Last week, Robot Rampage hosted its Arena Grand Opening in Auckland. Gabi Lardies was there to check out the fighters.
Robots are dangerous. Really dangerous. I did not realise robots were so dangerous until I saw them fight to the death in a bulletproof glass and iron cage. Most of the battlers I saw were featherweights, so mobile masses of steel, plastic, aluminium and silicon weighing less than 13.6kg and controlled by remote. They’re put together by teams, or singular robotics nerds, and while each robot shows the style and tactics of its maker, they’d all fit inside a banana box, and they’re squat, low to the ground and wheeled. Many have weapons that spin, like upside down circular saws, as well as triangular scoopers used to flip other robots over.
Like all loved things, they have names: Blue Rose, Noodle Box, Bad Blood, MJOLNIR, Jonathan. Some are slick and accessorised with little hats or stickers, and others look like masses of metal welded together by a machine-minded Frankenstein. They bashed against the sides of the arena and set off my tinnitus, worse than the rock show I went to the night before. Smart 10-year-old boys on the bleachers were wearing earmuffs. It was not their first rodeo, but it was mine. The robots spinning weapons buzzed like chainsaws. They rammed each other and metal pieces flung into the glass. I gasped.
In January, a small group of pioneering friends and family built a robot fighting arena in the depths of Onehunga. It’s the first of its kind in the country. Down a driveway, past a little car park and behind a roller door, three tiers of bleachers overlook a hardy cage, about three metres by three metres. If you’ve ever watched BattleBots, then you know what it looks like. The steel frame is painted blue, bar an orange stripe and yellow and black skirting on the inside. The glass panels (bulletproof, we are assured) are tilted downwards. Above them, giant TV screens livestream various angles filmed by GoPros mounted inside the structure.
The whole thing has a futuristic, apocalyptic, mini gladiator feel, like a giant Beyblade battle on steroids. Two MCs stirred up an excitable crowd, and a referee in a white and black striped shirt keeps an eye on proceedings. Already the inside of the arena is scraped and pockmarked and battle-scarred, even though this weekend was its grand opening. This is Robot Rampage, the hub and home of the combat robotics scene in New Zealand.
Robot battles end when one contender is KOed (much like a boxing KO, it’s when the robot hasn’t moved for 10 seconds). If both are still alive after three minutes, a panel of judges determines the winner, weighing up the damage caused, the aggression of the robots, and their control of the fight.
Because human casualties are unwanted, there are other rules too. The robots must be completely immobilised until they are in the arena. That is why, once they’ve been placed in the battle grounds (sometimes with gloved hands, and often covered in protective pool noodles) their makers lean in through the opening and twirl screwdrivers, presumably connecting up circuits and batteries, and bringing their creations to life. Then, the window is secured shut and the violence begins.
Sunday night, the fourth session of the grand opening, began with semi-finals. Bad Blood, a half purple, half chrome steel rectangle on wheels, took a few seconds to get its heavy weapon spinning at full capacity. Its enemy, Black Rose, zipped around on four juicy red tyres showing off its back tattoo, a red vinyl rose. Bad Blood took a lunge, and one of those juicy tyres flung off the rose. A black drive belt snapped like a rubber band. After another collision, scraps of metal scattered around a now motionless, upside down, Black Rose. Red lights started flashing around the room, and the MCs willed the crowd to count down from 10. The beautiful Black Rose was knocked out.
Three humans flooded the arena. Two to salvage their damaged bots, and the third wielding a broom to sweep up the debris. Next, a turquoise and white Perry took on what looked like a X-wing Starfighter. Perry’s spinning weapon was audible, and made mincemeat out of the white speedy lightweight frame once it backed it against the wall. To the left of the area, in a narrow dark passageway, a teenager and a grown man both sweated, their hands tightly gripping controllers.
Outside in the driveway, the muffled sounds of destruction were tempered by power drills. Beneath a line of gazebos, fold out tables were covered in tools, bits of robot, Monster energy cans, bottles of chainsaw oil and battery chargers. I knew there were geniuses around when I saw the gazebo guide ropes were weighed down with buckets of water. This was the pit stop, or sick bay for the robots. They battled all weekend and needed repairs after every fight, even if victorious. Some robots were fussed over by a whole team: one person hot-glued some foam padding, another swapped out batteries and another unscrewed plates to have a look at the electronics. Other robots were delicately handled by a single person, carefully assessing damage through lenses and selecting the right screwdriver from a collection of about 300.
