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December 17, 2006
The Journal News/Lower Hudson Online
Roller Derby not for the faint of heart
Waterbury, Conn. - The name on her birth certificate reads Megan Freeman, but
you won't find anyone at Roller Magic who calls her that. Her roller derby
sisters call her Slim Fast, because when she puts on her skates and her
leopard-print kneepads, she is a long-limbed blur of fishnets and tattoos.
The 5-foot-10 Freeman, who lives in Port Chester, was one of
the founding members of the newly official CT Roller Girls, who practice in this
Waterbury rink. She works as a jewelry maker and at a local blood bank, and she
never played a sport in her life, but the 31-year-old has found her calling as a
member of the Widowmakers.
"It was sorely missing from my life," Freeman said.
Last Sunday, after nearly a year of teaching themselves how
to skate again and importing ambassadors from New York City and Rhode Island
leagues to teach the fundamentals, this group of 35 or so roller girls crammed
hundreds of spectators into Roller Magic. There, grandmothers sat next to Gen
Yers with multiple piercings for the league's inaugural bout dubbed "Seasons
Beatings."
Roller Derby is undergoing a renaissance. Disco balls and
fake fights were a mainstay of the '70s version, which was televised for a time
but folded before the decade was over. The Women's Flat Track Derby Association
was formed in 2004 and has 30 members. Seem like a lot? There are 47 start-up
leagues that haven't even made that roster yet.
"I think the combination of girlishness plus strength. The
empowerment from that is extraordinary," said Linda Wingerter, known to her Iron
Angels teammates as Polly Sonic.
The women at Roller Magic have kept the retro flair for the
dramatic - costumes and alternate personas - but lost the faux drama. At a
practice last week as the three CT Roller Girls teams readied for their first
official bout, league chair Ruby Wreakingball makes priorities clear.
"Everyone knows fake fighting is lame," said Wreakingball,
aka Jessica Reiter.
"Don't fight unless you're going to fight for real," added
Angela Bertram, a John Jay graduate who goes by the name Revengela.
Bertram (that's "Avengie" to her friends) is one of three
Westchester women who makes the commute for thrice-a-week practices. A former
bass player for punk rock bands, Bertram works as a home health aide when she
isn't skating.
"It's therapy," said Bertram. "It's done wonders for me. ...
This combines the rock 'n' roll, punk rock aesthetic and moving your body."
Roller Magic is literally on the wrong side of the tracks in
this former industrial town. The driveway is an obstacle course of potholes, but
hundreds of cars have risked their suspension systems to reach the rink.
Freeman's grandmother, Vera D'Amico of South Salem, had a
front-row seat for the Seasons Beatings. With her gray hair now neatly styled,
she used to spend Friday nights in the 1950s at the roller derby with her
husband.
Back then the track was sloped, and the uniforms were a
little tamer. But when Freeman skated out to warm up in her black-and-purple
outfit and her pillbox hat, D'Amico's pride was palpable.
"I love it," D'Amico said
loudly, as DJ E-Bomb played "Roller Derby Saved My Soul."
Freeman's clean-cut cousin, Amelia Hoyt, offered a diplomatic, "It's
interesting," as she settled into her track-side seat with her sign "Slim Fast
#5 Hell on Wheels."
It was clear a lot in the crowd were new to the sport, and
the first jam was met with an enthusiastic but somewhat quizzical response. How
many times do they go around that track? How the heck do you score points?
Ginger Snap, a member of the New York-based Gotham Girls who
was on hand to comment on the bout, also instructed the audience on what to look
for. But there were some moments when no coaching was needed.
A collision in the first of three bouts sent four of the
roller girls sprawling on the track, a tangle of elbow pads and thigh-high
stockings until they scrambled to their skates.
"That was awesome," one of the spectators said as the pack
skated away.
Titillation aside, there are real injuries. When her alter
ego Polly Sonic broke bones in her right hand in preparation for the bout,
Wingerter, a children's illustrator, had a hard time explaining it to her agent.
The pins come out this week, and it will take another month or two to heal, but
the roller girl just regretted sitting out the first event.
Wingerter, 34, is a former figure skater who felt she never
fit in until she found the derby.
"The second I got out there, it was scary, but I've never
been so in the moment skating," Wingerter said. "I was like, this was it."
It's hard to be a roller girl if you work in an office. As
such, Freeman said that many of the roller girls have unusual vocations, where
tattoos and a nose ring - or facial bruises - wouldn't be frowned upon. However,
the women in the league range from 21 to nearly 40 years old, and run the gamut
from graphic artists to stay-at-home moms.
"It's been so rewarding to see women progress from clutching
the side of the rink to knocking the crap out of you," Reiter said. "It's
exciting."
The sport has gotten the kind of press that the WNBA would
drool over. Local papers have done full- page features with splashy color
pictures, the kind of play adult women's sports don't often get. Freeman
realizes the league is attracting interest for reasons other than the
competition.
"Yes, we're probably going to get some creepy stalkers, but
we can handle it," Freeman said. "We are doingthis for ourselves."
And since they haven't attracted a sponsor yet, they are
paying for it too. Dues are about $40 a month, but for Freeman, who has found a
confidence and camaraderie she was in need of, it's money well spent.
"This has been something that's almost saved her life," said
Freeman's aunt Chris Hoyt.
It's one thing to hear Freeman talk about how much solidarity
she has found here, and it's another to see her in action. Here was a woman who
never found any appeal in the team sports of childhood, yet she was slicing
through the pack of skaters while wearing the starred helmet.
"Slim Fast is through the pack and she is your lead jammer!"
the public-address announcer said.
Freeman pumped her fist as she lapped the pack, and had an
unmistakable look of triumph on her face as she passed the Hoyts, her boyfriend
and grandmother as the four of them sat cheering at the edge of the track.
It wasn't playing anymore,
but you could almost hear the chorus echo; "Roller derby saved my soul."
ROLLER
DERBY BASICS
For every jam, there is a pack of eight players that two
jammers, wearing a helmet emblazoned with a star, have to muscle their way
through. Half of the players in the pack are on their own team, and the other
half want to send them sprawling off the track. Two pivots are at the head of
the pack, serving as the last defenders or providing their own jammers the final
push forward.
Teams score points for every blocker their jammer can get
past. The first jammer through the pack becomes the lead jammer, and has a
tactical advantage by being able to call off the series preemptively.
-- Jane
McManus
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