Sports Blog: Roller Derby! Yeah!
June 2nd, 2007
Shane Cuneo
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There’s not too many sporting events that feature star performers sneaking cigarettes in front of the main foyer before the spectacle starts, but roller derby’s apparently one of them. On Saturday afternoon, at the typically sleepy George Bell Arena, before the friends and family preview of the start-up Toronto Roller Derby League, the entranceway was crammed by tattooed gals in fish-net stockings and vintage roller skates preparing for action in a fashion more reminiscent of stage performers (or sports bloggers) than toned and trained professional jocks. But this is roller derby, step-sister of squared-circle, chair-to-the-noggin wrestlin’, and maybe their jitters were more theatrical than sporting after all, the kind that nicotine instead of protein bars is best equipped to handle. Indeed, that’s the first question that came to mind, as I flicked my butt and entered: what, really, is the nature of this latest incarnation? Scripted or real? Spectacle or sport? I reached for the program.
There were three contests on the docket: the Hamilton Harlots vs. Steel Town Tank Girls, the Bay Street Bruisers vs. Smoke City Betties, and the Death Track Dolls vs. the D-Vas. And the team rosters were stacked with some pretty enticing-sounding characters, people like Wyld Wench, Midnight Snatch, and Atilla the Cunt. That`s right, Atilla the Cunt. Which raises the question: who, exactly, is their target audience? Because it’s not, I’m guessing, the Saturday afternoon family crowd, out for some Disney-sanctioned entertainment. And yet there they were, on a Saturday afternoon, selling their five-dollar tickets. But maybe this was just the start, the warm-up act for some bigger, sex-and-violence-style proceeds to come. Maybe, somewhere in those low-riding George Bell Arena rafters, was the tycoon behind the entire endeavour, waiting for the mini-skirts and hip-checks to kick-start his prurient money-pressing machine. But then the action began, and I couldn’t have been further off the mark.
If this was a serious business venture, I’d have a couple of criticisms. The George Bell Arena, for example, has a sound system like the TTC’s, a squawk-box of indecipherable speech, and some lively commentary might have been nice for the newbie observers, some instructive description while the subtleties settle in. It doesn’t take long, however, for the basic premise to come across, for the eyes to train on the battling jammers questing to pass the pack. And that kind of criticism, to be perfectly frank — the picking apart of the presentation’s finer bits — is a pretty blatant act of missing the point. As opposed to capitalist profit-seeking, Toronto Roller Derby’s a strictly grass-roots endeavor, put together by the girls, for the girls, and frequently down-right rough on these roller-skating girls. Forget about its glitzy 1970’s counterparts, those co-ed squads of spray-tanned thesbian pros, because this brand of roller derby’s for real. The folks at St. John’s Ambulance, about an hour late in showing up, didn’t have to stand around for long before putting those famous first-aid skills to use. There’s no choreography here, no written scripts or phoney falls — the action’s fierce, and the bruises legit. It was interesting to learn, then, that none of these ladies had ever roller skated before.
“At fist,” explained Chastity Pelt, the league mistress and member of the Death Track Dolls, “it was just some guy named Scooter going up to girls on Queen St. and asking if they’d like to join a roller derby team, using it as a pick-up line. After a while, though, the idea started to sound pretty good. And then somebody named Candy Bar formed the Smoke City Betties.” And now, with six teams, it’s the largest league of its kind in North America.
“One of the things that’s been frustrating, though,” said Lock N Roll of the Gore-Gore Rollergirls, “is that the media’s been presenting us as just this bunch of punk rockers. And sure, that’s a part of it, but we’ve got all sizes, all ages, all interests. We’ve got somebody who’s a mom, a banker. A very eclectic group. Not just punk rock.”
Sir Refs-A-Lot, the most flamboyant of the legion of zebras that roller derby requires, emphasized the authenticity. “We’re all about the sport,” he said. “There’s no money here, absolutely none. We’re out to skate, to have some fun.” And the character-names, those crazy monikers? “After a long week of waking up and going to work,” he explained, “it’s a chance to dress up and become somebody else. It’s a chance to be a superhero for a day.”
I’d been wondering, throughout the event, about the league’s ambitions. The Ricoh Coliseum, maybe? A television contract? “To get a permanent arena would be great,” said Lock N Roll. “For the city to give us some space, something that we could use year round, instead of cramming our schedule into a couple of months. For the city to say, ‘here’s a warehouse, it’s all yours.’ That would be fantastic.”
After the roller skating was over – after the last jam was whistled dead, and the final buzzer blown – I spotted one of the Derby girls, in her mini-skirt and garter belts, waiting for the bus. No chartered coach for TORD, no hired cars or limousines, and few ambitions beyond strapping on some old four-wheelers and having a bit of fun, kicking a little ass. So call it a roaring success, for player and fan alike. And happening every Saturday, at seven o’clock, beginning tonight. So get a move on, friend, and you’ll get there right on time.
For more information, go to www.torontorollerderby.com.
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