“Do you Skate with That Thing?”

I had just met my first Rosebud when she turned to a member of the High Rollers team standing behind me and asked JK Rolling – also the coach of the Rosebuds – this question.

“Of course,” Rolling answered as though she had just been asked whether she was aware it rains in Portland – straightforward with only the slightest hint of irony.

The Rosebud’s jaw dropped slightly, stunned, but her look quickly turned to a smile and admiration for her coach. Her response prompted me to turn around and find out what could elicit such a reaction.

“That thing” in question was a hard, purple cast stretching from Rolling’s elbow, past her wrist, and over her knuckles. Realizing she, too, was a skater, I wondered whether the Rosebud’s initial response was concern for Rolling’s safety, and if the smile that showed up moments later was for the lack of safety for the other women on the track.

This was my introduction to the world of derby outside of the rowdy hanger bouts and boisterous Expo Center events. This was a Wednesday night scrimmage - something all teams take part in dozens of times throughout the season. This was nothing new or special to any of these women. Of course.

I’m new to all of this. I’ve been to a handful of bouts over the past year, and know as much about derby as I do about stopping an oil spill: I’m simultaneously impressed and intimidated by what I see, and know enough to know I’m better off on the sidelines making comments.

But here I was on a Wednesday night, unintentionally sitting in the middle of the Guns ‘n Rollers team warming up for their scrimmage, one of several dozen people (not including those in uniform) taking it all in.

Teammates paint each other’s nails while others put on knee, wrist, and elbow pads. JK Rolling, the woman with the broken arm, shows up before her scrimmage against GnR is about to begin with her cast covered by a purple-painted hockey glove. There are members of the fresh-meat squad, waiting desperately for the draft in August, warming up with the girls already on teams, hoping to get a chance to skate in the scrimmage.

The scene at the hangar last night was slightly more casual and relaxed than I anticipate the mood will be tomorrow for the semi-final bout. People greet each other as they enter the hangar: “Hey Smack!” “Great to see you, Scratch!”. Others shout to players on the track: “Get in there, Blood!” “Nice block, Mangles!” Players from each team interact before, during, and after the scrimmage. While I know these women spend several hours a week together, - not to mention skate for travel teams together – the camaraderie around the hangar is higher than I expect.

And I don’t fit in.

Not only am I sitting in one of two folding chairs in the hangar – as opposed to on the track or in the bleachers – I’m introducing myself as “Alexis” to women named “Axl Blows” and “Cher the Pain.” I’m definitely the only person writing things down, hoping to find clarification for my questions online somewhere later.

Let’s back up.

A good friend of mine is a derby widow, someone deeply involved in the league, one of dozens of people who spend their weekends driving to and from the hangar, hosts travel teams at her house, all while raising kids and going to school. Knowing I was a fan of both derby and writing, she recently asked if I’d be interested in doing some writing for the league’s blog. I’m an English major, finishing up my degree with no real prospects after I graduate in a couple of weeks. Am I interested in a volunteer writing gig? Of course.

A week later, I’ve read the WFTDA rule book (43 pages of derby legal code, pretty much), watched videos on various websites, and still found myself totally lost watching my first scrimmage. The play-by-play announcers at the bouts make a huge difference. Why a skater is in on her way to the penalty box is not something I’d be able to tell you, but her dismay is written all over her face and that’s something I can read.

Back to the scrimmage.

Members of GnR are analyzing the Break Neck Betties’ blocking strategy while I try to figure out what the difference between a major and a minor penalty is. Scratcher in the Eye has managed to break through the wall the Betties have created. Skaters are knocked down and penalties are being called in each jam. The refs aren’t taking crap from the players, but the players are still happy to give it to them and the opposing team. On her way to the penalty box one skater yells “It was worth it!” to the refs. If you’d never been to an actual bout, with the crowds, the chants, and the Pabst, you’d never know this was just practice.

That is, until GnR and the High Rollers are up, and on her second or third jam, lead jammer Blood Clottia busts her way through the pack and on her way around the track yells at the ref: “Can we get some music?!”

Of course. Because roller derby isn’t about knowing the difference between a major and a minor penalty, having a badass name, or fitting in. It’s about having fun with other skaters, playing (and practicing) through pain and broken limbs, rocking out on the track, getting on the ground with the other hundred people in the hangar and moving the track together, and singing “Don’t Stop Believing” with a group of strangers. (I only made one of those things up.)

Was Wednesday night special in any way? Not that I could tell. These women live and breathe derby, only getting the month of July off during the year. Well, unless of course she is on a travel team in which case she can plan on skating through July, too.

To me what makes this sport so incredibly captivating is that any and all of the things I noticed last night could have happened on any other night, and probably do. I mostly stuck to my corner near the door, who knows what I missed on the other side of the track. That, in addition to the fantastic competition, is what keeps people coming back. That is why there are over a hundred people involved in the league, with only one paid employee.

Should you be excited for the semi-finals this weekend?

Of course.