Sex on Wheels

“I’m in love with a roller derby queen…”  sang Jim Croce in his 1972 ditty about an infatuation with a girl “built like a regrigerator with a head.”  Flash forward thirty years and you’ll find Roller Derby experiencing both a resurgence in popularity and a renaissance of realism.  No longer is it a feminized version of the WWE with chicks on skates.  Stripped from its former presentation laden with scripted events and fake hits, the women competing in the sport now are for real…and I couldn’t be happier.
 

My hometown of Indianapolis is lucky enough to have a competitive derby team known as the Naptown Roller Girls (Naptown being the colloquial term often used in place of the city's true name...being it's so damn exciting to live here).  They won their first match against a squad from Nashville, Tennessee on January 13th.  I pondered going to see it, but instead had the opportunity to be at the RCA dome watching the Colts humiliate LJ and the Chiefs in the AFC Wildcard game.  Their second bout is slated for February 3rd against the Derby Girls of Fort Wayne.  I’m seriously thinking that my attendance will be mandatory.

The rules of Roller Derby can be read here. Personally, I find them more than a modicum complicated. Some sort of mumbo jumbo involving blockers, jammers, laps, and penalties. I’m not entirely sure the whole rule set is even needed.  I'd simply them such:

• #1 - Skate around in a circle
• #2 - Knock people down
• #3 - See rules one and two

See, isn't that much more simple and straight forward?

What’s the appeal?  Young women in skating around in circles beating the crap out of each other while clad in spandex, resplendent in tattoos, and decorated in scars and bruises.  What in life could possibly be as grand?  This incredible marriage of circus and sadism.  An intertwining of beauty and violence.  Poetry and pain.  What’s not to love? 

 At the very least, I think the popularity (the squad’s first bout sold 2300 tickets at pricepoints of $10 and $15) is due in part to a common subconscious male fantasy:  women hurting each other, of course.  And why not?  Or rather, “Y” not…as in Y-chromosome.  What man out there has not been emotionally injured by the so-called gentler sex?  Precious few, I’d wager.  And when someone harms you, it’s a natural human instinct to want to push back.  Alas, deeply ingrained societal mores would likely frown on an act such as shooting an adulterous girlfriend in the face with bazooka.  With this gratification withheld, the chance to see a cute, innocuous-looking red-head get blind-sided and skid thirty feet on her moneymaker becomes all the more entertaining.

Certainly a workable theory, but I’m not absolutely sure it applies…at least not 100% in my case.  Many of us also are turned on by strong women.  I don’t care for demure, soft women.  Give me sinew, strength, and attitude any day.  Keep your Jessica Simpsons, Lindsay Lohans, or Kate Mosses (...Mossii?).  Just save me Evangeline Lily.

 And put her on skates.