Anyone who was anyone was at the Austin Convention Center Saturday night for the finals of the Texas Roller Derby Lonestar Rollergirls season. 'Anyone' in this case being tattoo-ed and leather-clad 20-somethings, preppy couples on dates, senior citizens, mid-sized kids with brightly colored signs, babies, toddlers, their parents and at least one brown-cloaked Jedi complete with glowing blue light saber. We all gathered to see the Rhinestone Cowgirls face off against the reigning champion Cherry Bombs on a banked track. The girls on wheels came ready to go, sporting grungy green tank tops, ripped fishnet stockings and black spandex (Cherry Bombs) or Texas-flag-inspired short-shorts and red spangled work shirts (Rhinestone Cowgirls). Everyone had a nickname, of course, from the skaters to the refs to the announcers. More on that later...
The rules of roller derby, for those not already in the know, are fairly simple. The four quarters of a bout (yes, it's called a bout!) are divided into two-minute "jams." During a jam, two skaters from each team face off as "jammers." Skating ahead of them is "the pack," a group of 10, five from each team. The pack takes off and three seconds later the jammers start, skating like crazy women toward the pack. The goal of the jammer is to make her way through the pack (aided by her teammates, blocked energetically by her opponents). The first jammer to make it through is called the "lead jammer." Once through, the jammers try to lap the pack. For each opposing player they pass on the second time around, they earn one point for their team. The jam ends when the two-minute clock runs out or the lead jammer calls an end by putting her hands (as sassily as possible) on her hips. The latter is much more common because it's good strategy to end the jam once your team has collected points but before the other team's jammer can make much headway through the pack.
What this looks like in practice is a bunch of scantily clad women in knee pads and helmets, jockeying for position while roller skating at top speed. This alone explains much of the appeal of the sport. It turns out, however, that there are other aspects to a roller derby that add even more verve to the proceedings.
Now would be a good time to talk about the noms de derby, which are clearly a huge part of the identity of each skater and no doubt carefully and lovingly chosen. These nicknames tend to include, according to the Wikipedia article on the subject, "elements of punk, camp and third-wave feminist aesthetics." In other words, they are intentionally provocative, ironically trashy and totally hilarious. (And isn't Wikipedia adorable when it gets all intellectual?)
Last night the Cherry Bombs were led by super-jammer Rocky Casbah, backed up vigorously by teammates Sacra Licious, Roller Gazm and Veruca Assault. On the Rhinestone Cowgirls, Katagory 5 (a Norwegian transplant, former speed skater and true hurricane indeed) dominated the track, supported by the likes of Dusty Double Wide, Abbey Roadkill and Allie Bamazon. The head ref, Dee Toxin, kept it real by calling penalties on both sides in equal measure. She was supported by line refs Chicken Dinner and Major Problem. You get the idea.
Speaking of penalties, there do seem to be no-nos during a jam, but the consequences simply add to the show. Major penalties result in the offending player being placed in a penalty box (a la hockey) and the jam is done over. Minor penalties, however, are another thing entirely. In Austin, the emcee (aka Mighty Aphrodite), spun the "penalty wheel" after each minor penalty. On the wheel were challenges such as tug-of-war, pillow fight and long jump, that are just that much more interesting when performed on roller skates. The skater who got the penalty faced off against someone from the opposing side. If she lost the face-off, her team lost a point. If she won, nothing was lost.
As you've probably gathered by now, a big percentage of roller derby, while legitimately athletic in nature, is a lot about show. In Austin, everyone from the announcers (Wesley Page and Wundamike) to the officials, coaches and skaters contribute to the entertaining campiness of the bout, where a spirit of "all in good fun" prevailed, even during the finals. (And despite the bad-ass reputations promoted by reality shows like A&E's Rollergirls and Drew Barrymore's movie Whip It!, both set in Austin.) At the convention center on Saturday there was no blood, a minimum of trash talking and very little you wouldn't want the posses of seven year olds snacking on Dippin' Dots to witness. The nicknames, after all, are over their heads, and every time a player flipped off the announcers, the response was always, "Oh look, they're saying we're #1." The biggest hazard probably came from the noise level of the heavy metal half-time bands. Most of the senior citizens sitting near me put Kleenex in their ears and kept on smiling.
Which brings us back to the bout. This year, the Rhinestone Cowgirls walked away with the championship, thanks mostly to the Scandinavian-ice-inspired maneuvers of Katagory 5, who may as well have been wearing one of those sleek body suits for all the Cherry Bombs were able to get an elbow on her. Next year, though, it could be anyone's season. Rumor has it that Rocky Casbah might be retiring and Katagory 5 returning to Norway, leaving the track clear for a new crop of ironically campy, fish-net-wearing, kick-ass skaters. Stay tuned, sports fans...