Rollergeddon!

I really had no idea what to expect at this, my very first experience with women's roller derby. At the very least, it would be a chance to people watch. Maybe I could snag a story idea. But perhaps most importantly, it would be a chance to break the ever increasing comfort of my Same Old Routine, that soul strangling yet so much sought after life habit that I fall into with increasing frequency.

Vulcan Ninja and I took a cab out to the Canada Building at the Western Fairgrounds, both of us wondering just how in hell a roller derby would work. We waited outside for friends to join us, seeing a derby girl come out in a pink skirt and kneepads and fire up a smoke. Finally, companions arrived, and we walked into the building. And both of us went, "Oooh, that's how."

The Canada Building is essentially just a giant space. Metal bleachers had been set up against the west wall, with a fenced off bar area to the right. (Which is where Vulcan Ninja headed first.) Red tape had been laid down in three extremely large circles, demarcating where the players would roll. On the floor in the front of the last circle line were dire warnings of direness should anyone not a derby player step over it. The metal posts supporting the roof had gym mats duct taped to them. The players were already skating around, the London team (The Thames Fatales) in green and black, the Toronto team (the Derby Debutantes)in pink and black.

We were handed a well made out program, complete with rules, photographs of the signals referees would make, and pictures of all the players. We enjoyed their derby names: Anya Face, Suffer Jet, Dawn Keshane, Leather Locklear, Splat Benatar, to name a few. Vulcan Ninja quickly digested the rules, and explained them to me as the match began. After I asked my usual questions of 'What was that again? Who does what? So what does that mean?" it all began to make sense. And suddenly, much fun was being had.

Part of me was expecting the fake theatricality of wrestling, but that isn't what was on show. The game was fast paced, with enough shuddering checks and wipeouts to make me cringe in pain. A few flare ups of anger, especially when a Toronto player (those bitches!)grabbed London's Elle Boes' T-shirt, and whipped her to the ground. The four refs missed it, and I could have sworn I saw a pitchfork raised. Another incident occurred when one of the London player's roller skates (the old school kind) broke. And when a Toronto player fell and banged her head on the cement, it was a bit frightening--all the players dropped to one knee as the EMTs raced out, and after a few minutes, a cheer broke out as she slowly got to her feet and raised her hand in thanks to the crowd.

At half time, hula hoops were placed on the makeshift rink so kids could come out and play with them. When the buzzer rang for the second half, players' families quickly collected all the hoops and toys, the kids handing them back without any drama. I found this touch to be genius, and emphasized what a strange family event the whole evening was.

The crowd wasn't what I expected, either. There were older people there, many of them mothers and fathers of the players themselves, but the majority of the audience were alt types, writers and artists from around the city, many of them I turned out to know. The music blasting from the sound system was old punk rock, and despite my misgivings, both Ninja and I really felt at home.

By the night's end, London's Fatales had won, with some amazing work by the aforementioned Suffer Jet. As the buzzer sounded, both teams hugged and posed for group photos together, and the after party began to kick in.

Vulcan Ninja and I said our goodbyes to our friends, and went back out into the cool spring night. Ninja, being Ninja, was already bemoaning the fact that she was too old and too wrapped up in martial arts to join the team, but the light in her eye made me think that she may just be trying to convince herself of that.

So yes, a good night. The whole DIY aspect of it--that everyone involved was doing it out of love, with a punk aesthetic that did not preclude high standards (the program itself was very well put together, and the entire night ran smoothly)--was heartening. It's nice to see something like this happen in London created by the sort of people the conservative consensus of this city likes to disown as quickly as possible. Or maybe this was the true London--creative people creating rather magical things through dedication and sweat. This time it wasn't a play, or a band--it was a sport that turns out to be more entertaining than many (myself included) would have thought.


Anyway, the next hometown match is in October. Shouldn't be missed, really.