Roller derby is really less of a competitive sport than it is an excuse to gawk and feel better than other people. I imagine it's similar to the way ancient Romans felt watching slaves and other gladiators get mauled to pieces by bloody-jawed beasts. You feel subhuman being there, rejoicing in the spectacle, but you also somehow feel more human and carnal than ever. Vulgarity and ugliness aren't just tolerated, they're encouraged. The Derb becomes at best the most thoughtless of activities. Sit on a cold concrete floor and just react.
In addition to.
Rollery derby is people watching heaven. First you have the crowd, an audience split 3 ways - honest-to goodness fans (the 30-60 crowd of rowdies, these are they who know the team, who probably go to the Tavernacle after-party and hit on the roller girls), the younger hipsters (who are there ironically and take photos with their D-SLRs and iphones), and then the stragglers (salt and peppered middle aged men who look like they got lost on the way to a Dave Matthews concert).
And then I suppose there's one more, the fourth and much smaller, but more visible (audible) category of audience. The deejays from local radio stations like X96, KissFM, Douchebag97.7 The Edge. You know who I mean. Them. They're the emcees, who make killer brickbat-style running commentary ("She just creamed her corn!")
Oh yes, and the derby girls.
There's no people like derby girls. They are a class of "athlete" all to themselves, and I use that term as loosely as the fleshy folds hanging from their waists. Looking like the rejects from the girls golf and shotput teams, these slightly worn beauties really run the body-type gamut. A surprisingly large number of them are very apple shaped, very top heavy.
One (aptly and cleverly named HannahBull) steps in at about 225 I'd say, 125 of that above her pelvic bone, shape reminiscent of an ice cream cone piled 2 scoops high. Others have thighs that could wrestle a whale to the ground and sticklike arms and torsos. It's honestly a bit like that island of misfit toys from Toy Story 1.
I also really thought there would be more of a 70's vibe, and expected most girls to look a bit like Janeane Garofalo in Reality Bites. Short, dark, bettypage haircuts and redder than red lipstick with bad skin. But retro kitch had been replaced almost excusively with Hot-Topic-like outfits and accessories. Most all team members had large knit fishnet tights, purposely ripped Wicked Witch of the West striped socks, neon yellow and pink scrunchies, gold lamé hotpants (yikes) and mesh mesh mesh mesh mesh. It was almost a shame they had to throw their team pinnies on over their creations.
And the names. The NAMES! The most puntastic names you could imagine.
from L t R: Etta Bull, Beracooter, Pennie Traits, and (winning the No Subtlety prize) Dirty Pirate Hooker.
Even the referrees had punny names. Sir Loin. Colin DeShotz. Colonel Lingus. Bruce.
The sport itself is an interesting one, too. Little known fact: there is actually a strategy in this game, ways to score points, rules and referrees. It's not just girls on skates hitting each other and mouthing off. I know! Crazy huh?
Within 30 minutes I'd figured out the gameplay, and (like I always do as a spectator) found myself thinking, "I could do better." I'm not an amazing roller skater, but I've played some roller hockey in my day. And I sure know how to body check.
I immediately flipped through the program in my hand, hoping I'd come across something about tryouts. And sure enough, they were listed for the following month. I immediately started thinking about the most important part. A name.
Jared and I had a really great time brainstorming potential names for me, and in 15 minutes we had the following:
Thorougly Maulin' Millie
Helen Killer
Loco Ono
Helleanor Roosevelt
Scarlett O'Scara
Sylvia Rath
Nancy Ragin'
Joan of Bark
Lucy Lewd
(and my favorite)
Brute E. Huxtable
TBC
