Roller derby has so much to offer, so get in those suicide seats
Alex Wagstaff
Managing Editor
Roller derby; with eyes closed, it feels something like hockey. There’s the same energy—that type of team spirit that makes sitting on a hard bench in a cold arena not just bearable, but preferable to anything else in the world.
The crowd is loud over the dull scrape and clatter of roller skates. The not-quite-intelligible announcer sorts out the sense of the chaos on the floor. The blockers chase after the two jammers threading their way through the pack, and it’s not necessarily that different from chasing after a puck.
But there’s a certain intimacy to roller derby. At the gate to the arena, players are among those working the tables, selling buttons and T-shirts. Almost everybody—players, coaches, referees, announcers—is volunteering.
The proximity of roller derby is physical, too. The closest places to watch from, the “suicide seats”, are named such because they are on the floor, within range of the skaters. You sit there at your own risk.
Just inches away, the pack circles the track. Each team fields five players: four blockers, who form the pack, and the jammer, who tries to squeeze through, scoring points for each person she passes. One blocker is a pivot, meaning she can also become a jammer. The front-row seats earn their moniker when a skater is thrown out of the track, flying into whatever she hits first.
Roller derby is a physical sport. It’s one of the only sports with no real male equivalent, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still a tough, demanding sport. Broken bones and twisted joints are common.A lot of people ask why they don’t use roller blades for derby, as opposed to skates. Blades are faster, but playing roller derby with skates is dangerous enough as it is.
All players take on alter-egos to compete. Their chosen name is the only moniker by which they are known—leagues don’t publish anything else in most cases. Roller derby alter-egos are somewhere between superhero identities and rock star stage names: Be a Hero, Warrior, Saviour. They are punny, sly, sexy, smart, referential—always unique. Each is created by one of the wide variety of women who compete.
Unlike many sports, several different body shapes are appropriate for roller derby. Jammers are generally petite ladies who can dodge by the other players. Blockers are versatile, some are big and imposing, others are medium-sized. In particular, pivots, who have to switch between both roles, tend to have fairly average builds.
The outfits work something like the names. Teams have uniforms, which are customized, and end up looking like something a punk rock figure skater might wear. Every woman picks her number, which simply has to be number-related (see: number AK-47 in Ottawa and 510hp in Toronto).
The rag-tag nature of roller derby is a big part of its draw. It appeals to a lot of people who aren’t normally interested in sports. Even so, just like hockey or football everyone can pick their team, whether it’s their hometown, the city they live in now, or the city to spite all their friends.
Because roller derby is amateur, teams aren’t just local, they’re family. After the bouts, it’s not uncommon to be able to go to after-parties with favourite players. The benefits are obvious to supporting a local league instead of a national conglomerate. Tickets are cheap because the venues are generally public. This December, in fact, the Roller Derby World Cup is coming to Toronto, at Downsview Park.
Roller derby has the remarkable power to capture people’s attention, even without knowledge of the rules. The only people I know that don’t like roller derby are the people who haven’t heard of it yet. Whether they know it yet or not, everybody has a favourite player: maybe Motorhead Molly or Aston Martini or Betty Bomber. Falling in love is just one bout away.
