September 10, 2009. 3.15pm. A Doctor’s Office, Westlake, Los Angeles, CA. “You can come out from under the observation table,” the doctor told DF, “I am not going to hit you with this cane, rather I want to you use it.” DF, it turns out, has been graduated from a crutch-walker to a cane-user, which sounds lame (in all senses of the word) but is actually a large step (again, no pun intended) in the broke-leg recovery process. The downside is that one must ambulate publicly with an accoutrement more appropriate for an octogenarian than for an esteemed and not entirely unyouthful (“read: middle-aged”—ed.) man-about-town.

September 12, 2009. 7.13pm. HiFi, Losanjealous, CA. Fair enough, doc. Given that DF must cane-walk for the foreseeable, he’s decided not only to own the cane but to own the living crap out of it, and to incorporate it into a look and persona that represents his overall classiness. Hence DF arrives at the Doll Factory for the Sirens/Swarm clash with not only the aforementioned cane, but also with a dapper three-piece tux of the finest powder-blue polyester (replete with ruffled dickey—which is totally an article of clothing so get yer minds out of the gutter); an Abe Lincoln stovepipe hat; spats & cravats; a seegar in a seegar holder; and several monocles in each eye.

7.46pm. Truly, DF’s novel sartotial ensemble is a testament to class. And yet there’s something (almost) as momentous brewing at la Fabrica de Munecas tonite. ‘Tis a significance-fraught clash between one of LADD’s historically most successful teams, the Sirens, and this season’s brazen upstarts, SDDD all-star assemblage the Swarm. Much hangs in the balance: the Swarm have raced out to an undefeated (2-0) first half, though the Sirens (1-1) can pull even with a victory tonight. The Factory is crowded and DF is sweaty (thanks to his heavy patrician garb) in anticipation of this titanic tussle.

8.01pm. Game on! The early moments of any contest are often a key to how it will ultimately unfold, and this bout is no different: after a tight opening jam in which V. Lee and Bonnie D. Stroir each put points on the board, Kiki Diazz signals Swarm superiority with a dashing, smashing ten-point jam. DF has never seen points scored on the Sirens D with such ease. Later in the quarter, Bonnie D. throws down an eight-point jam to stretch the Swarm advantage to 30-11, and it’s beginning to look like a no-donut kind of night for the policeladies.

8.23pm. In any sporting contest where one side gains a clear advantage over the other, one must cogitate on a conundrum: is the reason one side’s offensive incompetence or the other’s defensive prowess? In this bout, the answer appears to be the latter; viz., the Swarm defense truly is … um … swarming on all cylinders. Their pack, led by Trish the Dish (replete in Heath-Legder-as-the-Joker scary-smile makeup), Ivanna S. Pankin, and Bo Toxic, operates with seeming telepathy to dampen any Siren offensive forays, and all the while Swarm jammers continue to skate past with little resistance. In the Sirens’ defense, it should also be noted that they are skating tonight without several key players, including iconic jammer Mila Minute. Irregardlesstastically, Bonnie D. and Kiki Diazz keep wreaking Rodney King’s revenge on the cop-ettes, and when the first half whistle sounds, it’s police brutality in reverse, 66-22 Swarm.

8.51pm. Ah, ‘tis halftime, and the DF gut demands sustenance to be provided via the insertion of foodstuffs into his oral orifice. DF cane-walks in all his finery to the Michelin-approved five-star eatery that is Hot Dog on a Stick, where he orders the minced boiled pork, finely breaded, tartly accoutered with a delicate Dijon sauce. Caning philistines aside (and dismissing comparisons to Batman foe The Penguin), DF clears a bench that he then adorns with a linen tablecloth, candles, and a place setting to accompany his gourmet repast. Ah, this hot dog is divine, and the stick truly makes it a piece de resistance. My compliments to the hilariously dressed chefs! DF erupts with a few class-tastic belches, rises from the table, and gimps back inside (presumably waitstaff will clean up after him).

