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Instant Punching

Tis the way to stay abreast on who I wanna fuck up more than anything in the world. Be warned, it’s angry!

In the midst of the last few months I’ve been occupying my free time with this incredibly stupid but also addictive solitaire app on my not-so-smart phone.  And in the event that I win a hand with a record low number of moves and in short time the app congratulates me.  On top of that, I can brag to my friends on how awesome I am wither via email or text.  It comes complete with a link.  Now, I’ve never clicked on the link so I don’t know if it goes to the score or the game.  Since I’m a slightly perverted sum-bitch that enjoys the fuck out of a good dick and fart joke, I would customize my bragging to my friends.  If you haven’t gotten a text or an email that doesn’t mean we aren’t friends, it just means I haven’t felt inclined to send you a message fraught with descriptions of things going up people’s bums or the fact that I had to do some rather unsightly things to ward off an attack from a jungle creature.

If you’re confused, here are the last three of the many messages that went out so far.  Don’t wince, just laugh or throw up or whatever…

“A lion recently escaped from the zoo in Chicago.  I was there when it happened so I blew him to subdue him.  It was awesome and tasted so good!  Check out the link to the newscast.  I totally sucked off the king of the fucking jungle!  http://www.mobilityware.com/taf4.php.”

“I haven’t shaved my sack since ’07.  On a dare, I trimmed my ball hairs to look like Abe Lincoln’s beard.  I even painted my dick black and put a brim on it so it would look like a top had when I’m hard.  Here’s a link to the pic: http://www.mobilityware.com/taf4.php.

“Little known but interesting fact:  a snow cone is Eskimo cotton candy.  I recently won a trip to Alaska where I put as many snow cones as I could up an Eskimos ass.  Apparently it’s a new record!  Here’s the link to it at Guinness World Records: http://www.mobilityware.com/taf4.php.”

I am laughing over your shoulder as you throw up in the toilet.

I am a machine

I am teeth

Biting neck

Biting back

I am that one thing

You weren’t expecting

I am tooth

I am nail

I am a bombshell

I am the snail

Slime, slow

Unsuspecting

I am a machine

I am the boss

The one thing

I am the tight noose

I am the string

Floating around your neck

I am the king

Gnawing

Biting

Wrenching

Scraping

I am the king

That one thing

I am loose

I am tight

One and the same

An animal lame

Laying dead on the ground

I am the king

I am the flying bullet

I am the moment

I am the last resort

I am the pulpit

I am quiet and

I am loud

I am a moment

And I am proud

I am the devil and

I am the king

I am the snake

I am anything

I stand in this bathroom that we’ve built together in this home, which was drawn together under our own two hands.

Built to last a lifetime.  A testament to our love, which will never fall.

Brick by brick as any love could ever be built, but will never fall.

I love you more and more every single day.

As one more step is complete, as one more day passes by, I love you more.  I see your face in line with mine… and the stars are aligned.

Seeing through the cosmos of our true feelings fore each other, I know that no matter the crippling collapse of time beyond, our love will last forever.

If ever you are sad… read these words and know that I will be standing shoulder in shoulder with you to withstand the trials of life.

Your one true love.

For you, forever and for always.

5.  Frederick “Toots” Hibbert from Toots and the Maytals.  Toots has led a reggae campaign on the world stemming all the way back in the early ‘60s when he left his small town of May Pen in Jamaica for Kingston.  Since, Toots has made musical masterpiece after masterpiece, became an ambassador to the rest of the world for the journey of reggae and ska and out-right looks like a badass motherfucker who can really fuck some shit up.  Entrenched in the world of gospel music as a young man, his pipes are so powerful there are few times when this godfather of roots reggae actually needs a microphone to sing.  My heart just skips a beat thinking about it.

4.  Scott Sturgeon, aka Stza Crack from Leftover Crack and Chocking Victim.  This high school dropout, squatter, shoplifter, crack addict may have a laundry list of issues, but you can ball that shit up and make toilet paper out of it.  He is the backbone of ska-core punk bands Chocking Victim and Leftover Crack and has a voice that is second only to the almighty Satan himself.  I guess that’s what you get when you sell your soul to the devil.  This dude kicks so much ass, I named my mutt dog from the streets of Chicago after him.  Bark, bark, bark motherfucker.

