Let the Skating Begin
April 2010
A derby girl laces up her skates while others tighten their elbow pads, knee pads and wrist guards. A few women make last-minute adjustments to their skates and helmets. Another runs her tongue along her green mouth guard with a somber look on her face as she prepares mentally for what is to come.
One thing can be said about these women: They practice safe skating.
But who could blame them? They are accustomed to falls and have to make sure they don't get injured, lest their doctors bar them from participating in roller derby.
The world of women's flat track roller derby is a rock 'em sock 'em world full of women who dress up as punks and futuristic space people. It is a world of tattoos, bandanas, thick lines of eyeliner and a whole lot of ripped tights — a world where the term "helmet panty" actually means something and where everything is just a little off kilter. But don't let that fool you.
These women treat the sport with a level of seriousness that would put Vladimir Putin to shame.
My first glimpse into their world is at the Gainesville Roller Rebels' bout against the Jacksonville Roller Girls River City Rat Pack on Oct. 4, 2009. The glimpse includes a flash of hot pants over fishnet tights as a woman in heels almost too high to walk in — and a sky-high coiffure to match — leans over to apply tape to the skating floor of Gainesville's Skate Station Funworks roller rink. She is literally laying the track that will soon bear the load of women skating at high speeds, bumping into one another and taking some very nasty spills.
It takes a while for her to get the tape laid down just right, and the scene playing out before me as the GRR sets up for their bout does not look like much at first. It all slowly starts to take shape, however, as the fans begin to trickle in and find somewhere to sit.
The interior of Skate Station Funworks consists of random blocks of bright colors fighting for dominance, buzzing neon lights, cartoon animals here and there and a carpet so busy, it looks as if it had been ripped off the floor of a Las Vegas casino — a decidedly kitschy visual overload.
Put quite bluntly, it is one hell of a trip.
A young couple's toddler clomps around in a pair of pink cowboy boots that come up to her knees while older fans mark their territory by setting up their multicolored mesh and nylon folding camping chairs in the seating area. Some talk to each other while a few just sit and wait for it all to begin. There are young adults aplenty in attendance, taking multiple trips to the concession stand to take advantage of the cheap beer.
"So you see, the jammer has to get through the pack," a brunette teenager with braces and a T-shirt emblazoned with the logo of a band that I recognize but can't quite place explains to the young woman sitting beside her. "Then she goes around the track and tries to get through the pack again. That's how she scores." The blonde she was speaking to listens with rapt attention, chewing on her bottom lip while her heavily made-up blue eyes stay focused on the track.
A pair of young men scope out spots for themselves in the suicide seating — an 18-or-older trackside seating area where the occupants run the risk of getting a lap full of derby girl or a skate to the face. They look like they would be OK with the former, not so much with the latter.
Soon, the seating area fills up and there is only standing room left for those without the foresight to arrive early. There are about four hundred people crowded together around the track. That number of people would not be very imposing in a larger area, but in the small roller rink, it gives everybody the chance to get to know their neighbor better.
The crowd starts to get louder as the announcer takes the microphone. The bout is about to begin.
"Is everyone ready for roller derby?" announcer Glyph Huckster shouts over the Led Zeppelin playing in the rink, as he saunters across the track in his crisp white blazer while the referees make last-minute preparations.
"Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for the Gainesville Roller Rebels!" Glyph Huckster exclaims as the crowd claps and cheers. Some blow wolf whistles at the derby girls who are preparing for their bout.
One by one, as the names on the team's roster were announced over the rink's PA system, the women break away from the pack circling the track and made themselves known. They shout and holler and shake their rear ends to nonexistent music.
There is some commotion as each team gets its players situated on the track — one pivot each up at the front of the pack, three blockers each right behind the pivots, and the jammers bringing up the rear, 20 feet behind the pack.
On the track, there is silence. In the audience, the energy of the crowd's anticipation manifests itself as a low fog of voices.
A referee in the center of the track blows a whistle, a short burst of noise resounding through the swamp of the audience.
The pivots and blockers start their first journey of the bout around the track.
Another ear-piercing noise comes from the center of the track — this time, two short whistles indicate the jammers can start skating.
The battle begins, with Glyph Huckster giving the spectators a play-by-play of what is happening on the track, breaking only to say witty little quips — many of which involved referring to the referees as zebras — to get the audience into the derby spirit.
The Jacksonville Roller Girls River City Rat Pack's jammer safely bustles her way through the pack of blockers and pivots before the Gainesville Roller Rebels' jammer, giving her the lead jammer status. The Gainesville Roller Rebels' jammer falls back a bit as she struggles past the other team's blockers, but also manages to pull through the pack.
As one woman takes a particularly nasty fall, Glyph Huckster calls out, "Ooh, that looks like it had to hurt," his face wincing as she continues to tumble.
The harder the women are pushed by each other, though, the harder they push back. Even if they fall, they get right back up on their wheels and continue their trek around the track. Their faces contort into masks of pain as they are knocked around and fall over, their breath coming in heavy pants.
Four short whistles sound, indicating the end of the first jam. The whistles are echoed twice. There is a distinct crunching sound as the women grind to a halt and make way for the next blockers, jammers and pivots.
And so on it goes for the next hour or so.
Emotional shouts of "Help your jammer!" are hurled at blockers on the track, reminding the women that even though their job is to keep the other team's jammer from advancing through the pack, they also have to assist their jammer's passage through it.
The women receive unwavering support from the their significant others as they fight it out on the track. Sitting right alongside the track together in a pack, these derby widows give their all, hooting and hollering, shouting words of encouragement at their ladies.
"Remember folks, there's beer in the back, if you're a drinker — like I am," the disembodied voice of Glyph Huckster pipes up between informing the spectators of what is happening on the track.
"Go Gainesville! Woo!"
The spectators shout encouragement. They shout taunts at the other team. At times, they shout just to be shouting.
"The girl's slicing through the track like slicing through butter, if you know what I mean."
I certainly don't know what the man making that statement means, but I'm not about to ask him to clarify. He has made at least three trips to the concession stand, each time returning with a dangerously full beer for himself in each hand. Asking for clarification just seems silly.
Noticing a lull in the cheering, Glyph Huckster calls out, "Let's hear it for Gainesville!"
The crowd goes wild yet again.
— — — — —
Even though the Gainesville Roller Rebels were defeated by the Jacksonville Roller Girls River City Rat Pack 121 to 61, their spirits were hardly crushed. They chatted with and hugged members of the opposing team before they all headed to the bowling alley across the parking lot, where they would talk, drink and challenge each other — and their fans — to derby girl leg wrestling.
The spectacle is what roller derby is all about — the music, the outfits, the outrageous names. Under its grungy exterior, however, is something very real: an unwavering bond between the derby girls. Even after getting bruised and battered, they keep coming back for more. There is something about ramming into others together that brings people together like no other.
And there's something about watching them do it that brings their fans back time and time again.
