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CT RollerGirls

Nov. 4, 6:30 p.m. $12 advance, $15 at door, $25 V.I.P. RollerMagic, 80 Harvester Rd., Waterbury. ctrollerderby.com

I am not sure if you could call it love at first sight, but the girl crush I've got on the CT RollerGirls comes pretty close. When Andy brought me to the April CTRG bout for my birthday, we both stood slack-jawed over our snow cone and pretzel. Badass girls on skates! Yowza! On the ride home it occurred to me—roller girls embody all that is admirable about womanhood: athletic elegance; smart, stockinged cheekiness; and a smokin' hot sex appeal on wheels.

I immediately wanted to try out for the league. I went to the Salvation Army and bought a $3 pair of rollerblades and figured if I used these as my new mode of transportation, I would be sturdy enough for roller girl tryouts eight weeks later.

I also caught wind of Rollerdurance at Wheel World in Wallingford. It is entirely separate from CTRG, but was started by a few retired roller girls. Essentially it is a great workout for girls who are injured, retired from league play or skaters who want extra practice. My hostesses were Jayne Bondage, Wender Bender and Polly Sonic—the nicest, most encouraging coaches possible for someone who was wearing roller skates for the first time since I was 11 in my parents' driveway. Polly wore a hockey goalie's glove on her hand, because she broke it scrimmaging last fall. My practice partner, Evil Dread, skated every week on a broken ankle. I attended faithfully every Monday—unbroken.

We did drills to build quad strength. We had to squat down and have our partner push us around the track at top speed. The first time doing this, I was overcome with a first-date formality with Evil Dread. I said, "I am just going to put my hands on your hips now, and push you, OK?"

"Yeah," she said, "You can push me faster." My kind of girl! I realized that I couldn't stop laughing, and I told her to push me harder too.

I would circle around on my rental figure skates with that same dopey smile, as Polly lead us in the "drunken sailor" (leg lifts around the bends, squats on the straightaways) while we pumped our biceps (with water bottles in our hands for weights). All this to the sound of ABBA or the Beastie Boys. Judy Scarland, a professional opera singer and voice coach, would lap me and swish my face with the tulle of her ribboned, black mini skirt. I always noticed her polka dot underwear.

Before derby, I was a longtime runner and yogi. I thought I was in shape. But squatting on skates for any second over 10 minutes is bound to make your back crack with burning, and turn your legs into Jell-O. We occasionally changed directions and skated clockwise because, as Jayne Bondage says, we don't want one ass cheek bigger than the other.

I went to see two bouts (that's what we call our matches) before trying out, and tried to learn as much as I could about the rules. Essentially, it is a game of chase on a circuit track. There are five players per team on the track at once: three blockers (defense), one pivot (last line of defense) and one jammer (scorer). Helmet covers, or "panties," display the players' positions. The players form a pack and skate counterclockwise around the track. Both jammers try to make it through the entire pack (harder than it sounds) and then lap the pack (one point for each opponent passed). All of this happens in what's called a jam, that lasts two minutes or less. After months of watching, I see the many strategies that happen in the pack are nuanced, artful even.

Roller derby dates back to the 1930s and was initially a co-ed sport. In the last four years there has been a national resurgence. Most leagues are all women and are skater-owned and operated. They coordinate sponsorships, advertising, pub crawls and charity events. A Women's Flat Track Derby Association was formed in 2004; its slogan is "Daughters of the American Derby Revolution." The Connecticut league formed in 2006 and has three teams: The Widowmakers, the Iron Angels and the Elm City Bone Crushers. The league runs like a well-oiled skate wheel.

So, Why Me?

I am an English teacher who believes in non-violent conflict resolution. Emily Dickinson is my heroine. Why am I a roller girl? The fact that I can lunge my body, full weight and full speed ahead (in whatever kooky outfit I want) at the shoulder of Darla Damage (even though she is still sore from her new tattoo), and she can look over and smile at me and say, "Good. Give me harder next time," has something to do with it. Roller derby embodies a free spiritedness, female camaraderie and deep-rooted compassion that I have long searched for. These women are inspiring! They are crafty (most of them are expert seamstresses), smart (half the league has advanced degrees) and funny:

Pygmy (our coach/ref.) on explaining a drill: The "Dead Ant" is when you slide on your back, pretend you're dead and wiggle your feet in the air.

Susan B. Anarchy: I had a date like that once.