3.  Jim “The Reverend Horton Heat” Heath.  If you read this name and have no clue who this is, leave your house now and step into oncoming traffic.  In 2010 I had the illustrious opportunity to meet the bad motherfucker and he commented to me about how if he weren’t a musician he would have been a soldier in the Army.  He then commented to me how he thought I was a badass motherfucker because I used to jump out of airplanes for a living.  Being called a badass motherfucker by a badass motherfucker is the be-all, end-all of compliments.  Sure, I can kick a dudes face in if I had to, but the Rev is the absolute man, hands down.  His ability to play the guitar and crank out rockabilly tunes is beyond God-like… it is God.  Question:  Who would win in a fight, the Rev or Ditka?  Trick question, Ditka would run away pissing his pants.  There would be no fight.

2.  Robert Nesta Marley, aka Bob Marley.  This dreadlocked Rasta man has all the trimmings of a deity.  Jah rest his soul, Bob Marley is by far the only musician to date to take his music to the highest level of political involvement and bridge the gap between peace and militancy in natural harmony.  Consumed by cancer and taken from this earth waaaaaaaay too early, Bob Marley now smiles down on us all from on high like a golden god musing at the follies of his children.  The sheer numbers of his ganja consumption is immeasurable and scary all in the same breath.  He was able to create a sound, start a movement, bang numerous ladies and spawn a deep gene pool of solid musicians all willing to take up the flag and march on to Zion for the greater good of the people.  If there were no Bob Marley, there would be no ska.  If there were no ska, there would be no reggae.  No reggae means no love.  This would have never stood.

1.  Preston Pylinski, my kid brother.  Bassist and all around badass motherfucker who played in Smash the State and Aggrocrag.  My musical styling and taste in amazing bands stems from my lil bro.  I can’t even count how many times he’s blown my mind with knowledge of the industry, his dedication to his music and flat-out natural talent.  This beer drinking, fisticuffs throwing bass wielding machine is a near six-and-a-half foot tall pillar of pussy slaying awesomeness…. There is no more to say about that.

Every day I step foot on these streets

I stand on death’s threshold

And then I laugh in his face

As the snow gathers in my beard I smile

I am the Captain

From beginning to end

I have always been

Everyone I have ever know, I have always loved

Be you Mom

Be you Dad

Be you Chris or

Be you Preston

Be you my enemy or

The holder of my Soul

You have held the love I see

In my eyes

I am the Captain

I captain my ship

Though it be broken,

Rickety

Or fallen apart

My ship still stays afloat

No matter your words or unkind deeds

She still floats and

No matter the fall that comes and

No matter the small fears I may feel

I will never give it up

My soul awakes and sees the beauty of

Life around me

I am reminded

Though I may not be perfect

I may not hold all of the answers

I stave off evil

I fight away the negative

And I stand true to my position

I am the Captain

I am on watch

I am my own and I will and always

Tend to the whole

So if its time for you to die

And you hear your last rites

Know that no matter what

I will stand true and hold fast

I am the Captain

My pride will never break

And my body and mind will

Stand the test of time

You cannot steal my soul

Or my body home

I fight, I have the steel will

Alone most don’t stand a chance

But I can

I am the Captain

According to “Renegades OR”, a Roller Derby website based out of Oregon, Roller Derby started as an answer to the overly abundant amount of down time during the Great Depression.  With so many people out of work, Chicago promoter Leo Seltzer decided to distract the local populous with what he originally dubbed, “Transcontinental Roller Derby”.  It was a mythical marathon race that pitted teams of men and women against each other wearing roller skates on a banked track simulating a race that spanned from one end of the country to the other.  Over the next 70 years and taking a dip into the professional wrestling-esque realm, Roller Derby has reemerged with a new face.  No longer being regarded as a “side show,” Roller Derby is quickly becoming a mainstay in the world of women’s sports.  The sport and its sub culture of fans are growing in leaps and bounds.  Not only is it growing in numbers, but in a cornucopia of different walks of life as well.  And like with that of any new community, their story must be told.  Using the art of keen observation, interviewing, research, analysis and pure imagination, I will outline the Roller Derby community through in depth and in your face exploration.

