OK, can I say this without getting elbowed in the solar plexus?

Live roller derby is charming. Yes, charming. Borderline cute. Definitely endearing.

When I bought a Derby Dolls ticket to see the San Diego Hard Corps host the L.A. Sirens, I didn’t know if I was expecting classic Bay City Bombers mean girl shtick, spacey Drew Barrymore in the movie Whip It, or something in between. But what I got was more like Halloween – the trick or treating kind, not the Michael Myers kind.

This was my second attempt to catch live roller derby, having been left staring at a “Sold Out” sign in L.A.’s suddenly chic Echo Park entertainment district in December. Derby Dolls action is part of the overall scene there and understandably the province of the young and hip. At the San Diego Fairgrounds in suburban Del Mar though, a roller derby “bout” seemed more like a destination for the curious.

As I sat in the bleachers alternating between people-watching and observing warm-ups, I saw a highly diverse group of people stream in. Families with young kids mixed easily with counter-culturists of all stripes – from Goths to Shredders. And somewhat surprisingly, the bout was the Date Night activity of choice for everyone from twentysomethings to retirees.

The skaters themselves were younger than I had anticipated. In Whip It parlance, there were far more Ellen Page-style characters than the older, world-weary types that were her teammates. And they were nothing if not clever in creating their personas: Shiva Mi Timbers, Dash Assault, Anna Notherthing, Gnarly Simon, Roxy Cotton. And my personal favorite, Heidi Evidence.

It’s hard to tell whether Derby Dolls is an official sanctioning body, a loosely-affiliated collection of leagues around the country, or merely a state of mind. At the local level though, it is a decidedly grass-roots endeavor, with a hefty dose of DIY event management touches.

Event organizers and producers wear a number of hats and enlist the volunteer services of anyone willing to help. For example, I bought a $5 string of Derby Doll raffle tickets from an enterprising purple-haired girl – who was maybe ten years old. I’m going out on a limb here in guessing that she was the daughter of either a skater or an event organizer.

As for the players…well, nobody’s retiring from roller derby wealthy. For most in fact, the next game check they receive will be their first. They do this for fun, if flinging yourself with wild abandon around a banked track and bouncing off of nine other crazies can be considered “fun”. And this is all real live contact, as the sport has abandoned the staged mayhem of its roots and gone legit. Spectacular wipeouts are commonplace, as are multi-player pile-ups.

A General Admission ticket for $15 gives you standing room only rights, which isn’t all that bad. In fact, as recently as 2008, SRO was your only option in San Diego. Bleachers were subsequently introduced, and now $20 will get you an unreserved seat. This particular bout sold out the 1,200 available tickets, making for tight seating quarters, so I wound up abandoning my spot in the bleachers in favor of getting closer to the action.

The game itself is pretty basic. Each team has five skaters, one of which is the designated jammer – the “It Girl” of each jam. She starts off behind the pack and claws her way through, in order to then sprint around the track and catch up once again. Having lapped the pack, it is at this point that the jammer scores points for her team – one for each opposing skater she manages to pass.

Jams usually last either one or two full excursions through the pack before the lead jammer puts her hands on her hips to signal that she is “calling off” the jam. On one particular jam however, a Siren jammer sped around three times and scored 15 points before calling it quits to catch her breath.  

A roller derby bout consists of four 15-minute quarters which are conducted in more or less running time. Groups of skaters alternate jams, so as soon as one is over, a new set of ten skaters dashes for position to start the next. Most of the first quarter provided this kind of non-stop action, much to the delight of the vocal crowd. It really was ear-to-ear, grin-inducing fun.

Which is why it was so disappointing when it all unraveled. 

While scoring rules are simple, the penalties enforced in roller derby are myriad and sometimes incomprehensible to the casual fan. And this is where things went tragically awry. I probably should have seen it coming when the event program listed seventeen names under “Refs” – one more than the full roster of the Hard Corps team. And each of those officials was bound and determined to earn their keep.

Somewhere toward the end of the first period I began to notice that after almost every jam an Official Timeout was called, bringing everything to a grinding halt while the team of refs huddled to discuss…well, I don’t know. And for the most part, neither did the emcees announcing the event. So while skaters pawed the starting line and fans stifled yawns, refs conferred with each other. Then with both coaches. Then with each other again. Wash, rinse, repeat.

It was so interruptive I started reflexively looking around for ESPN cameras.  

And the thing of it was, very rarely did some definitive statement emerge as to what they were reviewing. They could have been sharing bean dip recipes, for all we knew. A case in point:  After one jam, one of the team coaches requested a ruling. The refs huddled for almost ten minutes, finally emerging with a definitive decision – Do Over. Seriously.

Tacked on top of the lengthy delays caused by Official Timeouts were the extensive breaks between quarters. Halftime was interminable. A band that was set up behind the bleachers had time to play a full set – including an encore. And it wasn’t as if this was being done to allow the skaters to rest and strategize in the locker room. For the most part, they were mingling (and dancing) with friends in the General Admission area.

   

I began to long for the relative brevity of a Super Bowl halftime extravaganza.

A couple of points here. First, the event producers had full control of the time and agenda. They were not held hostage by television programmers.

Second, although the crowd was indeed populated by many that knew the skaters personally, this was most definitely not a “Friends & Family” type of event, i.e. one conducted almost irrespective of whether anyone at all is in attendance. This was a for-profit event created at least in part to draw fans. Which it did – before alienating them by disrespecting their time and attention.

The Bird had wanted badly to accompany me to this event, but wound up with another commitment. During the first quarter of the bout I decided that she must indeed experience this, and mentally committed to a return engagement. Two hours later though, when a break between quarters and two timeouts combined to limit live action to just four minutes out of 30 minutes of elapsed time, I bailed. Enough.

“Was it fun? When’s the next one?” The Bird asked.

“It could’ve been, but I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t want to see for yourself,” was my reply.

It’s a shame really. This event had so much promise, so much grass-roots karma going for it. Usually it’s television that wrings the life out of live events, but in this case the wound was completely self-inflicted.

But in a completely charming way, for what it’s worth.

Next Up:  I stalk a competitor in the PGA Tour’s Bob Hope Classic