The Wake

Rebel Stella’s long blonde dreads whip through the air as she collides with fellow RollerGirls jostling for position on a flat track in Roy Wilkins Arena. Announcer Scotty Cruz, clad in a Feather boa, relentlessly goads 3,200 fans to chant, “Faster, faster, kill kill kill!” as the Dagger Dolls battle the Rockits around the track. Even from the cheap-seats, obstructed view and all, Stella’s ferocity is as tangible as the hard plastic seat impaling my butt bone. Welcome to the roller derby, Minnesota-style.

Today’s derby is a far cry from the choreographed fighting and pre-determined bouts of the ‘70s. The Minnesota RollerGirls are serious athletes. They talk more trash than Terrell Owens on game night, deal harsher blows than Kurt Angle on WWE Smackdown and work their barely-covered asses off in bouts and at practice. All while having fun and oozing sex appeal.

“It’s a fine line we walk, being an entertaining sport and projecting an image that isn’t trashy,” said Head Trauma, who along with sisters Flogging Molly and Rolls Wilder started the league in August of ’04.

It might not help that the RollerGirls have a staunch dedication to “beating the crap out of each other.” Or that their uniforms flash more skin than they hide. What stops them from teetering into a realm of trash-tastic, B-pornos is the obvious athleticism and endurance it takes to compete in the 14-minute long bouts.

Before I continue, here’s the dirt on the derby. The Minnesota RollerGirls have four teams: the Dagger Dolls, Rockits, Garda Belts and Atomic Bombshells. Two teams compete during a bout, and there are four bouts per night. The team with the highest score after two bouts wins. To score, the jammer must skate a full lap around the track, while the blockers, five girls from each team, skate in a pack and try to stop the opposing team’s jammer from lapping them. The jammer’s team receives a point for each person they lap. Just picture a mosh-pit on wheels circling a high school track, after it was blasted by Wayne Szalinski’s electro-magnetic shrinking machine.

Marilyn Monrogue, a feisty Dagger Doll in a bright pink plaid miniskirt that matches the streaks in her shaggy blonde hair, sums it up best: “It’s like roller skating and beating up girls.”

A whistle blows. For 30 seconds, 50 legs clad in fishnets and tights pump at full throttle. One hundred wheels push off the smooth surface of the Excel Energy Center’s floor, then 100 more, repeating again and again until each RollerGirl glides faster and faster, with the intensity of hell on wheels.

A second whistle blows and the girls, decked in helmets, and elbow, wrist and knee guards, slow. But only slightly.The pattern repeats for 8 minutes and 59 seconds. Whistle. Take off. Whistle. Slow. At nine minutes, the girls bend over so their torsos are horizontal with the pale gray floor and clasp their hands behind their backs. The whistle blows again, and for 20 seconds they sprint. Then slow. Then sprint. Then slow, until miles of skating leave them gasping for air.

Told ya they work hard.

In two years, the Minnesota RollerGirls have grown from one woman’s dream (to play a sport tougher than rugby) to a nationally recognized league of 80 skaters, eight refs and countless volunteers. Not bad for a state known for its “nice.”

They’ve also moved from Cheap Skate, a roller rink in Coon Rapids (maximum capacity = 1,500), to the Roy Wilkins Auditorium (maximum capacity = 5,500).

“Last year we had a giant inter-league bout, but we had to wait until Jimmy’s 8-year-old birthday party finished, then wrap up before boogie night,” said Seamonster, a ref/coach, as he rolled back and forth on black skates he bought off a RollerGirl.

Without massive fan support, the RollerGirls would still be encroaching on grade-schoolers’ turf. Also without the RollerGirls and the superfans, the men sitting front row and track side at every bout, would have to find another event appropriate to wear kilts and paint their faces silver (in support of the Garda Belts), or to strap on football pads adorned with doll heads (in support of the Dagger Dolls).

Despite their record-breaking crowd one week earlier, the RollerGirls are still at the mercy of boat exhibitions and home-and-patio shows. The latter having currently hi-jacked their practice space in the “legendary Roy,” forcing them into the Excel center’s concourse for two hours of speed drills and endurance training Sunday night.

On the final lap, Miss Adventure’s legs collapse beneath her 6-foot plus frame. Knees first, she expertly slides to a stop, close enough to see the broken blood vessels on her left arm bursting forth in protest of their premature demise. Only three shades of blue, purple and red, the bruise is a love bite compared to the broken bones, torn ligaments and Texas-sized shiners inherent to the sport.

In the end, said Snake Bite, “It’s worth all the pain and the ice packs to do it.”