I’m centering my focus on the Windy City Rollers.  Two very ambitious women athletes named Juana Rumble and Sister Sledgehammer started the team.  Gaining inspiration from the TXRD Lonestar Rollergirls, Juana and Sledge’s derby movement started in Chicago, the birthplace of Roller Derby, back in 2005 and it has grown exponentionally since.  It has helped spawn Roller Derby leagues all over the U.S. and abroad including the team I popped my Derby Cherry on: Fayetteville, North Carolina’s own Rogue Rollergirls.  As a referee and volunteer for Rogue, I was able to gain a foothold on a community worth living in.  In 2008, while I was living in North Carolina, my fiancé and I were looking for something to do in our free time that was fun, athletic and relatively inexpensive.  We saw a sticker in the back window of an SUV advertising Roller Derby.  We were both taken aback.  We didn’t think Roller Derby still existed.  We went on line to research our local team and found the Rouge Rollergirls.  It was love at first sight.  The team was fraught with skilled and sexy roller skaters and was looking for fresh meat and referees.  The combination couldn’t have been more perfect, the team needed us and we needed them.  We played with Rogue, traveling up and down the Eastern seaboard and beating nearly every team we faced.  My fiancé, going by the name Hard Mod Mo at the time, is from Chicago.  The yearning to move back to the city was overwhelming and we had to leave our family with Rogue.  Once we got back to Chicago, my fiancé took the name Ska Face and began playing with the Windy City Rollers on the Fury.  I moved on to volunteer on the Oval Team, helping to set up the track at the UIC Pavilion before each bout and in the process found a new home with a new derby family in Chicago.

Though my affiliation with Roller Derby has only seen a few years, I want to tell the whole story.  I will identify the beginnings of Roller Derby, traveling through the community, and continuing up to the present.  Along the way I will discuss the make up of a derby girl, the fan base, spirituality and rituals, the sites and space of the derby community, and finally its impact on the world around it.  From starting as a distraction to becoming a rapidly growing sporting event, the Roller Derby community is a fishnet stocking-clad tidal wave gaining momentum and readying to crash on the shores of the world.  If you are standing in the path of this wondrous movement, I hope you put on your slicker!

As mentioned earlier, derby started in Chicago in the 1930’s.  Where it went from there, I don’t think anyone was anticipating.  Where it is today is only through acts of sheer grit and determination.  Promoter Leo Seltzer is credited with modifying these endurance competitions in the 1930s by emphasizing the physical contact and teamwork—and thus the more spectacular aspects of the sport. Seltzer trademarked the name Roller Derby, reserving it for use by his traveling troupe of professional skaters. Roller Derby took root as an icon of popular culture as matches were held in numerous cities throughout the U.S. and sometimes broadcast on radio and, eventually, on television.  And though derby seemed to rise and fall between the end of the 30’s and into the 50’s, things were taking a turn towards entertainment again.  Rival organizations such as Roller Games (featuring the Los Angeles Thunderbirds) came and went as the sport/spectacle endured several boom-and-bust cycles throughout the second half of the 20th century. The initial business model of roller derby finally collapsed in the mid-1970s, but the sport underwent several professional, on-and-off TV revivals which were spearheaded by veteran skaters, including a continuation of Roller Games under new management, a 10-year International Roller Skating League (IRSL), and the short-lived, TV-only spectacles Roller Games and Roller Jam.

In 2004, a number of all-female leagues formed what is now the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association (WFTDA), which coordinates and sets the rules that govern sanctioned inter-league competition among its members. The WFTDA member leagues create “travel” teams who play against each other in regional matches.  WFTDA also publishes rankings and organizes annual championship tournaments for its members in good standing. While not directly affiliated, many independent leagues around the world have adopted the WFTDA rules and standards either completely or as a foundation for their own rules.

Most current roller derby leagues use rules developed by the WFTDA.  According to Wikipedia, a summary of the WFTDA rules follows:  Roller derby takes place on a circuit track. Offense and defense are played simultaneously.  The two teams playing send five players each onto the track — one jammer (scorer), three blockers (defense), one pivot (acts as a leader for the team or controls pack speed). Helmet covers are used to display the players’ positions: a cover with two stars is used for jammers, a striped cover is used for pivots and no cover is used for blockers.  Pivots and blockers from both teams start the game by forming a single pack. In a pack, all players face counterclockwise. The track has two lines marked across the track 30 feet apart, a pivot line and a jammer line around which the players build their initial formation.  Pivots line up on the pivot line and all blockers must line up behind them in any order they choose. The two jammers, who are not considered to be part of the pack, are positioned on the jammer line 30 feet behind the pivot line.  The referee signals the start of jam formation by blowing a whistle. During jam formation, the entire pack moves counterclockwise, during which time players can change position. All pivots/blockers must remain in the pack (i.e., no more than 20 feet in front of or behind the largest group containing blockers from both teams). When the last person in the pack has passed the Pivot Line (where the pack initially lines up), the referee blows the whistle twice, signaling the jammers to take off, and play begins in what is called a jam. A jam is a 2-minute countdown period during which both teams attempt to score points. Points can only be scored by the jammers, who, moving counter-clockwise, attempt to pass the pack and lap around as many times as possible. After passing the pack the first time, jammers earn one point each time they legally pass an opposing blocker/pivot. During a jam, all pivots/blockers must remain in the pack. Pivot/blockers attempt to assist their jammer through and out of the pack while simultaneously stopping the opposing jammer from exiting the pack. If a pivot/blocker falls or otherwise becomes separated from the pack, she is out of play (i.e., cannot block or assist the jammers) until she rejoins to the pack.  The first jammer to legally pass all pivots and blockers once the jam begins wins the status of lead jammer for the remainder of the jam. The lead jammer can decide to end the jam at any time before the 2 minutes are up. She does this by placing her hands on her hips repeatedly, which signals the referee to officially call off the jam.  To impede the progress of the opposing team’s jammer, players may block using body parts above the mid-thigh, excluding forearms, hands, and head. Elbows may not be used in blocking, and cannot be swung at other players or used to hook an opponent or teammate’s arm.  Each game consists of two 30-minute periods. At the end of each jam, teams field another line up of players and the next jam starts exactly 30 seconds later.  Penalties are given to skaters who block illegally, fight or behave in an unsporting manner, or otherwise break the rules. Possible penalties include sending players to a penalty box and expulsion of players. A skater goes to the penalty box for 1 minute immediately upon incurring a major penalty, or after accumulating 4 minor penalties.  Now that you are thoroughly confused, I will walk you through the world of the Windy City Rollers and how I am infused with some of that.  The beginnings of our journey take place on a dark and stormy night somewhere in the heart of the beast… the city of Chicago!