Ready, Set, Try Out

League tryouts came at the end of July, and I met two other hopefuls, Evviva (aka Shaden Frieda) and Tanya (aka Virginia Woolferine), in New Haven at the Shaw's parking lot on Whalley Avenue. We carpooled to the official home of the CT Roller Girls, the Roller Magic rink in Waterbury. Roller Magic is an old-school rink with murals of cartoon animals on skates, air hockey and arcade games (few of which actually work).

I felt all nerves. There were nine others trying out, including Kristen (Milla LowLife), Johneisha (Luciana PULVERotti) and Corinne (Scarlit Succubus). I had to borrow wrist guards, elbow guards, kneepads and skates. I was kindly given my own mouth guard. When I glided one leg out on the rink, my rental skates rattled underneath me like a disobedient shopping cart, warbling through the straight-aways.

We were split up into four groups by Pearl Jammer, whom I quickly grew to respect for her hearty speed and serious demeanor on the track. The tryouts came between mini classes, lasting 20 minutes each: This is how you do crossovers around the track. This is how you stop on skates. And the hardest—this is how you fall.

There are two correct ways to "fall small," and both are tricky to master. The first is the "Rock Star Fall" where you have to slam to the ground on your kneepads with your pelvis pushed out as you glide forward like Bret Michaels of Poison. I could hear Pepper Grind-Her, our rookie coach, yelling to all us newbies "Yeah, that's it! Push your crotches out!"

The other fall is the "Baseball Slide," and trips me up every time. You have to drop somehow to your side—on your elbow pad, then to your hips—then tuck one leg under and slide on your kneepad to a stop. I had never thought about intentionally throwing myself onto the ground with skates on. I tried to let my body just show me what to do, but somehow I slammed my shin on my wheels. I had a walnut-sized lump on my shin for two weeks after, and a bruise rainbow washing over my leg in a new hue each day.

Bruises and fishnet burn are the marks of any roller girl. Look at any one of those hot chicks' arms and you'll see bruises like Rorschach cards. Hipbones flush with rink rash too. Judy Scarland even had a thigh bruise that resembled Jesus.

After finishing the mini courses, there was an interview with Susan B. Anarchy, our league social worker. I remember leaving the interview worried that I'd forgotten to tell them that I practiced proper grammar and could bake moist banana bread. These could be good assets for the league, I was sure. But they just wanted to know why I wanted to skate. I found out later that the interview also helps make sure a rookie doesn't just want to beat people up and rip out other chicks' hair.

For the physical test, we were asked to skate around the track and perform all of the falls, stops and positioning we had just studied, CliffsNotes-style. As I rounded the track ready to perform, I thought "Oh my God, this is the track! This is where the big guns run."

My baseball slide was a home run, or at least a base hit. My rentals hummed along with Courtney Love over the sound system. Pepper called us all the next day. I had made it.

Fresh Meat

The first practice came a few days after tryouts. It seemed like the whole league was there. All the big names I'd come to know: Cha Cha La Rue, Vixen Vega, Susan B. Anarchy, Chelsea Grin, Pearl Jammer, Ether Bunny, Black Cherry and Miz Con SepJen, who was clad in a leopard print bikini top, and seemed to shed clothes with each lap. We were to skate for 20 minutes straight, so I assumed position. Behind me, I heard, "Fresh Meat, skate on the outside of the track! Fresh Meat, on the outside!"

Shit, that's me. I am Fresh Meat, of course! I have never been a fresh meat, and for the first time in my life, someone is yelling at me to push over for the big girls. I love it.

I stumbled over to the right. Pearl Jammer powered by. I want to skate like her. Before tryouts, Jayne Bondage told me to "find a girl who's good and get behind her and do what she does. That's the best way to learn." Seeing Pearl speed by was like watching your older sister clip into a training bra on the other side of your shared room and wishing you, in your tomboy T-shirt, were moving as fast. I chased Pearl for about a lap before I hunched over, worn out.

At the end of that practice, Pepper announced she was taking a collection for a Pioneer Valley League roller girl who got injured in the last scrimmage. Apparently the girl had no job and no insurance. Money was collected and a goodwill package was delivered. Talk about class! Though they are sure to be tough on the track, these roller women are some of the most friendly and caring folks I have met since moving to New Haven.

The league is demanding. Once you join, you are expected to attend at least two of the three practices held each week. Practices are two hours long and Waterbury is 45 minutes away from where I live, so it is a huge time commitment. There are also dues to pay and committees to join. But no matter how tired or down I am at the start of practice, by the end I am always invigorated and have laughed fitfully. One time, as we were finishing up with a circle of stretching, someone yelled, contorted on the floor, "Excuse me while I stretch my vagina."