Despite being under pressure to fix their bots before their next battles, their keepers didn’t mind telling stray fans who’d made their way inside the pit stops about their robots. Perry is partially made out of the same plastic as milk bottles, high-density polyethylene, which someone found a big sheet of on the side of the road. It was then moulded into triangular bumpers to absorb impacts to Perry’s sides. Jonathan is made of completely recycled materials and is basically an angle grinder on wheels. Black Rose was all out of spare wheels, but would not be giving up.
Then there was Moist Pony, a lithe three-part bot held together with duct tape. The base was a 2.4GHz Double Sided Speed Cyclone Vehicle (suitable for ages 8+ years) from Kmart, mounted with a white and gold Unicorn Plush Toy (suitable for ages 6+ months) from Kmart. Then, the enviable weapon. A Kmart kitchen knife, pointed straight ahead. Sharp, it’s assumed, because it’s brand new. Say what you will about the little and cute Moist Pony, but in the arena, she was pitched against two monstrous Heavyweight bots (Noodle Box and Crusty Crab) and was the last one standing. “A true underdog story,” said the MC. “Kmart will want to buy that back from us.” In the pit stop, she was unattended, because there was barely a scratch on her.
After four battles and eight robots getting pretty wrecked, it was time for the intermission entertainment. The TVs pivoted from livestream to a pre-record. The production value was slick, with high-res, in-focus close ups and fancy title graphics. On screen was last year’s Discovery Channel’s BattleBots Champions Tournament, and who else but End Game, the New Zealand robotics community’s pride and joy, absolutely smashing its opponent to win, for the second consecutive year. There was smoke, there were sparks, and New Zealand came out as champions. It was End Game’s captains Jack Barker and Nick Mabey who spearheaded Robot Rampage, so perhaps we shouldn’t have been so starstruck when it entered the arena.
Like every celebrity, End Game looked much older in real life. His orange frontal scooper-flippers were not so shiny. His body was roughed up, like a dolphin who’s gotten into lots of fights. But we do not judge champions on their appearances. A large orange barrel was placed into the arena with him, and one lucky audience member was handed the remote – the opportunity of a lifetime (also available to purchase as a Robot Rampage experience for $149). He proceeded to ram the barrel, until it began to look like a Twisties chip. This was one baaaad robot. The adult in front of me waved around a must-have collectible – an End Game plushie.
Though the fandom runs deep, Barker and Mabey say the combat robotics scene is still being established here, and they’re committed to growing it. Last weekend was the first tournament spectators could buy $20 tickets to, and all four sessions sold out. Tickets are already on sale for the next on February 15 next year. In this scene though, watching is the tip of the iceberg. There’s a door that’s been left ajar behind the arena. It leads to the workshop, chocka with projects, tools and salvaged materials. There, the stalwarts work on their robots, but also run “Build & Fight” events about once a month, where they teach newbies how to put together beginner bots using “easy” pre-programmed kits. The newbies then battle, and learn how to repair their robots.
On Sunday, there were only two finals, because despite the chaos and Monster in the pit stops, many of the bots were too damaged to battle again. First, Inferno Fox flipped Perry over and began sawing into him. The milk bottle plastic spiralled away from them, like the strands of a party popper. But Perry (or at least most of him) escaped and was still moving when three minutes was up. As the judges deliberated, the MC asked for the audience’s opinion. “Make some noise if you think Perry won!” There was silence. Not even a polite half-hearted cheer.
Then, the grand final. Derive, a low, heavy-looking thing with several levers and arms coming out its sides was lowered in. In the pitstop area, Derive was assembled out of a wheelie suitcase, by James who was keeping warm in a green puffer jacket. They came over from Australia especially for the tournament, and James is glad – he almost didn’t come, and at the last minute decided it would be worth it. “I’ve had a really good time,” he said.
His competition: Bad Blood, that half purple steel rectangle on wheels with the saw-like front. This is not just any rectangle though. Through his edges runs star power. Bad Blood is an original early design of End Game, a smaller and more agile little brother to the world-famous champion.
The two metal hunks rammed each other, and 28 seconds in, Derive’s many levers showed their strength. Bad Blood was upside down, wheels failing, the victim of what’s known as an early flip. It was all over. Australia had won. The MCs were gracious, they lent James the microphone and let him pronounce, riding on the high of being a champion, that “this is the most fulfilling thing I’ve done in my life.” He urged the audience to get involved. I looked over at my date, who’d been eating the tuck shop out of hot dogs, pizza and hot chips and trying to capture the magic on his phone to send to friends. “Maybe I could make robots,” I said, because I do tend to love activities thought to be suitable for 12-year-old boys. He gulped down a sip of beer. “It is awesome, but you gotta be pretty smart I think.”