Big girls don't cry and the five second rule

Stardate 10 Mar 2012;  Alliston

I remember why I have always hated team sports - I can't believe it took this long.

It's the selection process. Not making a team is one thing. Being picked last - that's the kicker. I even read a blog post from a girl who bemoaned the day her coach made them pick teams for a scrimmage and I still didn't make the connection.

Until last practice.

Alliston lineups - they premade lines for the games and we practiced them. I'm on one line. Great. I guess so are a bunch of people, and a couple of people are on two lines. I think I played about half as much as anyone else. WTF?

Now, I have no illusions about my skill level but I'm not awful. Or not the worst, I don't think. And even if I was, don't I deserve equal track time, especially in a practice scrimmage? No, people were coming off the track beat and being sent right back out. W. T. F????

I almost cried. I almost got annoyed and made snarky remarks (OK, I made one to Rosa). Nope I did the me thing and bottled it up inside and pretended it was alllll OK. Don't fucking cry!!! I brooded about this for hours. In bed, at work... I vented to barb and we agreed we were fucked up to still get upset about this shit at our ages but what can you do? Once a loser always a loser. I contemplated emailing the coach and asking what was wrong with me, what I need to work on to get played more, but then I thought... really, you know what your weaknesses are better than anyone. Do you want to seem like you think you're so awesome and should play every line when in reality you think it's a miracle that you actually are playing at all? Not so much.

I went out for lunch, had fried chicken, scalloped potatoes and a ton of chocolate. I spent the afternoon reading some derby blog posts and got some perspective.
a. suck it up. This is your team, bitchiness isn't going to help anyone, least of all yourself.
b. the lineups *should* be fair, but who knows what happens in the heat of the moment - YOU know best how much you've played so say something (nicely) if you want more time. I'm sure there are gals who are dying for a break.

I felt much better. Angst eats me up inside and makes me useless. I gotta have some inner peace.

I got home and there was an email from our coach about the lineups. I'm still only one one line, but so are most people. A few are on two. Whatever. So they're better than you - most people are. Practice more. Look behind you ALL the time. Stay with your team.  Develop a sense of urgency - bust your ass to get that girl then get right back to your line. Practice more. Get lower. Pay attention. Use your head. Get LOWER.
Derby is so totally a mental game. I've helped us win the game 27 times over in my mind. I thought about paying attention to the jammers. The 5 second rule (I love that rule)*. I think it helped a lot and I feel better  But maybe it was the fried chicken and the chocolate.

So what are you going to do? Go out there, play your ass off every jam you get. Be ready to step up when there's a hole in the line. And SAY something if you're not being played enough. She said it was OK. If you don't do this, you get a smack in the face from me and forfit your right to feel an iota of anger about it. If you do and they don't use you? Suck it up, but it might be worth a discussion on you apparent lack of skill. At a later time.

*The rule is, when the opposing jammer leaves the pack: You have five seconds to get your jammer through the pack.
You have been relentless, but something happened and the opposing jammer broke free from the pack. From that second, that “OH-SHIT-SHE-GOT-AWAY!”-moment, that’s when you start counting.: Five…Four…Three…Two…One…and back to BLOCKING THAT JAMMER!
Five. Find your Jammer
Four. Who is holding her hostage?
Three. KEEEEL THEM!
Two. KEEEEL THEM MOOORE!
One. FORGET THEM! Where is the opposing jammer?

Number one.

A new year - we're restarting the dating numbering.  The first contender for douchbag of the year is from OKC.  We shall call him Yappy since he talks more than anyone I've ever me.  Long, rambling stories that go off on wild tangents.  In his defence, he is fairly interesting; his stories don't make my eyes glaze over.

On the negative, he doesn't really seem to want to listen to me talk about derby.  That's a problem.  But he's tall, dark and somewhat handsome.  Not fat, not thin.

Texted him afterwards and got nothing, so I figure he wasn't interested, but he sent me his email address last night so I guess he is. I suggested a ball gag next time so I'd have a fighting chance at contributing to the conversation.

No money, though.  Not that I have any issue about paying my own way but going out with someone with no money could could get old really fast.  Say what you like about douchebag, but he was well paid in his self-employment, and very generous.

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In related news, I think I find out what derby team I'm on tonight!  I can't believe I may actually be on a team...

White Russians?  These should be for entertainment purposes, not heavy drinking.  I wasn't even drunk last night and I feel wretched today.  Stupid Kahlua. Or maybe it was all the crap-ass food.

My SILs mom died.  Thank goodness, I was afraid she might linger for ages.  So sad, even more sad that my brother didn't tell me like he was supposed to.  Idiot.

At the risk of jinxing myself...

2012 is already shaping up better than I could have expected.  OK, I haven't quit eating chocolate (or cookies) but I have *tried* to cut down.  And I have been running. and I think maybe I didn;t swear twice when I thought I was going to.  Little baby steps.

Also - I finished a sweater.  And bought the zip.  (Let's not discuss sewing it in right now.)  I knit Calvin a new pair of socks.  I knit a legwarmer or two.  I acquired two new knitting machines I don't need (I think we'll sell one to fund the rest) along with some amazingly cool accessories.  I do love knitting machines so.

My dick of an ex has problems with details like who has the kid when.  Whe he thinks he knows what's going on he doesn't reach back into his memory and think: "hmm...  the last three time I thought I knew what was going on I fucked up, maybe I should confirm if what I think to be true actually is true."  Nope, not him.  He just assumes he's right.  He is a man, after all.

So he assumed we'd swapped weekends.  Permanently.  I've had the kids every other weekend for the past year.  It's a recuring appointment in my calendar.  I KNOW when I'm supposed to have them.  Anyway, when I picked up the kids and they told me daddy was supposed to I figured it was happeneing again.

To make a long story short, I don't care.  This, in fact, is awesome and if I had thought about it I might have asked for just this.  Now every single weekend I have a derby event, I DON'T have the kids, instead of just the opposite.  Cosmic karma in my favour for once.

Montreal Training Camp, here I come!!