It’s taken me quite some time (read: my entire life) to find a sport I can not just tolerate but consider buying the t-shirt and fridge magnet of. Enter The Roller Derby. What more could you want from a sport than quiffs in the crowd, leopard-skin anything, and a licensed tuck shop? Nothing. Thanks Ms Oparski for leading me into the far northern Melbourne woods on a Saturday night to my new favourite thing.
But these girls are freaking insane. Anyone who answers an ad that reads – “If you are prepared to get bruised, body slammed, skate fast, dress up in costumes, get sweaty, practice 3 times a week and are over 18 then we want to hear from you.” – needs to learn to crochet. Costumes? tick. Bruised? Slammed? Sweaty? No stinking way. Insane.
Which explains why crazies such as the completely mad and scary Kittie von Krusher are to be found flying around the rink. If that WMD-on-wheels was heading in my direction I would grow wings and fly the hell out of there. She even bumps her own team out of the way, with a crazy look in her eye like, ah, well, something in need of a valium. Put it this way; if James Bond had a roller derby scene, she’d be the baddie in it.
Unlike 9 Lives Isis, who is both the cuteness and the hotness, and man can she jam and block. And no, she’s not a rep for VB, I just stalked her at the bar where she was kindly fetching drinks for friends.
