They don't write 'em like that anymore.

Quite a while back, Miss Print of the Cincinnati Rollergirls (CRG) penned a "Valentine to Roller Derby" in her blog. It was creative, heartfelt, and expertly crafted. While I can't hope to match her work in those terms, today I write to CRG on a more wistful note.



Dear CRG,


It doesn't seem all that long ago that I met you. It was one of those chance encounters: I was in Cincinnati to visit my old friends, the Reds, and found myself with nothing to do on a Saturday night. You were hosting a get-together for a thousand or so of your closest friends at this cool old building, so I decided to show up and see what it was all about. Well, I certainly don't have to tell you that it was love at first sight. There you were: the center of attention, confident, strong, smart, and certainly athletic. That first night opened my eyes to new possibilities and left me spellbound. For a while, I'm sure that I was on the verge of stalkerdom, searching for information about you online and trying to learn more about you. Sure, you were very different back then. You were in an individualistic phase, trying to find your identity. Your fashions ran from flight suits to camo, and while it seemed like you had dozens of different personalities, it appeared that they were all just trying to have fun.




When I returned to Toledo, still buzzing from a great weekend, I gathered up the courage to write to you. I was sure that with everything you had going on, my words wouldn't move you. To my surprise, you responded and seemed genuinely happy to have my attention. While I knew that you had countless other suitors, I felt like an important part of your world. While logic would have told me that a long-distance relationship was foolish, I thought the fact that I was willing to travel hours to see you made me unique. We kept talking throughout that fall and winter, and I couldn't wait to make the road trip and see you again in the spring. When I finally got back to visit, I could tell that things were changing. Gone were the funky clothes, replaced by a more "corporate" look. Your internal conflicts now seemed secondary to a desire to battle the best that the outside world had to offer. Still, the things that attracted me to you were on full display. You continued to have fun, while basking in the affection of your ever-growing group of friends and groupies. Your talents continued to develop, and I spoke of your virtues to anyone who would listen. You were on the verge of something big, and I was excited to be along for the ride. I was both surprised and honored when you held a seat for me in your inner circle, and I looked for ways to get closer and to show my appreciation. As a gentleman, I was happy to always pick up the tab for the tickets, food, and drinks. I even tried to buy gifts, like shirts and donations to your causes, to let you know I cared. Coupled with my travel costs to visit, those things added up, but I have always felt that you were worth it. Imagine how overjoyed I was when I learned that at your next gathering, you would single me out as your "fan of the game." Unfortunately, life intervened, and I missed my trip that weekend, choosing to stay with someone special who was in the hospital here. You had even prepared a gift for me, a shirt autographed by my favorite budding superstars. You said you'd send it to me, and my spirits lifted. Knowing that it might be months before I'd see you again, I looked expectantly at the mailbox after work every day. Days, weeks, and even months passed, but it never arrived.




I put that disappointment aside and began to make plans for my next trip down I-75. You were entertaining guests from Carolina, and they were very highly regarded in your sport. To add to the excitement, you were about to break through and reach the national consciousness, due to a visit by sports monolith ESPN to tape footage at that very bout. Although I was jealous of that kind of spotlight (I've wanted to be on ESPN since there was an ESPN), I could not contain my pride in you, and I made sure that all my friends knew to watch when the piece aired. Well, it turned out that you hit the heights in more ways than one that evening, defeating a team ranked in the top five nationally and earning kudos from throughout the derby world. By that time, I had worked hard and studied to gain a good knowledge of your sport, and I thought that I finally had something of value to offer you. I used the eye for sports strategy that had been honed over 25 years of playing and watching baseball, football, basketball, and others. I analyzed your performance, hoping both to give you an edge in future bouts and to show the world my appreciation for your skills. I spent hours preparing copious notes and trying to distill them into a form that would inspire others to follow you. At first, I shared them only with you, unsure of the quality of my observations. I was proud when they matched those of the "insiders," and I began to make arrangements to visit you on the road, at a big tournament in Madison.


