Jammers, skates, blockers and bruises:
why the risks of derby are more than worth it for Toronto's rough-and-tumble roller girls

If feminist punk icons Bikini Kill were a sport - they'd be the new, re-invented, all-girl Roller Derby. And Coldplay would be golf.
-Steven Wells, guardian.co.uk

Deep in the heart of Downsview park lies a once empty warehouse. Inside light spills through dusty grids of wall size windows onto a black track raised an inch above the floor. This, is where the girl fights take place.

As the clock ticks closer to game time, fans fill into the ten green bleachers surrounding the track and spill onto the concrete, first on lawn chairs and then inching closer, sitting cross-legged on the floor. The beverage of choice is Bud, served from a can. An Elvis Costello look-alike passes out flyers for Toronto's Pillow Fighting Leauge. The merch stand sells fans posters, buttons, stickers and tee-shirts, the concession pizza and beer. Behind a team bench a mother nurses a baby.

This is the Toronto Roller Derby. It's Sunday, September 20, and today the girls are playing in a bit of a grudge match. Both teams have a clean record in the 2009 season, which began in May. The two are already scheduled to play in the finals in November, but one team will leave today with a soiled record, and a loss of bragging rights.

After a country singer belts out the Canadian anthem the action finally begins. First each team skates in, high fiving the opposing skaters, who are kneeling next to the track. One team, the Gore Gore Girls, flys a leopard print flag, fake blood dripping in lipstick-red down their cheeks. The other, the Smoke City Betties, skates in matching blue lame short shorts, finished off with fishnets, bandanas, and other assorted pieces of personal flare. #34, Lacy Brawler, even has a matching blue mouthguard.

In the centre of the room are the referees. One sports a nose ring and a mohawk-mullet, with the moniker "Elvis Reffsley" stitched on the back of his jersey. Another has her dreadlocks tied into two thick pigtails and tucked underneath a black and white helmet that reads "Nicki Nine Lives".

As the speed of the skating quickens the number of crashes quickly increases. Body checks, side glides, full on face plants and the occasional pile-up occur. Elbows are thrown, shoulders tossed, and skirts pulled--all in the pursuit of a 4-wheeled win.

The crowd shouts suggestions, encouragments, and commentary. "Look out behind you!" screams one voice. "Push 'em!", "Common refs!" and "Go Betties!" follow others. In the back row of the bleachers closest to the team benches a middled aged man in a sweatervest bangs his hand against an empty Dasani bottle shouts, "Get mean girls!"

And get mean they do. Co-Captain of the Smoke City Betties, Hot Roller, takes a hit that stops gameplay. A soft cry echoes through the suddenly silent room, and a stretcher systematically makes its way across the track towards the fallen roller girl. A neck brace is placed on Hot Roller, and skaters from both teams help her onto the stretcher as she's pulled away to a poliet applause.

Make no mistake, some of the punk-rock personas, like Demolition Dawn and Motley Cru-ela, stay on the track when the derby girls go back to their nine-to-fives as librarians, hair dressers, bankers and university professors. But all of the toughness is real.

Smoke City Betty's Jewel Kicker says someone breaks a bone or leaves on a stretcher nearly every game, and some never skate again. Kicker knows the risk, but for her it's worth it. It's not a matter of whether you get hurt, she says, it's a matter of when. "We all know that," she says, but adds, "It's a risk we're all willing to accept--for some crazy reason."

More crazy reasons, the end of the game, and the hospital results when my next feature, the story of the Toronto City Roller girls and the spread of roller derby culture, comes out later this week.