss, finally managed to chalk up a few more, despite looking a bit on the tired side (I'll be honest, she looked wrecked, but she was being used heavily by her team so it's hardly surprising), before NRG’s fabulous Miss Wired came into her own. Probably the best skater on the team, to these novice eyes at least, with amazing poise and speed and mind-bending balancing skills, she made fools of the opposition, FOOLS I say, to pick up 10 points in one jam and a smattering of points across a number of other jams. She’s so dreamy.

Fittingly, Captain Brie Larceny took the NRG score past the 100 mark and there looked to be no way back for the visitors. Then things started to stretch out as skaters tired; there were powerjams aplenty (remember, they’re when one team is a man down so the other has a better chance to pick up points. Nothing to do with concentrated strawberry preserves OR a rocking guitar practice session) and these seemed to change hands constantly as skaters came and went from the penalty box, keeping the seats warm (it was bloody freezing in there) and causing a constant shift of power from one team to the other. The visitors used these valuable opportunities to rack up a few more points and an unlikely comeback could have been on the cards, but even as the thought was considered the score swung back in the Canny Belter’s favour, Von Sleaze, Miss Wired and Marie Bayonet picking up enough points to surely take the contest out of reach. A last gasp opportunity for the Cannon Belles arose as three Canny Belters found themselves warming one another's cocklese in the Sin Bin (oo-er) and a strong final jam for Kaos Moss picked up an additional 9 points but it was too little too late. The bout was over, the score confirmed at 117-84.

And so it was over. It had been a journey. A deeply stylish, warm and fuzzy journey. With added innuendo. And elbows. And to the victors, the spoils. The girls and their baying fans made their way to the after party for copious amounts of festive cheer in liquid form. Here's to a great win and another cracking afternoon's entertainment - now onwards and upwards for the Newcastle Roller Girls.

PS Did I mention that Sniper Viper was mint? Because she so is.

All photos courtesy of Idene Roozbayani http://www.idene.co.uk/

Gig review: The Reflectacles, Hotel Utah San Francisco, 11th September 2011

Being a serious music fan can be as frustrating as it is rewarding. Great bands are like buses. Really, really slow buses. You can go weeks, months, sometimes even years, without discovering something that truly inspires you. Then the inevitable glut as two, maybe even three whole bands worth their salt come along at once. You can see plenty of gigs, listen to heaps of albums, but it’s only every so often that something ‘clicks’. Sometimes – more often than not – it’s a purely personal reaction. But sometimes it’s more objective than that.

Sometimes you have the incredible good fortune to pick a gig from the myriad selection on offer in a cosmopolitan city like San Francisco, say, purely based on the name of the band, and go along to a random venue you’ve never heard of, that turns out to be intimate and unique, and sometimes despite appearing to be the only paying customers there, you witness a band who the world need to hear. Sometimes, you approach them after the gig to drunkenly exclaim that they’re ‘amaaaaazing’ and ‘soooo good’ and make a total arse of yourself. But sometimes you wake up the next morning and forget about them, then find their demo CD in your bag a couple of weeks later and spin it in your car, expecting to find that it really doesn’t match up to being in a cool bar in San Francisco, tipsy on cheap beer and high on life and that that band you thought HAD to be the next big thing, really aren’t all that, and that they sound no better than the average folk rock band you might encounter in YOUR town, drunk, on a Sunday night.

And sometimes, just sometimes, you find you’re completely wrong.

Sometimes, you think you’ve probably discovered something really special.

Sometimes you should stop saying sometimes.

I’ll start at the very beginning. I won’t stay there long, because it's not always a very good place to start. In this case it was, without wishing to be cruel, appalling. I never did find out the name of the opening band and I’m not going to go out of my way to do so; I’ll keep my review of them short and it will accordingly be lost in the annals of blogging history, unsearchable but for anyone trawling the pages of Google for ‘truly abysmal Californian three piece bands’. Lead singer: wannabe Cobain/Dylan/Jeff Buckley. Potential? Yes. Pretentious? Dear god yes. In fact I’ll invent a whole new word for him: ‘pretential’. To be fair to him he wasn’t a bad pianist. He wasn’t a terrible singer. And he had a look about him. But that was about it. The guitarist doesn’t warrant space on the page, nice a person as I’m sure he was. Pling pling, pling, plingy pling, Neil Young-style body bend for no apparent reason, period. The drummer was a girl. We’ll call her Lucy (that’s not her name). She would have been outshone by a click track with an auburn wig. I hate being mean. I’m going to stop.

Second up were The Generous Grants, who were really rather good actually. A impressive collision between Weezer and the Pixies, they had an immense amount of talent, heaps of likeability and a collection of great voices between them. The songmanship wasn’t outstanding but it was more than compensated for by their personality and their brilliant drummer. I would watch them again anytime.

With more talent than is necessary for three regular bands and creativity oozing from every orifice, The Reflectacles really have to be seen to be believed. After the first song they leave you with eyebrows raised. This band are GOOD. The lead singer has charisma in spades and a gravelly soul voice, backed up by a bevy of above average backing vocals and a sublime collection of musicians. You sit back in your chair, cautious. It could be fluke. Maybe they're a one hit wonder. Maybe you've just had a couple of beers too many.

Then they start the second song. And the OTHER lead singer starts up. And he has a voice fit for some truly heavenly blues stylings. That can’t be right, surely? TWO lead singers, BOTH exceptionally talented. Where’s the fairness in that? I’m sure they could carve their resources in two and make two perfectly acceptable bands from the remains. But they’ve chosen to pool their resources and as a result, the world is blessed with near enough a perfect example of what a great live band should be.

The Reflectacles: mmm, you can totally see what I mean by this picture, can't you. Once again I've proved I can take a mean gig photo. And that I need a new camera.

They are fiendishly difficult to pigeonhole. There are country, folk and blues elements within their music but none of those tags sit comfortably on their own. Just when you think you have them pegged they playfully subvert the genres and raise the bar even higher. You don’t know what to expect from them to start with: they are a collection a very different human beings, from the affable keyboard player who looked set to go on a 1940s boating holiday, to the lead guitarist who was pulling off a credible modern day Jesus look, complete with disaffected Jordan Catalano-style leaning (check your 90’s pop culture references, youngsters). One of the singers is a multi-instrumented genius, switching merrily from banjo to trumpet to harmonica throughout the set, clearly comfortable on all of them, exuding a laid back confidence that walks the line of cockiness without stepping over it – the perfect frontman.

But the music brings them together in absolute harmony, timeless and universally appealing but with enough kooky kitsch to give them the edge in an industry where it's becoming increasingly difficult to carve out any individuality. Their songs are nuggets of glorious feel-good-ery; I can easily imagine hearing them on Radio 1 or seeing them perform at Reading and Leeds, despite the fact they would spank the backsides of most of the other acts on either. What can I say other than LISTEN TO THIS BAND. They will be inside your head taking control of your brain completely against your will, and after two listens you'll be humming their glorious harmonies on autopilot. What can I say. The Reflectacles are an incurable aural infection. But quite a nice one, that sort of tickles. And you can only scratch the itch by going back to the beginning and listening all over again.

Wow. I really gushed there didn’t I. Oops. Ah well, I’m sure this band can live up to it. Now to bring them over to the UK. Although given my rather over-enthusiastic advances in San Francisco I might have scared them away forever. Er, sorry about that. Over to you, Britain!