I had always been interested in learning more about who you were. I knew that there were so many pieces and personality traits that make up our CRG, and I had barely gotten to know any of them. Some parts of you were more foreign to me, like the abundant tattoos and piercings that you displayed to the world. You spoke with many different voices, and I found that fascinating. I did my best to connect with as many as possible, but I found that some of them didn't (or wouldn't) speak to me. Others had a polite demeanor, but offered nothing personal. Still, the parts of you that did welcome me were wonderful. I still have on my desk at home that playful picture of you telling me to "shush" after a bout. You helped me arrange my tickets to the bouts and were glad to lend me your expertise afterward to build my knowledge. I had hoped that my trip to Madison would allow me to get to know more of the different sides of you. Again, however, a last-minute illness derailed my travels.


After many months apart, I had another opportunity to see you away from Cincy. I recall driving in a snowstorm to Grand Rapids, Michigan, to watch you skate. Do you remember that horrible, drafty little building where the bout was held? Still, seeing you was worth it. You won yet again and my connection to the athletic side of you was rekindled. Unfortunately, things were hectic, and we didn't get to talk much. I decided that it was time to share my observations with everyone, and I began to write blog entries about your bouts. I was not above taking your play to task, but I made sure that any roller derby virgin who might be reading would see my passion for you and your sport. A trip to Cincy in May was nice, but you had an off night on the track. I figured we'd get a chance to hang out and chat at the after-party. Even though I'm not the type who spends much time in bars, I wanted to make every effort to socialize. For many reasons, we never hit it off at Grammer's. I was too shy to intrude (and now I have Kajagoogoo stuck in my head), and you seemed to be struggling to deal with the bout's outcome. You stuck close to the familiar comfort of close friends and family. Most of all, I was struck by the fact that I was an outsider. By virtue of not living near you, I have missed out on just about every opportunity to get to know you away from the oval. This is nobody's fault; it's simply reality. I began to understand that I would never be more than that wacky guy who drives from Toledo. Nonetheless, I went home and wrote about the bout and my experiences, more for cathartic value than anything.


From the beginning of the spring, I had June 20 marked on my calendar. I would be taking a good friend (and derby virgin) to your bout to meet you. The next day, I would watch my first love, the Chicago White Sox, play in Cincy. Your play was magnificent, and I did get the pleasure of getting to know a different part of you after the bout. You were concerned about coming up with the money to travel around the country and play bouts throughout the fall, and you had decided to hold a date auction. This seemed perfect for me. Even if I had to pay for the privilege, I would be able to spend some quality time with you out of your skates. I put in some bids and was excited to hear that I would get to join you at a minor-league baseball game. Mixing roller derby and baseball is about half a step short of heaven for me, so I contacted your representative to make the plans. I let her know that my opportunities to attend the game were limited to a handful of weekends, due to my need to travel to Dayton. I even said that I would be willing to donate the amount of my bid even if we couldn't work something out, since I'm always glad to support you in reaching your goals. After a long delay, I received a brief message, thanking me for my willingness to donate and offering a vague promise that you were working on checking your schedule. To this day, that is the last I heard of the entire affair. I did send my check today, knowing that it's now far too late in the season to set up a baseball night.


So, that brings us to the present. I've heard all of the speeches before, so I won't insult your intelligence with any of the lines. "It's not you, it's me," is so degrading. I think it's time that I move on and stop seeking something from you that you can't give. Long-distance relationships are tough, and it's not surprising that we weren't able to make more of a personal connection. You have given me a lot of happiness over the last two years, and I obviously still think very highly of your skills, smarts, and athleticism. I know that you have bigger and better things ahead, and I will always look forward to news of your accomplishments. You have simply grown in a different direction: Citius, Altius, Fortius. You are no longer the ragtag newcomer, seeking identity and respect, and I'm proud of you for what you have achieved. In that struggle to advance, it is essential that you leave some things behind. I doubt that this is truly "goodbye," as I will do my best to stop by and say hello if I am in town when you have a bout. I just can no longer justify the time, effort, and expense to be a "superfan" for someone who does not share my enthusiasm. I am just crazy enough to try again with rollergirls, but perhaps I will focus a bit closer to home. The Glass City Rollers are just starting up, and maybe they could use someone like me. Now and always, I wish you happiness and success in the pursuit of your goals.





Sincerely,
George