Walking up the steps at the practice site located just West of Hubbard Street and Western Avenue; I encounter a handful of students from Flash Point.  Flash Point, what the hell is that?  Either way, healthy banter goes back and forth and I can tell almost immediately that the “Flashpointers”, as I have so eloquently decided to dub them, are intimidated by my presence.  Being a Columbia student holds a certain stigma in this city among other college students.  It seems this is not a badge that I neither qualified for, nor did I know I was wearing.  C’est la vie.  Insecurities matter not to me, nor my quest to bring the sub culture of Roller Derby in Chicago to light. I’m more focused on the ladies practicing here on this fine evening.  These women are heroes.  They belong to the rapidly growing sub culture of fearless female athletes.  My hat goes off to them, and for all of the obvious reasons.

Maneuvering past the Flashpointers, the smell of Pine Sol hits my nose.  With that, I also catch a whiff of hard work.  You know, that smell of sweat, funk and humidity that goes along with any sports venue.  For those hockey buffs, it’s the smell of the old minus-20 barn that you used to play in as a kid, walking into the locker room and getting hit with a hot wall of funk.  If you played basketball, it was the instant smell you get the minute the gymnasium doors open.  You go from fresh air to hot garbage almost instantaneously.  Though these women definitely don’t stink like hot garbage, the change in aroma from the hallway into the practice space happened almost immediately.  I grab a seat along the edge of the track and the action begins.

There are a number of ladies from all four teams lined up on the track.  Sassy Squash from the Double Crossers, Rose Feratu from the Manic Attackers, Zombea Arthur from the Hells Bells and even Go-Go Hatchet from the Fury.  It’s a cornucopia of talent mixed along with fresh meat rookies looking to make their mark here in the windy city.  They look like a lovely blur of mixed t-shirts, tights, short shorts and knee-high socks.  I love the mass of darks versus whites in an attempt make the teams even and the handful of All-Star, travel team coaches amassed in the middle of the track shouting out orders working to give these ladies the direction that they need to achieve success.  I love it.  I love the feeling of togetherness, though they all come from different teams.  I love seeing these women working hard to set the standard in the world of women’s sports.  I love seeing the healthy razzing that goes on back and forth; a sort of chest pounding that gets the blood flowing and the competitive spirit way up.

Amidst the padded walls, exposed rafters, and “I love me” paraphernalia adorning the walls, these women are all business.  The coaches shout their orders and the women strapped into their skates follow suit.  It’s a wonderful relationship where respect earned is given and the leaders control the tempo of the practice with near surgical precision.  To say this is sheer poetry in motion is an understatement.  The girls begin to skate.  Tonight’s league practice is focused on pack control.  It allows the women who are in blocker positions during the bout to understand the importance of their position and to hone their skills there in.  The floor rumbles, and as the ladies go by, there is a whiff of pad stink and that ever present hint of Pine Sol.  Now that I’ve been in the practice space long enough, it seems almost like an afterthought.  The Flashpointers have since left, possibly put off by my association with the team or maybe its just because their work is done.  Either way, I have these ladies all to myself and I couldn’t be happier.  I enjoy the displays of athletic abilities and the driving force behind why these women do what they do.  Working around the laps and maneuvering through the pack, there’s always the risk of falling.  And all of the sudden…BOOM!  Sassy hit’s the ground with a resounding fury.  Since the practice space is on the second floor of a warehouse building, the fall sounds like cannon fire.  It makes you wonder that if the fall is hard enough, would someone fall through the floor.  Each pass goes by and another rumbling passes with it.  Accompanying the rumble is the same smell, the smell that is only there when these masters of the oblong oval whiz by.

