Verily, dear friends (and foes), now lend thine ears to my voice,
For Roller Drama doth reveal a tale that makes the hearth rejoice.
Of qualities it boasts in spades, like stars that grace yon midnight sky,
With few mere trifling shades, too dim to catch a critic's eye.
In Joan Galliano's hand, akin to Arc of yore so grand,
Five skating sirens, wheels ablaze, are sparked by her command.
Each lass beset with trials dire, and tempers like a summer storm,
The Coach their spirits doth inspire, to grow and take a fuller form.
In realms where wheel meets written word, their artful dance unfolds,
As jammers, fierce, like falcons dive, and blockers lion-bold,
Their clash as if a vivid play, its stage the track, its script the score,
And art and sound, a melody, that leaves thee craving evermore.
But Joan herself seeks counsel from a head, both wise and dead,
A lad nam'd Will, who once wrote plays, now plays the shrink instead.
“Quick, think!”, he quips in iambic verse, sways Joan to reassess,
What ♥♥♥♥ Dabrowski Dealer’s Go as gospel doth profess'd.
Ah, ponder well the Twins, those puppeteers far conceal'd,
Whose secret lies not in th' machine, but human sweat reveal'd.
And pretty boys and Chomsky's dames—each character a gem,
Inside this virtual expanse, they each deserve acclaim.
Bastet, the cat of mystic charm, can die and yet return anew,
A cycle mimicking the team, whose ups and downs are never few.
So in this wondrous house of dreams, where sport and drama coalesce,
They navigate life's tangled streams, in rollerblades and Derby dress.
Thus, Roller Drama dost command a rapturous applause,
A feat of indie alchemy, that gives my heart a pause.
