2004 flashback: The origin story of Atlanta Roller Derby
Hula Hoops and Slinkys never entirely disappeared from the pop culture radar. Roller derby did ― for decades.
But a determined group of metro Atlanta women ― seeking camaraderie and maybe a little blood ― have revived this violent, theatrical sport. These short-skirted gals throw elbows and hips as they skate around an oval track, racking up points under in-your-face derby names: Demi Gore, Destructiva, Notorious R.I.P.
“Half the fun is making up the names,” said Sara Riney, aka Hot Legs Hooligan, 33, who works in public relations for a large soft-drink company.
The fledgling group of 40 women ― recruited over the past nine months mostly out of the alternative Little Five Points bar scene ― hit the All American Skating Center in Stone Mountain for their first official exhibition Sunday night, replete with an all-girl Kiss cover band and three teams competing in round-robin bouts.
The leader of these tough chicks is Angela Ward, a 34-year-old creative-services director for the Weather Channel. She had a college friend who joined the Texas Rollergirls, which was launched three years ago.
“I followed her progress,” Ward said. “I thought it would come to Atlanta. It didn’t. So I started it myself.”
Roller derby isn’t complex. Two teams line up on a 90-foot-long oval rink. Each team’s four defenders start in a tight pack, chased a few seconds later by two jammers. The jammers literally elbow their way past the pack in hopes of gaining points.
The pack fends them off with hips and upper arms ― no kicking or grabbing is allowed. Several referees watch the action, sending players to the penalty box for minor infractions. They face the Penalty Princess for major violations, such as starting a fight or cursing the ref.
Some silly punishment is then meted out ― for example, taking a paddling from someone in the crowd.
Faster skaters can pile up points. Heather Douglass, 26, a fiery, redheaded art director known as Lola Lixxx, flies across the rink with brutal intensity. She’s already doled out black eyes, busted lips and sprained ankles.
Then there’s Melissa Patterson, aka Penny Slain, an Emory grad student with Olive Oyl legs and a tentative skating style befitting a newcomer who’d never donned skates until April.
But given her first two chances to “jam” in a scrimmage, Patterson survived unscathed.
“I had a path open every time,” the 23-year-old told a teammate on the Denim Demons. “I’m staying up better. I felt a lot better the second time.”
From endurance to kitsch
The term “roller derby” was hatched in Chicago 70 years ago. Then, it referred to an endurance contest, a skaters’ version of the dance marathons of that era.
The more brutal aspects of derby developed a few years later, and leagues formed. ABC-TV ran roller derby in the 1950s. The sport became a California fixture in the 1960s, but never quite reached beyond a kitschy niche.
In its waning years, Raquel Welch graced the silver screen as a struggling derby skater in “Kansas City Bomber.” (Movie tagline: “Hottest thing on wheels.”) The trio of “Charlie’s Angels” donned skimpy roller-derby costumes to investigate a murder in 1976. A goofy, wrestling-style version called “Rollergames” popped up briefly in the 1980s on late-night TV with alligator pits and a wall of death.
But generally, roller derby went the way of the pet rock.
Then, a group of enterprising Austin, Texas, gals formed a league in 2002. Through word-of-mouth, other all-women leagues began sprouting nationwide. There are now more than 35 ― from Portland, Ore., to New York.
“We are doing really well,” said Ward’s friend, Beth Been, aka Scarlot Harlot, part of the Texas Rollergirls. “Attendance is pretty consistent. We draw 800 to 1,000 per bout.”
Serious sport
Although much of old-time roller derby was coed and staged a la pro wrestling, Ward said there will be no fakery in this league: “We are doing this as a real sport.”
The players wear mouthguards, helmets (some festooned with rock band stickers) and elbow and knee pads. They perform drills to learn how to fall properly (forward is far better than backward).
But this doesn’t prevent all injuries.
One woman broke, and another bruised, her tailbone during a scrimmage last Sunday. More typically, skaters end up with impressive welts that they show off like battle scars.
“There’s also something called ‘rink burn,’ “ explained 36-year-old Melissa Bennett, aka Big Red, a 6-foot, pigtailed Atlanta interior designer. “You get sweaty and slide across the floor and stick to it.”
The sound, she said, resembles a squeal.
Andrea Smith, aka Demi Gore, said she bruised her tailbone in the days before she learned proper falling technique: “I had a hard time walking for a week.”
But, she said, the rewards outweigh the risk.
“It’s all worth it in the end: the fun, the athleticism, the entertainment you get to provide.”
Guys can dig it
During Wednesday’s practice, game play was surprisingly genteel, with relatively few tangled falls and slips. This was by design, to ensure everyone would still be standing for Sunday’s debut bouts, which will take place at a rink that appears frozen in 1984.
Today was very tame,” acknowledged Smith after practice. “We didn’t want to hurt each other ― yet.”
The bar manager, who sports a huge thigh tattoo of Kiss’ Gene Simmons as the Virgin Mary, grinned an evil grin.
Smith, 28, said she also has enjoyed bonding with like-minded women in recent weeks, on the rink and off: “Until this, I haven’t had a lot of female friends.”
As practice wound down, the refs handed out a written rules test. Several women plopped onto their stomachs and took the exam on the rink (Sample question: “When does a jam start with less than 10 skaters?”).
Watching the women skate, Andy Hawley, a volunteer announcer, admitted he knew little about the game and needed to study up for Sunday.
“I kind of dig it,” said the 31-year-old rockabilly disc jockey for Georgia State University’s Album 88 program. “Men have boxing and hockey. How often do you get to watch hot chicks beat each other up?”