Between practices, I had the pleasure of sitting with one of my all-time favorite Windy City Rollers, Varla Vendetta.  Originally on the Hells Belles, she has since half-retired and belongs now just to the All Star team.  She has been with the Rollers for six years now and is looking forward to many more fun filled years.  When asked about team rituals I was surprised to find that there were no real team rituals that stood out.  As a member of the Hells Belles, the team would get together prior to the bout and have a brunch.  The All Star team really doesn’t have any pre-bout rituals, minus the good old-fashioned pep talk just before the bout kicks off.  I asked Varla what her pre bout rituals were and she let me in on some stuff that seems more along the lines of what I was thinking.  She likes to have her bottled water, Gatorade and lip balm handy in the locker room.  The one ritual that surprised me the most:  she watches videos of Walter Payton the night before a bout.  Score!  A woman after my own heart.  She watches these videos for guidance, support, but most of all for inspiration.  She’s a true athlete following through with what any competitor would do to get in the right mindset.  I applaud her search for inspiration and can relate on so many levels.  As a kid, playing hockey in high school, my brothers and I would watch “Slap Shot” the night before a big game to get our minds right, take a little edge off and get pumped for whatever melee we were ready to bestow upon an unsuspecting team.  I go bananas over the Sweetness info and the interview ends on a wonderful note.

These ladies fight, inch by inch, for the bragging rights to be top dog in the city of Chicago.  And with each breath, with each pass, block and score, these women are providing an undying air to a culture ready to burst at the seams.  Though each ritual, rhyme or reason for being on the Windy City Rollers is different for each competitor, these women are all masters in their own right.  They are in control of the route this sport, culture and community is taking.  All the hard work put in at the practice space is only a part of the grassroots attitude these ladies carry with them every single day.

The Windy City Rollers is of the skater, by the skater and for the skater.  With that being said, “skater” encompasses a large number of people.  The organization is a complete volunteer organization, with all the skaters donating their time and efforts on some way or another.  The ladies of WCR donate their time promoting the team by conducting “Street Teaming” operations where they skate around or simply make appearances at venues throughout the Chicagoland area.  With this organization, there is no such thing as shameless self-promotion.  The more the word gets out, the more popular this community becomes.  The skaters aren’t the only volunteers, though.  The referees are a volunteer staff, along with statisticians and medical staff.  The Oval Team is another entity on the volunteer staff comprised mostly of fans that are willing to lend a hand to set up the track and the rest of the venue at the UIC Pavilion.  These positions may only scrape the surface on how dedicated each skater, referee, statistician, sports therapist and able-bodied volunteer really are.  Everyone seems to pull together for one single cause:  the greatness of Roller Derby.  With all that WCR asks from the fans, there is also a return.  The team donates money to local charities and allows local acts to perform during half time events.  On top of that, anyone who volunteers with set up or tear down of the track is rewarded with free admission to the bout.  I belong to the Oval Team and I enjoy the camaraderie and stories that go along with it.  Most of the volunteers are fans and have a story to tell.  Most stories are of bouts since past or wishful thinking of speaking with a particular girl at the after party.  I personally enjoy the end product.  Seeing the track in all its glory on the floor of the Pavilion is a sense of accomplishment.  All this talk of work and no play may turn out to be no fun.  I would love to introduce the audience to the fan base that follows the Windy City Rollers. It’s time to wander into the frenzy of an official bout.

The gates of the UIC pavilion packed with excitement, but lack the carnival-like atmosphere that was abuzz at the beginning of the season.  At the 2010 season opener; marketing proved to work quite well in the off season and the madness lining up to see the bout was out of control.  This month, try and cut that in about half, add shitty, snowy and rainy weather and put it on a Sunday at six in the evening.  Not a good recipe for success.  I personally would have enjoyed watching the ass whooping the US put on Canada in men’s hockey, but we can’t always get what we want.  This bout was sizing up to be a barnburner, anyway.

