Turning thirty at the roller derby

“It’s springtime!“ boomed the commentator at the Minnesota RollerGirls roller derby. An exciting time for Minnesotans as they come out of frozen hibernation and a big day for me as the first day of spring is my birthday.

The Legendary Roy Wilkins Auditorium in downtown Saint Paul was full of thousands of roller derby fans revved up on springtime warmth and ready to cheer on the Minnesota RollerGirls. I had no idea what to expect. Then the lights started flashing, the music started blaring, the blue-haired commentator started shouting and out skated (roller skates, not blades) the Rockits and the Garda Belts. Two teams of feisty women in florescent minidresses and brightly coloured, pattered pantyhose (a much more fun word than tights!).

Roller derby has been reclaimed and revamped from the ashes of its 1970’s predecessor. As the programme clarifies, ’Hair pulling, punching, etc. went the way of macramé and satin jackets.’ That said, roller derby is still a full-on contact sport. Ten women (five from each team) are on the circular track at the same time - two jammers, six blockers and two pivots. The pivots lead the pack around the track while the jammers try to make their way through the blockers to the front. Points are scored when the jammer passes members of the opposite team. Blocking tactics are pretty ferocious - pushing, shoving and pulling are all par for the course, with girls going flying off the track into the audience, crashing down on their knees, belly and bum. We winced when Dudezilla, co-captain of the Rockits, collided with two others and had to sit out the rest of the show.

The best part of watching ten women whizz around a roller rink isn’t their short dresses (although Tom may disagree), but their names. All players have an alter ego that the commentators clearly enjoy: There’s Harmony Killerbruise, Flora Flipabitch, Venus Thightrap and the crowd’s favourite, Suzie Smashbox, which was chanted around the auditorium. My favourite is Chinese Takeout, my former flatmate, now an Atomic Bombshell celebrity. These girls really are superstars around town - you can buy their player cards, people queue up for autographs and they get recognised when out on the tiles. They do it all for love not money - training three times a week, competing in tournaments and volunteering in the community - for all the money raised from ticket sales, sponsorship and merchandise goes to charity.

When it’s all over Wet Spot, the janitorial artist, does a final lap of the track cleaning up spilt beer and firing T-shirts into the crowd through an automatic drainpipe.

Fun as the roller derby was, we shunned the official after party in favour of my favourite bar in Minneapolis - Nye’s Polonaise Room. Nye’s is an eccentric bar with an eclectic crowd. It’s all heavy velvet, thick carpets and candle light. White-haired locals sat around a piano and crooned karaoke oldies; hipsters laughed and sipped martinis; a transvestite chatted up the doorman and through the double doors in the polka bar the (self-proclaimed) world’s most dangerous polka band was in full swing. An old man alternated between growling down a microphone and playing the trumpet while his large-kneed partner remained seated playing the accordion. People young and old did bad dancing in front.

I’m not sure what women of my age are supposed to be doing - having a successful career, buying houses, making babies perhaps? - but right now I am having fun doing random things in strange parts of the world.