Where Bruises Are Badges

The wheels are cleaned, the helmets are on, the floor is marked with an oval track. The war paint is streaked, the skates are laced, the opponents take their places. It’s a summer Saturday, and the Tallahassee Roller Derby is ready to go all out.

Today’s game, on July 26 at Florida A&M University’s Hansel E. Tookes Recreation Center, is the team’s second and last of the season’s home games since COVID-19 and a subsequent venue loss disrupted their regular operations. Their first home game was a loss, so what will they make of this chance? It’s a new day for the derby, a moment the team has been preparing for all season; in a way, they’ve been preparing since the team’s genesis. 

Carol Hendrix has been with the team almost since its 2006 origin. Hendrix—who would soon be Aggie Battery, a referee known around the world as derby has spread—saw the team scrimmage under their previous name, the Tallahassee Roller Girls, at the Tallahassee Fairgrounds in 2006. “It was packed, and the audience was having a wonderful time. The skaters were having a wonderful time,” Hendrix says. She thought to herself, “I can do this,” and went to the very next practice.

Back then, derby was in the midst of a major transition: from fishnet-clad “sideshow” sports entertainment into a genuine athletic event. In the early 2000s, roller derby had already renounced the WWE-esque fake punches and takedowns of its predecessor leagues, but theatrics were still a critical part of the game—including costumes and props that matched the players’ derby personas. A “carnival” atmosphere accompanied Tallahassee Roller Derby (TRD) games: La Voodoo might blow baby powder from her hands to simulate smoke, or Trailer Thrash might throw a baby doll into the crowd. Local bands played during intermissions. If you’ve visited Bird’s Aphrodisiac Oyster Shack, you may have noticed relics of this era on the walls.

Photos by Daniel Shippey Photography

However, a new wave of genuine athleticism was taking over the sport. This is what attracted the team’s current captain, Maggie Jones, better known as Moxie Knockout, one month after the league’s conception. While working at Gordo’s, a coworker asked Jones, who’d “played sports all [her] life,” if she’d ever considered derby. “I watched one practice,” she says, “and just went, ‘Oh, yeah. Yeah. That’s me.’”

In the 19 years since Hendrix and Jones joined the team, the shift toward safety and skating skills has become even more pronounced. Members of the Women’s Flat Track Derby Association have voted in a plethora of gameplay rules that aim to protect skaters; these rules include the minimum Skills Requirements for Skaters, which all players must meet before participating in a sanctioned game (these skills are drilled at TRD practices, which unite hard work with an incredible amount of laughter).

Once skaters meet the requirements, it’s not uncommon to learn skills above and beyond. Waltz jumps, apex jumps, 360-degree spins: “Now that has become the incredible spectacle at our games, along with all the super fun, cool stuff on the side,” says Jones. Derby is now an “absolute, stunning display of athleticism.”

But the skills required to play derby don’t make the sport any less accessible. All experience levels are welcome. All body types are needed. Every derby player has to start somewhere, and in the case of the Tallahassee Roller Derby, so many players started from scratch.

Current TRD Vice President Patricia Singetary, aka Daffo-Kill (a name in honor of her cat, Daffodil), participated in the outdoor-skating trend during the pandemic but chose derby to “bring chaos into [her] life” in the best way. She joined the annual TRD bootcamp, then regular practice. Of her beginning, she says, “I thought it would be hard, and it was, but it was never undoable. And that felt good.”

Photos by Daniel Shippey Photography

Kie Butler-Hill, aka Resting Hit Face, who joined bootcamp with no experience and is now one of the team’s star players, recalls getting stuck on the speed requirement, which asks skaters to make 27 laps around the track in 5 minutes. When she made it—after blood, sweat, and tears—she remembers: “I cried. The person counting my laps cried because […] everyone knew that was my one hangup.” It was a team-wide celebration, a reflection of the level of support that skaters find in the sport.

For new teammates, Jones says, “you don’t need to know how to roller skate. We will teach you. You only need to come equipped with an attitude that says, ‘If I fall, I am getting right back up.’”

When roller derby players find community in the sport, they also find community outside of their own team. At games, “the level of competitiveness is absolutely astounding,” says TRD Head Coach Chelsea Davis, aka Andy Wardoll. But by the end, “… the winners are hugging the opposing team, and the losing team is cheering and crying for their friends on the team that just won.” Opposing teams often celebrate together after a game or welcome each other at practice when members travel. “You have best friends in every city on earth,” says Jones.

Today, the Tallahassee Roller Derby is looking for a permanent venue in which to welcome derby players from around the world—and new members they will treasure like old friends. When Tallahassee Indoor Sports was forced to close during the pandemic, TRD lost both their place to skate and the feeling of being at home. Now, they’re dreaming of what might make for a perfect venue.

“Free reign” is important to Jones. “We have so many incredibly capable people on our team who know how to build things, paint things, beautify a space,” she says. Bleachers would be nice, too.

No matter where they play their games, Hendrix has a simple wish: a private practice space with storage.

Photos by Daniel Shippey Photography

Butler-Hill wants somewhere centrally located, with a shady parking lot, and “magic air-conditioning,” she says. “Maybe something’s out there hiding. You have to put things out into the universe.”

Singetary mentions the importance of the emotional space the team provides, too. Roller derby is a known haven for the queer community and welcomes people from all walks of life.

The home team has arrived at Tookes Recreation Center. Hendrix says Tallahassee has “a very smart league, frankly,” but here, daytime identities—artist, graduate student, retired law enforcement officer, city employee, grant program director, parent—are augmented with derby charisma and power.

Spectators are packing the gymnasium to see this display of grit and skill. The small bleachers are full, and most folks have brought camping chairs. On a small interior balcony overlooking the action, a makeshift band in bunny ears plays percussion and one horn. Like any other sporting event, the merch table is swamped.

But when the first whistle blows, all eyes are on the skaters.

In the first half, the Tallahassee Roller Derby builds a commanding lead. Each 30-minute half consists of 2-minute “jams” where the jammers attempt to score points by passing opposing blockers as they skate around the track. The jammers cycle out, and each has a different style of play. Soulja Crab, for instance, slips invisibly by the blockers, and the crowd erupts every time. Ace of Skates keeps a look of concentration on her face as she powers through the opposing wall. The team on the sidelines cheers each jammer on.

Photos by Daniel Shippey Photography

Something Jones said comes to mind: “I get to be the loudest, most intense, most vibrant, brilliant version of myself [in derby], and I am celebrated for that. Because there are so many instances when women have been conditioned to not act like that.”

By the second half, with TRD up 99 to 40, the mood has shifted slightly; it almost feels like relief. Though the game isn’t over, the skaters need to ride this wave and relax into their lead. And they do.

There are some incredible jams, and the tenacious blockers like Resting Hit Face and Daffo-Kill keep the other team’s score low. When jammer Killer Kate makes it through the pack, a small smile exposes her mouthguard. The final score is 206 TRD, 72 for the Montgomery Roller Derby.

The game ends with the crowd circling the track as the teams skate by for high fives. The home team builds a tunnel out of their bodies, and the opposing team skates through. Even when the final score is announced, the crowd seems hesitant to leave this environment of friendship and passion.

There’s something for everyone to take from the game. After all, derby shows us that with support and the courage to get back up, we can become bigger, richer, bolder versions of ourselves.