Diary of a Baby Zebra 2

So last Monday night I had my first experience as a proper grown up roller derby jam referee in an East London sports hall, jam reffing a rec league bout. I was even entrusted with a whistle and everything – I was a proper grown up.

I didn’t have much preparation for the role, up until 3pm the same day I was banking on a routine evening practice until Sinister Mary  offered me the opportunity to ref. As her post put it: “It’s just skating while pointing.” Short and simple. How can you say no to that? I could point, I’d also once skimmed through the rules (Johnny 5 stylee) and I was in enthusiastic. I was the man for the job.

Or so I thought.

In retrospect I was probably more qualified to work as a particle physicist on the Hadron Collider.

I’ve had comparable bad evenings before, I’ve done stand up gigs in days of yore and experienced ‘the choke’, the knee wobbling moment you’re standing in the spotlight looking at angry individuals and a little voice softly whispers to you:-

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re doing do you?”

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Go home and watch tv.”

I’ve also had kidney stones but that was more a physical pain. I’d liken it to the end scene in Mission Impossible when Tom Cruise flies a helicopter into the Chanel Tunnel.

My roller derby experience was a vicious mélange of the two, a baptism of fire which was part two-hour endurance test and self-inflicted  humiliation. To top it all my new derby socks turned out to be pink and not red as the label said which I think subconsciously really undermined my authority and decision-making ability.

I learnt several things on Monday:-

1) Skimming through the rules Johnny 5 stylee is a really bad way of remembering things, even if you make the ‘sped up’ sound effect. You’d probably have more success eating the pages and hoping that somehow you digest their inner meaning.

2) I actually have no idea what a back block is. I know what it is in theory, sure, but when four women are sprawling on the floor and everyone is screaming ‘BACK BLOCK’ I have no idea who to penalise. Which is why I skated off and ignored you all. Sorry.

3) That I can skate solidly for nearly two hours. I can also skate and point although this did cause me to veer onto the track on a few times in the early stages – but with no real repercussions. I’m a rebel like that. It’s reassuring to know that the whole movement lark, and keeping up with a succession of  fast-moving ladies, wasn’t totally beyond me. I couldn’t skate seven weeks ago so thumbs up.

4) That if you send someone to the penalty box for a minor and then apologise afterwards they will say ‘that’s okay‘ but their eyes will say ‘I hate you.’

5) If you fail to tell the subsequent jammer to not start in the penalty box because you mistakenly sent the jammer previous there in a hilarious minor/major mix up then they too will hate you no matter how foppish and Hugh Grant-ian you act. In fact it just exacerbates the situation. Next time I’m going to trial a new arrogant/high and mighty/unapologetic attitude and stand by my decisions no matter how shit.

6) That I’d underestimated how sharp you have to be to be a referee. I doth my cap in the direction of Wheelspin Shady, Ballistic Whistle, Jay Peg et al who always look so unflappable and ice cool.

7) That if you complete a transition mid skate no one will care less, no one will clap and cheer or bat an eyelid, especially those who have already suffered at your cack handed decisions.Despite this deep inside I was delighted with myself and repeated the feat later on to complete indifference.

8) That my girlfriend didn’t want to jam whilst I jam reffed. Which was a shame as a good old chastising screaming match where I lost my rag would have rounded the whole debacle off nicely and made it memorable for all.

9) There are lots of rules to roller derby. In fact if I was ever President of the WFTDA (if they even have a President?) I’d really streamline the whole affair by removing all those troublesome minors and majors from the rules and let people have a massive free for all ala Mario Kart.

Anyway when Dean blew the last whistle of the night I could have hugged him. Christ, I would have kissed him if he’d given me the glad eye and if I had any energy left in my tattered broken body to catch him.  However now, as an older and wiser man by a fuller week, who has now read the rules (medal please) I’m ready for round two.