Fresno’s amateur roller derby team, the Smog City Roller Grrrls, is having its first bout on June 16, 2007 at 6pm at the Fresno Fairgrounds. As a female working on a community paper, I was looking forward to learning more about this group of women in our community who are certainly out there doing something different and interesting, and I was excited that I had arranged to talk to a few of the team members at their practice.

As I drove up to the rink in Madera where they practice, already I could appreciate and relate to the dedication of a group of people who would make such a trip not because they were getting paid, but because of their commitment and enthusiasm. When I arrived at the rink, the practice was already underway with the team running a drill called the “snow plough,” a method of slowing down with a wide stance. It was really fun to watch them! I started wishing I had skates with me too, but that was quickly followed by the wish that I had a helmet, kneepads… for that matter, a whole suit of armor, because these girls are fast, and they’re tough.

“Does everyone feel confident about it?” the one leading the practice yelled. Several of the team members yelled “No!” so they ran it again.

Even in practice, though, they radiate confidence, and they embrace their drills. They fall, and they quickly pick themselves back up. No one picks them up, but their teammates cheer them on even as they are bumping each other out of the way. You can’t help but wish that your workplace were more like that, and not just because of the roller skates.

The rink becomes a swirl of shiny helmets, tattoos, black tights and argyle socks, and black, pink, and red clothing. With their speed and their extra height from the roller skates, the rink feels so small as they zip around. You’re overwhelmed by the urgency of too many molecules moving too quickly. You get to watch the pot boiling over, and it’s truly exhilarating.

For their next drill, they learn a way to block someone behind them. “Turn and elbow her,” the coach demonstrating an elbow to the chest of a teammate. “For real?” someone asks. Before they begin, someone yells out a reminder for everyone to wear their mouthpieces. They look and sound like freight trains (albeit laughing freight trains) striving to be detached from their trailing cars.

New team members are called “fresh meat” and are on a three-month probation period. During this time, they improve and are evaluated on their skill, attitude, and commitment. They participate in the practices (twice a week) and the frequent community service the group performs. The “fresh meat” to whom spoke said that she wanted to join the group because it looked like fun. She admitted that she was apprehensive at first, but that the group had been really welcoming.

We even talked a little bit about The Undercurrent, with which she was not already familiar. It felt neat—two members of community groups just talking about their interests. I continued to watch those practicing, thinking that it’s like watching race cars, only you don’t really expect one to spin off the track and burst into flames.

Yet flames came. After a while, I was informed by a different member of the team that I was not supposed to talk to “fresh meat” because of the probationary period. I explained what we had been talking about, and my admonisher skated away.

Then the freight train derailed, at least for me. Another member of the team sternly/bossily said that I was not supposed to be talking to the “fresh meat.” I tried explaining that I wanted someone’s personal perspective, but this member was clearly more upset. I calmly pleaded that she didn’t have to use the tone she was using, but she said that I was condescending and unprofessional. She said that all the other journalists they had talked to had been really cooperative; channel 24 was coming out to interview them, and she’d hate to have to retract the things I said in my article. She said she was not comfortable with my being there and that I had an agenda. She asked me to leave, and she skated away.

What does this all mean? Obviously, in the 45 minutes of watching them practice and being more or less ignored by most of them, I understood little about the Smog City Roller Grrrls culture that I was trying to learn about. Why would an individual assume that she could tell a journalist (of sorts) whom not to talk to in a public setting? What kind of agenda can someone have regarding a roller derby team? Can one person retract something that another organization says? Should I feel guilty for being disappointed that channel 24 (NBC) was more credible in this individual’s eyes than a community paper like The Undercurrent? That said, the Smog City Roller Grrrls are a community as well, and I’m sure that the reactions I experienced from one individual are not representative of all members of this community. Unfortunately, I did not have the opportunity to speak to anyone else at the practice, and after what happened, I wouldn’t have been in the mood to speak to anyone else anyway.

I was hoping to walk away with an understanding of their goals, motivations, and community. I watched as that moment of aggression glided from the rink to about three feet away from me and my notebook, then back to the rink. I gathered my things, feeling as if I too had been elbowed in the ribs. I had the opportunity to experience only the spectacle of the Smog City Roller Grrrls… but what a spectacle it is!