Walking through the door, I’m reminded on why roller derby is so fucking cool.  The fans are amazing.  There are families out for a fun Sunday evening.  There’s the mom, dad and two kids, hardly the nuclear family of the 50’s, though.  Usually they are clad in North Face and khaki pants.  You’ve got those Wrigleyville frat boys in their collared shirts with well-groomed hair and manicured nails.  There are a number of youngsters running around aimlessly, emulating their favorite derby girl perhaps, with hopes and aspirations of some day becoming her.  Amongst the throngs of people who you can tell exactly where they belong in the social meaning of things, there are the rest.  Of course, there is always the rugged, the plain clothes or sports jersey wearing, and the priceless uninterested guy or gal who’s there just because their friend dragged them in.  I’m none of those, but I could give a shit.  I’m there to enjoy the spectacle of it all.

The seats are relatively full.  I look out from the mezzanine and the track lies perfectly on the floor.  I know it is, because I helped put it in not more than ten hours ago.  The grays and blues of the plastic tiles show through the bright, neon yellow tape used to mark the outer and inner boundaries of the track.  As for the seating, you can see the orange speckles throughout the crowd where the simple, plastic spot for your posterior goes.  The UIC Pavilion leaves little to the imagination; the seating is relative to fake plastic smiles and an unforgiving pain in the arse after a 3-hour stretch of watching a derby bout.  I move past the lines of people waiting impatiently for their over-priced and under cooked circus food.  As I smell the wafts of fried foods and flat fountain drinks, I’m reminded that I didn’t eat prior to showing up.

In the 2,500+ crowd, I’d say 2,499 of them are eating.  I can smell the crisp, outer layer of freshly fried chicken tenders.  There’s a hot little 20-something, an Asian girl with beautiful dark hair, walking by with a tray of nachos.  I spot the mound of drab green jalapenos on top and my jaw tingles thinking of the pickled, hot taste.  I fight the urge to knock her down and steal her booty.  I snuck in a few beers, but all that does is reinforce my want for a taste bud smashing, oversized, heavily salted and even heavier on the mustard jumbo pretzel.  I fight the urge.  There are more important things at hand.  Tonight is a match up between two undefeated teams:  The Double Crossers and The Manic Attackers; and the two winless teams:  The Fury and The Hells Belles.  My heart lies with The Fury.  Their face smashing, I could give a shit what you think because I’m going to wreck your ass attitude is right up my alley!

The teams taking the track tonight have a lineup of ladies with a multitude of athletic ability and attitude.  Beth Amphetamine, who skates for the Manic Attackers, is the anchor of the team.  Clad in an electric blue and yellow leotard, she also dawns a blue and yellow-spiraled helmet that personifies her speed around the track as a whirlpool of speed and aggression.  The boxer turned derby girl is by far the fastest lady out there and a force to be reckoned with.  Other weapons in the Manic arsenal include the amazon, slick dark haired jammer, Ruth Enasia and the hard-hitting Amy No Namey.  When the Manic’s take to the track, it’s a funkadelic cyclone of blue and yellow.  Heads spin, fans get out of control and the house is on the verge of being brought down.  The Maninc’s have a certain fan following that is nothing short of the character list from Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome.  Most are adorned in the team’s colors; all have a sign or a signature shout out for the ladies on the team.  “Bork,Bork,Bork!” is my favorite, a war cry for the bodacious blocker for the Manic’s aptly named, BorkBorkBork.

When it comes to the Double Crossers, the ladies are top notch and in tiptop shape.  Veiled in all black, the Crossers are the pinnacle of athletic ability and have a cavalcade of hard-hitting vixens with only one thing on their minds, “Destroy the competition.”  Behind speedy jammers like Indy Cent and Julia Rosenwinkel and powerful blockers such as Georgia on yer Behind and Slammah Montana, the Crossers bring sass and class to the table.  The other teams on the Windy City Rollers line up have their hands full and the predictions are already a drift that these ladies of the Double Crossers will run away with the Championship at the end of the season.

The Hells Belles have the newest line up.  Having lost a number of their veterans in the off-season and acquiring upwards of 12 rookies, they have a long road ahead of them.  Being pitted against the Double Crossers last month, they lost by over a hundred points and needed a miracle just to get their jammers through the pack.  Rookie Zombea Arthur has proven to be a successful rookie so far this year even though her team has yet to tally a win.  She tried out for the Windy City Rollers last two years, but was told to improve her speed and come back and try again.  She took up speed skating in the off-season and became a nationally ranked speed skater.  Now that she’s on the roster, it’s only a matter of time before she helps her Belles get an “X” in the win column.  There is a certain skill level that is required to be a member of the Windy City Rollers home teams.  You need that natural ability to skate and observe with your head on a swivel.  You need to be able to take a hit as well as dish out some punishment.  On top of all this, you need to stable yet flexible and uber fast on your skates.

