Prelude. How was your summer, dear readership? What’s that you say? It was good, with the sunny days and the outdoor recreation and the grill-cookouts and the friendly friends? Well, that’s great. I’m happy for you. Oh, and how was DF’s summer, you want to know? Why, how very kind of you to ask. Let’s see, how do I put this? How about en Francais: it blew le chunks. And to translate from the French for you goddamned philistines, that’s how the frogs say that DF’s summer was as about as enjoyable as eating an enormous, hairy elephant-ass sandwich with an XL plate of steaming kittykat feces on the side, all washed down with a 64oz tankard of yeti snot.

Ahem. To explain for those of you who have been living under a rock and/or failing to read regular DF-related updates on the justifiably popular blog “All DF All the Time”, DF (due, predictably, to a perilous combination of inebriation, clumsiness, and pure unadulterated idiocy) experienced a truly spectacular dual fracture of his left tibia and fibula back in mid-June and spent the rest of the summer largely horizontal and in various stages of massive discomfort and/or Vicodin-induced haze.

So it’s been a shut-in couple of months for DF, but his recovery is well under way and at long last it’s time for him to make his crutch-tastic debut, complete with comically pronounced limp. And what better place to re-introduce the world to the new, hobbled DF than the Doll Factory, where the Fight Crew will try to break their loooong regular season losing skid against the Varsity Brawlers, who are looking to win for the first time in their (admittedly short) history? In other words, derby people, it’s time to bring out the gimp!

7.16pm. Losanjealous, CA. And to be fair, the tib/fib fracture isn’t all bad news. It comes with a great perk: an official, DMV-sanctioned handicapped placard that, if DF understands correctly, entitles us disableds to do whatever we want, whenever we want, despite contrary law and for free. And so DF careens Fac-ward down Temple Blvd., does a Dukes-of-Hazzard-style donut at the intersezzione with Bonnie Brae and leaves his 1996 magenta Monte Carlo mid-street for easy post-bout finding. Horns honk and pedestrians shake fists, but DF simply waves his beloved handicapped placard. It’s in the Constitution, people (just above “cop killer bullets” and below “gays can’t marry”).

7.48pm. Now to the bout: you may recall tonight’s participants from their post-seasonal first face-off last October, when the Fight Crew took no pity on the embryonic Varsity Brawlers and demolished them by some pornographically huge margin. This eve’s bout promises to be a closer affaire. Both the Crew and the Brawlers are winless in 2009, but each have taken credible opposition (viz., Sirens) to the limit in razor-thin losses, so the combatants promise to be both worthy and equipoised. Let’s observe, shall we?

8.03pm. The whistle sounds and they’re off: the early action is cagey (as in cautious, not as in Bea) and the jams are low-scoring. The latter is likely due to the supremely well-organized defense exhibited by both sides; the blocker packs are each unrecognizably disciplined in comparison to the porosity of last October, and as a result penalties are kept to a minimum and jammers have trouble racking points. A tightly contested first quarter ends with the Crew holding a slight 11-9 edge.

8.27pm. The second half dawns and things open up a bit. First, relatively novel VB jammer Lace ‘n’ Arsenic rips off four points, and then veteran FC skater Kubo (who apparently skates as a jammer now, much to DF’s surprise) rocks around the track for a matching quad. Defense reemerges for a spell—headlined by Broadzilla’s deliciously brutal takeout of Vik Timizer in the fifth jam of the quarter—but as the half draws to a close, Lusty Loveless gives the front-running Crew a bit of breathing room with a seven point jam. Not to be outdone, Long Island Lolita lives up to her “Diva” ass-pants and responds in kind with a gap-closing and crowd-roar-inducing nine points. And just when you were all like, “Seriously, you bitches, cut out this lead-change bizness or I’m going to crap my cutoffs, and don’t even think I’m joking ‘cause that totally happened last week in K-mart to my great humiliation,” Cap’n Haught Wheels reasserts Crew superiority with four quick points, and it’s finally time for all of our pulses to reset to resting rate. Halftime arrives: FC > VBs, 35-32.

8.59pm. It’s halftime and DF hasn’t eaten in like seventeen minutes so yeah, he’s ravenous. DF cuts to the front of the Hot Dog on a Stick line (poking waiting patrons aside with the crutch and waving the placard at any who protest). “OK, let’s see, I’ll have twelve Kobe beef HDOASes swimming in A1 sauce, and I’m going to need you to feed them directly into my gaping maw while you’re wearing a variegated clown wig and singing (not humming) the theme from the sitcom ‘Alice.’” The HDOAS gals briefly appear nonplussed, but then DF produces the magic placard and his mouth is soon stuffed full of high-end corn dogs inserted by amusingly bewigged and surprisingly tuneful ladies. Being crippled is the best!!!

