I’ve always been slightly envious of epic derby tales. Not jealous, mind you, as I rarely feel that at all. Just… envious. Here is my epic tale:
Once upon a time, in the Land of Big Canoes, there was a derby venue… no, wait.
I sing of paperwork and the man; he who, exiled by fate, first came from the third exit of Springfield to Lebanon…
I bet no one reads the Aeneid, anymore. Anyway.
So, for those of you who don’t know, bouts take paperwork if you want any statistics or proper record. If you have 34 bouts, you will need all the paperwork ever. I had been busy as a methed out bee for quite some time with planning. I thought I would print the sheets right before I left town, so I didn’t have cats scattering them all over or the chance to drop a bottle of ink on them or anything else I could dream up (someone remind me to get my fancy file-folder from the rink; I left it after the last bout).
I forgot that summer here makes crappy summer hours at places I might actually need stuff from, so as I prepared to leave town for a meeting with my four lovely Crew Head NSOs, I stopped by the place I thought I would print things, only to find it was closed.
I thought surely there would be a 24 hour printing place in Lebanon or the surrounding areas, and charged towards the city, chattering at NSOs on speaker phone along the way. I texted one of my lovely derby-wives, Krakk’em, and she returned with a number to a UPS store in Lebanon proper. I was set!
After the meeting, around 11pm, I was searching around all the places that were theoretically 24 hours on my phone… and they had also changed to summer hours. I was not set. I started to worry, but only slightly, because I’m just about out of worry for this year. Dr. Franken-zeeb was around and said if worse came to worse, we’d go to his house (about 45 minutes away) and print everything there. Alright. Fine.
I went to the hotel, but the hotel manager went absolutely batshit on me. Seriously, I don’t know what the fuck that guy’s problem is/was, but once I said my name, he was set on being a total jackass and I couldn’t convince him otherwise. I, being a person who abhors jackassery, left (there is another post pending for this leg of the story, mostly because no one gets to talk to me like that). No time for that. I left called every hotel in the area until I secured a room. I stopped in to give my roommate her key, and around 1:30am, Dr. Frank and I headed to his house.
We got there around 2:30, printed 33 pairs of score, penalty box, and penalty tracking sheets; one set of full stats for the final bout; and 60 each of the evaluation sheets, plus some extra… just in case. 5 schedules and 5 crew rosters. I’ve run out of fingers… with the extras… we printed about 416 sheets.
As we drove back to our hotels, I started trying to figure up how much time I would have if I tried to sleep. An hour at best. 6:45am meeting, 8am for the first whistle… and I unlocked my door at 5 on the dot.
“I will nap,” I thought, but around 5:15, I realized I was filling in corrections on a schedule with a pencil and realized that maybe my brain and my body are separate entities. I did sleep a solid 30 minutes, jumped in the shower, got dressed, and launched myself towards the venue. I watched Dr. Franken-zeeb referee the first bout with no problem, knowing he had a good 45 minutes of sleep and thought “are we crazy?”
Fuck, no. We got the paperwork. We are heroes.