As I mentioned before, the Fury has a mantra that agrees with my attitude on life.  They only had one win last year coming on their last bout of the season.  Since the off-season, the Fury has picked up rookies Take Out Box and Ska Face in an attempt to add additional speed and flair to a winning combination of theatrics and power.  They were even able to pick up Jackie Daniels from Grand Rapids that added depth to the Jammer pool.  Veterans Juanna Rumble and Kola Loka are the solid foundation of the team.  Blocker Go-Go Hatchet and Blocker/Pivot Ivy Sedation add the hitting and speed needed to construct a healthy and winning team.

As derby girls by night and mild mannered women by day, the super heroines of the Windy City Rollers give a purpose, direction and motivation to all walks of life.  Some of these ladies are schoolteachers, attaches working in foreign consulates, college students or even the lady that gives you your beer and peanuts at a Cubs game.  They participate in this sport (and yes, I say it is a sport more than the theater club stuff your dad used to watch on TV in the 70’s) to compete and co-mingle with like-minded individuals.  If you set your sights on the derby nation, you’re almost guaranteed to win.  Lifelong friends and family are the usual outcome from being a member of this culture.  But you can be given that celebrity and caped crusader-esque lifestyle as well, yielding a sense of contributing to an already growing façade of Chicago being the third coast of the USA.  So, with all of these exciting personalities in Roller Derby, where do I as a researcher fit in to all of this?

Spring Roll?  Garden Salad Roll?  Leading role on a sinking ship of a production?  Naw, I’m a fly on the wall.  The countless, nameless, faceless droolers who stand by longingly in the wings, hoping a Derby Girl will look their way.  Unfortunately, this is where I am placed.  A super-cool toy that a kid has just recently out grown and thrown on the shelf.  Next to old stuffed animals, Lego’s and puzzles that will never get put back together again. That guy from Columbia who’s doing a paper on the Derby Girls.  I’m not Mutha Reffer, the uber funny and cool ref who has no problems taking his pants off for the ladies at the after party.  I’m not Peter Coffinail, the poetic spinster who randomly takes shots at the visiting reporters… vis a vis:  Flashpoint.  They are actually the one of many drooling hordes standing faceless with their backs against the wall.  Hoping, wishing, longing for a Derby Girl to pay them some attention.

In the beginning of this whole Derby whirlwind, God created Mutha Reffer.  A step in a direction leading away from boredom left me in the midst of something beautiful.  I became a member of the Rogue Rollergirls with my fiancé and the rest may be considered Derby History.  I was hooked, though.  Between the tight shorts and fishnet stockings, these girls were not only amazing to look at; they were amazing to be around.  The bouts were phenomenal.  The team was almost undefeated, minus a loss to the Savannah Derby Devils.  The girls had talent that couldn’t be matched by any team in the Southeast.  And the after parties… forget about it!  Both teams would meet up together at a pre-designated, Derby friendly watering hole.  These ladies really know how to party!  Drink, dance, get rough, there wasn’t anything the Rogue Rollergirls wouldn’t do in the bar.  I was akin to countless strip teases and lap dances and I figured it was only polite to return the favor.  If the mood struck me just right, my pants would come off during a good song and the ladies would swoon, like a room full of howling wolves.  Of course, I always had a snazzy pair of drawers on, specifically dressed to impress.  Everything from chic camouflage to a tuxedo, I was slowly beginning to become a party favorite.

