I wore leather and brought
ear-plugs. I expected a dark,
smoky room. I expected adults
sitting on sticky beer-spilled seats, elbow-to-elbow and tough. I expected swearing and loud shouting,
fist-pumping and screams, but I didn’t expect what I found. The Morristown women’s roller derby
scene was charming.
Smack in the middle of Morristown
proper is a large, covered, cinderblock building one story high. It houses a roller derby rink or flat
track as it’s called because it’s skated on a gym-type floor without banked
sides. The course itself is
delineated by a single ½ inch rope taped onto the floor in a large oval with an
island in the center. In the
center island wander various judges with clip-boards and whistles. On the night I was there one judge was
wearing candy striped socks and an apron over her skirt; another wore a pink
tutu. Out of bounds, along both
ends—in their own folding chairs— sat families! Parents, grandparents and children of all ages! The lighting was bright, the mood was
jovial and the entertainment was fast moving and fascinating.
The Jerzey Derby Brigade is two
divisions of competitive skaters—varsity and JV-- comprised of area women, some
of whom you would be surprised to find derby skating; some you wouldn’t. The night of the season opener—they
play April through November with summers off—the two divisions played each
other. Eighteen women took on one
another in what was an educational and delightful early evening’s
entertainment. Captains Doom
Hilda and Easthell Getty led off the game at 7pm sharp with stars on their
helmets, which meant they were the jammers. As such, they were saddled with the mission of skating
through the pack then lapping as often as possible without being bulied to the
ground or nudged out of bounds.
They wore fishnets and knee-pads with satin shorts and tight tops. The captains were supported by
co-captains Baked Beanz and Bruta Lee and flanked by team members in braids and
pig-tails with and names like Anita Chainsaw, Inna Propriate, Assault Shaker
and River Slam. One of the girls
had a peplum of lime green feathers along her backside and tattoos were too
numerous to count.
As wacky as their outfits were,
these girls wanted to win. I
watched coaches Beast Witherspoon and Syd Deuce call plays from the sidelines
and when players were occasionally fouled, the offenders skated over to a row
of elementary school-sized chairs designated the penalty box. Parents, friends, and the children of
these rough and rowdy women called out “Go Mommy!” from laps. When the pizza order arrived-- slices
sold for two bucks, as well as soda, chips and Derby Brigade T-shirts.
One of the guys on the sidelines
was particularly vocal, supporting one of the more wily skaters as she circled
gracefully, earning points for her team.
“Do you know her?” I asked.
“That’s my girlfriend,” he beamed.
“Awesome. What does she do when she’s not skating?”
“She teaches fifth grade.”
Of course she does, I thought. Talk about blowing off a little steam. I learned that the women
are mostly between 20 and 40 years old, but that the oldest skater is in her
late fifties. I learned that there
is an attorney, a government worker and a librarian among other 9-5
working-women and that most of them are moms. I learned that his girlfriend Maggy Kyllanfall loves the
game, which was clear to me by her steely focus and enthusiasm on the track. I would have awarded her the MVP
award. He was clearly proud.
He taught me that there’s no
elbowing in the game and no pushing from behind. The blockers can’t trip, kick or grab-- all things the
delightful color commentators had said as they bandied on mics over a background
of energetic rock music. They did
a terrific job of explaining the game to the audience every step of the
way. Their banter was playful and
informative and I learned more than I ever could have imagined. Then, at halftime, referees William
Skatespeare, Hannibal Hector and Stud Muffin blew their whistles, the skaters
cleared the rink and we readied ourselves for the half-time show.
This show was cast by what appeared
to be the entire roster of dancers enrolled at the Peter Smith School of Irish
Dance, established in 1956. Out
they pranced, dancer after dancer, resplendent in parade-worthy sequins and the
curliest, bounciest hair you ever did see. They high-kicked and hot-stepped to the friendly trill of
accordions and Irish pipes and the smile never left my face. Each class dazzled us with their fancy
footwork and pristine choreography.
Each dancer’s costume was more colorful than the last. The audience was roused to clap along
and we did so, happily transported to our own Brigadoon, nestled in the middle
of Morristown, during a women’s roller derby match; only in New Jersey.
The second half of the derby
concluded with the winners taking a victory lap and receiving hugs and flowers
from their families. By 8:30pm
they were pulling up the tape on the floor as folks folded up their chairs and took
little ones by the hand. I folded
my programs for the Jerzey Derby Brigade and Irish dancing. Both were recruiting new talent and
both seemed like a lot of fun, though tons of hard work and a big time
commitment. I considered this then
concluded: Why choose when I can have both? You bet I’ll be back.
Oh, I will.
