The newest breed of roller derby player sports a beard, answers to “Quadzilla” and never, ever wears fishnet stockings.
This rare species will be introduced to Canadian audiences next week, when Canada's only men's roller derby team faces their American rivals in Victoria. It's their first match on home turf, and those expecting to see scantily clad young men clobber each other while rolling around on roller skates will be severely disappointed.
“We're just guys playing a women's game,” says the team's founder, Jeff Tichbourne, of Vancouver.
Thirty years after the derby craze of the 1970s meant that both men and women could make money playing the rough-and-tumble sport on television, the sport has been redefined. Modern roller derby is athletic, overwhelmingly female and its campy sex appeal is about to go mainstream: Wh ip It, a roller derby drama that marks Drew Barrymore's directorial debut and stars Halifax native Ellen Page, will debut next week at the Toronto International Film Festival.
But with women hogging all the fun in recent years, perhaps it's no surprise that men are elbowing into the fray.
Despite some criticism from women's teams, the number of men's roller derby leagues in the United States has grown from zero to 20 in less than three years, according to the Men's Derby Coalition, an umbrella organization representing North American leagues. They include the New York Shock Exchange, Harm City Homicide in Baltimore and the Minneapolis Twin City Terrors.
The Canadian Maple Beats, as they are known, are about a dozen guys hailing from Vancouver, Montreal, Edmonton and Saskatoon. By day, they are fathers, husbands, entrepreneurs and custodians. On the rink, they are the Dutch Dangler, Mickey Mental and Referee Dalmer: speed demons who pummel their opponents while trying to score points by lapping members of the rival team. “It's a train wreck out there,” says Mr. Tichbourne, also known as Noah Backtalk.
The Canadians started a year ago, when Mr. Tichbourne discovered that men's leagues were cropping up in American cities but not in Canada.
He began recruiting male referees from the women's circuits in Western Canada. Most who responded had been introduced to the sport by their wives or girlfriends, and were either referees or devoted fans.
They played their first bout a year ago against the Puget Sound Outcasts, an experienced men's team based in Everett, Wash. Almost as soon as the so-called “Border War” got rolling, however, the Beats were in trouble.
“Honestly, the group of us that went down from Edmonton, I would say, we didn't have any business playing,” says Mike Baker, a recruiter for an environmental safety company. “We all thought, we've been around the game. We can skate. We assumed that we could do it just as well as the women. But we didn't have the same experience.” Adds Dave (Googie Gruesome) McGugan of Edmonton: “We got our butts handed to us.”
They hobbled away sore and bruised: One player took a skate to the eye, another suffered a serious shoulder injury.
It was a painful reminder that since 2000, derby has evolved from a grassroots movement into a serious sport. Good teams practice two or three times a week, with some players adding cardiovascular and weight training to their workouts. There are also drills and strategy, which include hitting people properly, learning how to take hits, how to fall and not get too injured.
Determined to improve, the Beats held a boot camp in the spring. A few players travelled to tournaments in Boston and Minnesota, and the team also added more players from Saskatoon and Montreal.
A rematch with the Puget Sound Outcasts has been set for Sept. 19 in Victoria. “I think we're going to beat them,” Mr. Tichbourne says. “I really do.”
The rules and scoring system are identical for men's and women's games, but there are other differences. The guys don't bother with sexy outfits: T-shirts and mesh shorts are worn along with helmets, mouth guards, knee and elbow pads – and a cup (highly recommended).
And while the women's game can be extremely strategic, Mr. Tichbourne says the men's game is more about brute force.
“It's not for the squeamish,” says Nolan O'Dell, or the Lord's Thug, of Saskatoon.
Despite the growing enthusiasm for men's derby, most guys have said they've gotten flak from female players, who disapprove of men invading a sport that they have struggled to establish.
“They don't like it,” Mr. McGugan says. “They think that others are going to think: It's not a real sport until guys start to do it.”
Caroline Stoeser, a member of Hamilton's Hammer City Rollers who goes by the name Mean Little Mama, says she's heard other female players complain, but she welcomes them. “I like to watch the men because they're harder hitting.”
Besides, she says, women have nothing to worry about: If given the choice, most derby fans would rather watch women go at each other. Mr. Tichbourne agrees. “We'll always be the half-time show or the first bout of a double-header.”
Male players do have fans, however. Most of them are derby girls out to cheer on their friends and partners, including Mr. Tichbourne's wife, Jen Boose, who goes by the derby name Lamb Baste-Her.
“She thinks it's an absolute blast to watch me get my butt kicked,” Mr. Tichbourne says.