Booty Block and Lean

Black Cherry is one of the best booty blockers in the league. At one practice she taught me how it's done. Booty blocking is a defensive move done by positioning your ass up in your opponent's face. It's how to stop jammers (the skaters who can score points) from passing your team's skaters and running up the score. When you're doing this, you are skating forward while looking back at the rest of the pack. If you're on offense, you can't bump the booty that's blocking you, or you get a penalty (a minor one). If someone's a good booty blocker, there's often no way around her. Black Cherry, Violet Riot and Tina Colada have a gift for the booty block, and are not afraid to use it.

We practice the Booty and Lean defensive and offensive moves all the time. The "Lean" is just like it sounds, except with more heft to it. It is more of a plow. Violet Riot, if leaning into me, has a way of shoving me right off of the track, plowing me out of play. I love being on her team though; she is a great director and often shouts, "Hold that line!"

Hit This

To get cleared for contact scrimmaging, you have to prove you're steady on your skates and you thoroughly understand league rules. There is also the nine-page (yikes!) written test about the rules of the sport. I missed Pepper's pep talk before the written test, which essentially allayed our nerves by telling us we probably would fail it; it was very hard, and we had better study our asses off. Virginia Woolferine, Shaden Frieda and I held study group sessions on our carpool rides. We reviewed seemingly obscure rules like the rarely used "pass the star," where a jammer can pass on their jammer status to a pivot, but only if the helmet panty with the star on it was passed legally. I just kept telling myself, "League regulations state there must be four inches between the points of each star on the right and left side of the helmet, and 33 feet between the pivot starting line and the jammer's start."

For the physical test, Fresh Meat must skate 20 laps in five minutes and five laps in one minute. We also had a two-hour grueling physical challenge—complete with a 20-minute pack squat-skate and hit-taking and receiving. The hitting part was scary for me, because I missed the "How to Hit and be Hit" tutorial. I also missed the "Hit the Rookie" drill, wherein Fresh Meats skate around the track while old masters swarm out of the sidelines and take quick shots on all the newbies: for initiation, for love.

So, there I was, in the "shallow end" of the track, skating in a circle with the other rookies. PeekaBoom!, Tina Colada and Pearl Jammer were skating with us too, and first, we were supposed to skate around them and give them a shoulder hit as we passed. After I hit Tina Colada for the first time, she said, "That is a nice hit. Harder next time."

Next, the terrifying "take a hit" circle. I was gliding along, looking behind me, waiting for one of the big girls to knock me down and out. I felt like one of those marine biologists who go underwater in a cage, spill some blood and wait for a Great White to shake them up. PeekaBoom! came at me first, and when she hit me, I saw a flash of white light spark before my eyes. No joke. It felt like that jolt you get on the first shaky turn after the plunge on the Cyclone roller coaster at Coney Island. A jab and then a throttle.

Remarkably, I was still standing. In the blow, I let out a horrid and open-mouthed scream-grunt, tennis player-style. This happened to me once with Cha Cha LaRue too. I had assured her that I could handle a full-throttle hit smiling through my mouth guard, and when she did give it to me, "EOOOOWWWWWWAHHHHHH!" was all that escaped. I laughed and apologized for my beastliness. She told me letting it out helps; it makes it hurt less.

Speaking of hurt, it occurred to me after this drill to be mindful of that old roller girl adage: "It's not if you will get hurt, it's when."

Rancid Meat

I still have to clock five hours of scrimmage time before I can get drafted onto one of the three teams. For now, I am on the Motley Crucials, which is comprised of other (at this point Rancid) Meat, and the "Crips"—people from other teams who are on the mend. Girl Fawkes is recovering from a broken collarbone, Darla from a dislocated knee. Once I am drafted, then maybe I'll be able to jam in a bout.

I'm still a peripheral member of the league. I miss every Tuesday practice because I am studying in New York; I haven't really been "out" with the girls—usually, I am too knackered after practice to party. I don't even have a tattoo yet!—though I do dream of getting a frolicking Bettie Page on my right arm. I shop around for spandex and fishnets. I even cut my bangs short and severe like the punk I wish I was. Pearl told us at tryouts "Your thighs are gonna be solid. Watch out, Suzanne Summers!" Spanking herself, she said, "Your ass is gonna get hard too." Indeed, my body's changed.

And when I drive home at night after practice, I "hold the corners" on the turns all the way down Route 63 into New Haven. Last week, I got a speeding ticket. I felt badass. Like Violet Riot would be proud of my hustle.

editor@newhavenadvocate.com

Moxie Lady (a.k.a. Alison D. Moncrief) is an English teacher in New Haven and a graduate student in poetry at New York University. She is the wife of Advocate editor Andy Bromage.