9.03pm. “There’s a fresh, freckled face in the … neighborhood—” Oh, hello! I was just singing in sweet, sweet anticipazione of the forthcoming second half. The story of the first half was disciplined blocking and limited penalties. The early story of the second half is just the opposite: brutal fouls and high-scoring power jams. Four of the first five third-quarter jams are, in fact, of the power ilk, and the skaters take full advantage: Kubo racks 9 to lead things off, then it’s Mickipedia with eight in two power jams, Lace ‘n’ Arsenic with ten (in a non-power jam), and then Judy Gloom scores nine to reassert a three-point Crew lead. Finally, the fouls (though not the bloodbathery) recede, and as the dust settles on a high-ass-scoring third quarter, the FC have stretched their margin of victory a couple points, now leading 62-53.

9.26pm. Anyway. In the midst of all the back-and-forth drama, DF has not atypically consumed ample cervezas, and as a result finds himself in immediate need of, as the Latins used to say, urinatio maximus. Let’s see… trip to either VIP bathrooms or their porta-cousins will require a crutch-walk of about thirty-eight gimping minutes, bladder is full-to-poppin’, can’t bear to miss any of this action—crisis beckons! But wait! DF produces the talismanic handicapped immunity placard, rises, and (in full view of the aghast VIP section) proceeds to piss copiously into a motley assortment of found containers. Spectators bay in horror (and in a couple cases, faint from nausea) at DF’s less-than-tasteful public spectacle, but conduct however repellent and/or grotesque is all legit if you can play the gimp card.

9.30pm. Ahhh… Sweet, sweet urinary repose—and just in time to observe what promises to be a gripping conclusion. The Crew are poised to end their longstanding skid, but the Brawlers aren’t too far in the rearview mirror. Aaaand just as DF makes this pithy observation, Long Island Lolita erases the FC lead in sixty seconds with a ten-point jam, and when Raven Seaward (Ohhhh, Raven Seaward. DF gets it! Most amusing.) collects four midway through the third, the Brawlers have a three point lead and all of the momentum.

9.35pm. The rest of the fourth quarter is more about grit than anything else as skater energy flags in the overheated cauldron of the Doll Factory. The Brawlers keep up the pressure, albeit in smaller increments: Tae Kwon Ho, LiLo, and Raven grab a few crucial points here and there, and then Ghetto Stiletto comes from nowhere to produce a courageous five-point jam that pushes the VB lead to nine.

9.38pm. But just when it looks like all is lost for the Crew, Bombshell Betty responds with a slithery three-pointer and now the deficit is six and it’s all to play for. Except: the derby goddesses can be total beyatches (as in actual bitches, not as in Laguna), and Betty also accumulated a major on her point-scoring jam, giving the Brawlers a power jam that Lace ‘n’ Arsenic slams home for four. There’s a glimmer of hope for the Crew—they’re only down by ten with one jam to go, so matters are not theoretically out of reach—but when the whistle blows, Lolita races to the lead, calls, and collapses to the track where she is mobbed by teammates. 85-75 is the final: The Brawlers are victorious.

9.49pm. Well, I know this is a total cliché, but that bout was more exciting than a pee party in a Poletown pimp’s polyester pantaloons. Lame (literally, and possibly also figuratively) DF waits for the crowds to clear so he can navigate the treacherous exit from the VIP section (crowds + stairs = cripple’s mortal enemy). This affords a moment to take in the post-game scene. It is a feel-good frenzy: Brawlers, exhausted but radiant in the afterglow of truly novel victory; Crew, similarly spent but valiant in character-building defeat (& lord knows these gals have lots of character by now); and observant DF, blessedly un-reinjured and not unsuccessfully reintroduced to impolite society in a deliciously enjoyable recovery landmark.

10.03pm. Now to begin the tedious-ass crutchwalk to the parking lot, and then homeward into the hot August night as foothill fires burn and ash rains down on our fair city. Next up: Sirens and Swarm, here at the Factory, September 12. DF will be in attendance. At the risk of stating the painfully obvious (of which DF is, to be fair, a Jedi effing master), you well should be there too.

Don’t miss another DF body trauma, y’all. Hook your bad self up with DF’s outsized myspace presence here and/or his compulsive (and frankly less than coherent) Twittering here here. And if there are any corrections or emendations to the above, blame it on the Vi- Vi- Vi- Vi- Vi- Vicodin and email DF about it directly (df at losanjealous dot com) so he can fix that shit on up.

Photos and credits

1. …And nanoseconds later the photographer got a faceful of helmet: Vulvy and Lace ’n’ Arsenic hurtle cameraward at high speed.

2. Carnage in process: Lolita and Armov down, Haughtie soon to join them.

3. DF does wave; other things also happen. Visible: tibial fracture brace.

4. Halftime birthday! Demo may be the world’s hottest forty year old (at least until DF reaches that age plateau himself).

5. Haught Wheels is … um … haught on the trail of Lace ’n’ Arsenic, and apparently it’s causing her much glee.

6. Brawlers celebrate DF’s return to the Doll Factory (and to a lesser extent, their victory).

All photos (C) 2009 by Stalkerazzi. All rights reserved. Do not use without permission.