9.15pm. When battle is re-joined in the second half, we are repeatedly admonished by the announcers to remember that the lopsided score should not cause us to predetermine the outcome, because anything can happen in sports. Oh, indeed anything can happen in sports, you golden-voiced Gilgameshes. It is also possible that a space alien who looks exactly like Kim Kardashian could blast through the ceiling of the Doll Factory, magically heal DF’s injured leg, and then slow-dance/make-out with him on the infield to the tune of “It’s Raining Men”. But DF ain’t placing any bets on it. Having thusly illustrated the yawning gulf between plausibility and possibility, DF has his point conveniently driven home by the Swarm, who take no pity on their opponents and expand their lead to 85-31 by third quarter’s end.

9.29pm. As the Swarm methodically and impressively work their way to locking up a place in the 2009 LA Derby Dolls Championship Bout (which is kind of weird because they’re from San Diego—just sayin’), The Greatest Event in the History of the World takes place. No joke: DF, a lover of all games of chance, including but not limited to raffles, has been shut out of the LADD raffle winners’ circle since he started buying tickets back in 2007. But tonight, Cannon Doll miraculously intones ticket #916316, and DF is engulfed in glory. Streamers fall from the rafters, as derby fans hoist DF on their shoulders in adulation and derby girls blow copious kisses his way. Well, not exactly, but still: Razor kindly retrieves DF’s bounty and tis impressive indeed: bags upon bags of cool crap, including but not limited to a helmet that DF is going to wear at all times beneath his stovepipe hat in order to protect his noggin the not unlikely event that he falls while cane-walking. The trick to victory, btw, is to specifically request winning (not losing) raffle tickets, and perhaps also to buy them from fetching saleswoman Long Island Lolita.

9.43pm. The boutcome of this contest is known well and truly at the outset of the quarter, but still there is much merriment to behold. The Sirens’ endearing bacon-themed mascot spars good-naturedly with the Swarm’s scary-looking bee mascot, who is then chased hither and yon by sort-of cognate Cagey Bea. Of more moment, the Sirens show mettle by battling hard despite it being trash time. PITA and Raven Seaward (brand new team, same great name) make some inroads into the stalwart Swarm defense, and the Sirens outscore the Swarm by a hairsbreadth in the quarter, though this hardly does much to mitigate the final damage: an emphatic 104-51 victory in favor of the San Diegan ladies in yellow and black.

9.59pm. DF finishes off his hi-class beverage (Olde English malt liquor, but in a fancy highball glass), adjusts his top-hat and various monocles, and (ignoring cries of “Suck it, Rich Uncle Pennybags”) tootles off into the night, albeit slowly. Truly, this was an evening of tectonic shifts in the LADD landscape. Not only did DF manage to injurylessly navigate the Doll Factory in a cane (and a high-end satortial ensemble), but the Swarm have now served notice that they weren’t just a first-half wonder. The bee ladies remain loss-free in 2009, while it appears that (barring miracles) the Sirens will fail to appear in the LADD championship bout for the first time in their history. Next up, Brawlers/Cookies on October 3. Be there, plebes, even if you’re not as fancy as DF.

Is the new, hi-class DF better than you? Yes, probably, but he still will allow the hoi polloi to follow him on Twitter and/or MySpace. And in the incredibly likely event that there are corrections or emendations to the above, please email DF about them for fixation: df at losanjealous dot com.

Photos and credits:

1. Siren helmets fore, practicing Swarm skaters aft

2. Slamurai’s so fast that light trails in her wake

3. Amber Alert! holds of a Ledgeresque Trish the Dish as Dash Assault evades the pack; who’s that diligent note-taker in the background? He sure is sexy!

4. PITA and Bo Toxic illustrate Newton’s third law of (com-) motion

5. Stars align, collide, jostle, realign: Ryder Hard, Trish the Dish, Bo Toxic, Dash Assault, and Bully Julie vie for position mid-jam (L-R)

6. Refs and Swarm alike celebrate DF being named “Best Dressed Cripple”

Photos 1, 3, & 5-6 by Stalkerazzi; photos 2 & 4 by Shutterthug. All photos (C) 2009 by their respective authors. Do not use without permission.