By J.D. Oxblood

Hunter College, Friday night, September 12, a perfect way to recover
from lingering Sept. 11 syndrome -- and the endless exploitation of a
day hallowly remembered -- roller derby!  Hot chicks on wheels!

Well maybe, just maybe, some of you slackers out in cyberspace are
actually reading these missives, as the Friday night bout was sold out.
Folks lined up for hours (well, ok, an hour) just to get a glimpse of
the Gotham Girls giving their all with guts and grit. The gym was
packed, energy was high, and the all-around theme of the night was
just like my last date:  hot and sweaty.

The night started out well for ol’ Brooklyn.  With 14 minutes left in
the first half the score was nearly tied, but Little Red Terror (LRT)
failed to succeed as a terror. Little, ok, red, maybe, but not a terror in
any way, shape or form that would excite ol’ Osama. She was more
like little red timid, letting the Manhattan Mayhem close her out on the
inside of the track as the Manhattan jammer swept around the outside
to take the lead, again and again for the entire first half.  It became
obvious to me—as a a veteran Derby bout spectator, with two—count
them, two—bouts under my belt—that the Manhattan
team was better coached.

At 5 minutes left to go in the first half Luna Impact—now she’s
skating for Brooklyn?— went down, planting her face firmly in the
blue polyurethane track.  She stayed face-down for several minutes as
the EMTs chatted with her about what might be the problem.  I began
to wonder if they were negotiating a three way, and wondering what
I would have to do to be invited.  The score stood at Manhattan 62,
Brooklyn 27, when they finally helped her to her feet and she left the

Brooklyn's guiding light in the closing minutes of the first half was
Aunti Christ: as a jammer she earns the name, inspiring both awe and
a desire to worship the devil.  Chassis Crass was worthless as a
defender, but her flowered panties—worn on the outside of her
tights—were fantastic, possibly visible from space, certainly sufficient
to pitch a tent if the bout goes into overtime and I need to camp out
on the upper east side. (She's a big girl.)  Is this a secret defense
strategy?  Distraction through XXL flowered panties?  LRT got some
courage in the final minutes of the first half and scored a few points—a
little late, sweets:  At the buzzer it was Manhattan 72, Brooklyn 30.

At half time there were two shows: a hoola hoop girl who I swear I saw
in a burlesque show at the slipper room New Year's Eve 2005/2006. Is
that Miss Saturn?  Somebody set me straight here—I remembered Miss
Saturn as a better hoola hooper and WAY, way  hotter. Is this an
imposter? Should Miss Saturn come on down and bitch-slap this
usurper?  Or has she really lost her looks?  Wow… burlesque and
derby in the same evening… be still, my beating heart.

Then the Jeerleaders from both teams got together for a Gotham Girls
salute to homoerotic Cheez Whiz with their heartfelt dance to the
Queen/Bowie classic "Under Pressure".  I was feeling so much love I
almost went out and bought a Subaru.  Or a double-ended dildo.

In the second half the wall of Mayhem continually and repeatedly
thwarted Brooklyn's dreams of getting out of the gym with at least a
shred of dignity.  They were taking such a pounding I began to
reconsider by dildo purchase.  At 16:54 left in the match the score was
Manhattan 109, Brooklyn 40.  It was a rainy day in Mudville when
with ten minutes left Manhattan extended their lead to 100 points.  I
began to consider cheering for Manhattan just to stop feeling so
betrayed.  This was Brooklyn!  My borough!  My babes!  Then the
skies opened and an angel appeared—or smoking hot, made-for-
banging-angel named after our heavenly orbiter—Luna Impact,
miraculously healed from her devastating first period face plant.
Stronger than ever—nod to Nietzsche— She came on jammin' hard,
and scored 19 points in one jam for the little underdogs from the far
side of the East River.

Aunti Christ did her bit and LRT began to finally earn her name as
Brooklyn closed the gap. But, sadly, there are only so many minutes in
a bout, and it was not enough.  At the final buzzer Manhattan still had
a, er, significant lead: 146 to 91.


So bummed out I had to go back to Brooklyn just to breathe the air and
contract a local hangover-in-the-making.

Don’t miss the post-season bout on September 27.  Tune in this weekend
as I’ll be covering the Bulesque Festival and steaming up your screen.

Kiss kiss,

Additional reporting/ghostwriting by C.C.