Alas, the time came to relocate and my run with Rogue was cut to an abrupt end.  The goodbye was bitter sweet.  I was leaving the women I cut my Derby teeth on, but I was on my way to Chicago and ready to become a member of the Windy City Rollers.  The Derby community is vast in sheer numbers and location, but is small through connections and camaraderie.  Upon my arrival to Chicago, I was in contact with UNK, the head for WCR’s rules and regulations board committee.  Much to my chagrin, certain WCR by-laws prohibited me from participating as a referee or statistician for their league.  I would have to say the only downfall of doing a Derby Girl is not being able to get on the track and ref.  What a complete let down.  I was laid on to be a great ref for years to come with Rogue and now I am reduced to nothing in the Windy City.  Opportunities come and go for me.  I volunteered my writing skills and now I cart around writing out the exploits of the ladies of the Windy City Rollers.  The differences between Rogue and WCR can be measured in light years.  The WCR ladies are local celebrities, and saying that in Chicago is no small affair.  It is great being in the position that I am in, standing in the spotlight next to these gorgeous women and having that noticeable air of novelty that I had with Rogue.  I love the glitz and the glam.  The paparazzi-style activities that go on at the Bottom Lounge after bouts.  There are hundreds of people milling around, smiling, happy maybe even a little drunk.  I love the feeling of togetherness this team brings along with them.  Wrangling all of these fans into one place and making them all feel like they are at home.  Simply amazing!  Being a part of this inner circle is great.  It’s a great feeling to belong to a group so willing to accept and have fun.  In the midst of all of these good times, growth and change have come into play and not every time do they bring the best intentions right off the bat.  Sometimes we’re all just a little bit afraid of change.  The Windy City Rollers went through a series of changes in the last year.  The board of trustees that govern all the goings-ons with the team were making some serious rule changes and doing some “house cleaning” that involved letting some of the original founding members go.  That in itself changed the attitude of the team.  Another change was a number of the ladies who were with the team since the beginning was now either retiring completely or switching over to just the all-stars travel team.  Ultimately, the attitude of the team was changing and it was becoming somewhat of a business and less of a bus full of acid drop kids traveling across the U.S. to see the effects of LSD.  It was a jam-session of fun that seemed to be sloping into the drudges of suit and tie stuffiness.  Like I said earlier, not all change is bad, sometimes it takes time to adjust.  But that was just a mere phase and though it seemed dark for a split second, the fun is back on the up swing.  Life is still good, and the Derby family that I fell in on last year is now right were it has always been and looks to become something better.

Though I may seem like a fly on the wall at times, I still have chances to share the spotlight with the totally awesome Windy City Rollers.  I have been a member of the Derby community for half a decade now and though I may fall in and out of the spotlight and have a new moniker every time I turn around, I’m still me.  I’m still Mutha Reffer when I get my occasional “Wish you were still here” emails from the ladies at Rogue.  I’m still, and always will be Peter Coffinail.  And, of course, I will be Aaron Pylinski throughout the remainder of this ethnographic research.

What’s in a name anyway?  To these ladies, it’s a badge of honor, something that is earned and never given.  Most players in these leagues skate under aliases, many of which are creative examples of word play with satirical, mock-violent or sexual puns, alliteration, and allusions to pop culture. Examples include Athena DeCrime (scene of the crime), sister combo Dihan Party and Donna Party (Donner Party), Belle Diablo (el diablo), Ruth Enasia (Euthanasia), hometown favorites and keeping the Chicago gangster scene alive Val Capone (Al Capone) and Ska Face (Scar Face), Karmageddon (Armageddon), Deb Autry (debauchery), and Yvette YourMaker (you met your maker). Some players claim their names represent alter egos that they adopt whilst skating.  By the 2009 season, however, a small number of players on at least three leagues had started skating under their real names.  The names of the bouts themselves are typically as sardonic and convoluted — for example, Nightmare on Hull Street (Nightmare on Elm St.), my favorite:  Seasons Beatings, (Seasons Greetings), Night of the Rolling Dead (Night of the Living Dead); Spanksgiving (Thanksgiving), Grandma Got Run Over By a Rollergirl (Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer), Skate & Destroy Her, Cupid’s Quarrel, Shamrock and Roll, Pushin’ Daisies, Cinco de May-hem (Cinco de Mayo), and War of the Wheels (War of the Worlds).  Though it may seem a little out of the ordinary as far as “normal” sports standards are concerned these names fit better into the world of Roller Derby, which is colorful and fun, and the names and personalities are just the mere tip of the iceberg.

Without the urge to compete and the elbow grease to get the sport of Roller Derby started again we would have never seen the birth of a new and ever changing sub culture.  Roller Derby wouldn’t be half of what it is, though, without the following that it carries along in its wake.  Each and every fan, each family looking for something fun to do on a Saturday evening, each sports enthusiast looking to check that life list and the number of cult following fans Roller Derby has held since its beginnings, this is the life’s-blood of the sport of Roller Derby.  The fans are why these ladies get out on the track every single time and compete through gauntlets of scantly clad warrior women.  They compete for a community of ever loyal fans willing to stand and cheer, willing to come out every single month and support, willing to help turn a cult following into a cultural explosion.  I am thankful every single day that I am a part of that.  Thinking back through these past few years, I’m glad we spotted that window sticker in a mall parking lot in Bum-fuck Anywhere, North Carolina.  I’d be hard pressed to fill my life with memories that could even compare.  Having visited foreign lands and seeing a million cool things, I can say that nothing compares and I’m lucky to be counted in the same community as the women of Roller Derby.  Here’s to all of you and the best of luck for many years to come.  XOXO – Pete…