Roller derby: This is serious

Patty Curran put it bluntly: The 44-year-old from the Jersey Shore, a tiny woman with a thin, muscled build and black hair in braids, wants to roller derby with the Philly Roller Girls. No matter what it takes.

"I'd do anything to make this league. Literally," she said, no trace of a smile on her lips. "This is huge."

To prepare for the big event, Curran had spent two years playing with a smaller league in central Jersey under the name "Redneck Roller," a shout-out to her Florida roots. She more recently added weightlifting and speed-skating drills to her workouts.

She's the mother of four, grandmother of one, but no one would know that to see her rock around the rink on old-fashioned four-wheeled skates. She bodychecks as hard as anyone, yet she has a near-perfect French manicure. Her 7-year-old son wore a "My Mom skates faster than your Mom" T-shirt.

Curran looked at the current team of Roller Girls with awe and respect.

"I'd be honored to play with them," she said.

Almost five years ago, the Philly Roller Girls brought roller derby back to a city that last saw the sport in the mid-1970s. And it has flourished.

The league has doubled in size, with about 70 skaters. Game attendance has grown steadily: The three Philly Roller Girls teams used to play in a 200-person auditorium in New Jersey. Now they're routinely filling the 750-seat 23d Street Armory - and the Girls find themselves turning would-be spectators away. This year, the Philly Roller Girls hosted the officially sanctioned National Championships - "The Declaration of Derby" - at the Convention Center, going into the tournament as the No. 1 seed. (They didn't win the cup.)

"The Philly Roller Girls are among the most competitive in the nation, and they're one of the top five leagues," said Juliana Gonzales, executive director of the Women's Flat Track Derby Association, the sport's governing body. "They're very well-respected by their peers."

Roller derby was created in the 1930s as a skating marathon and grew in popularity in the 1950s and '60s. It's been featured in songs such as Jim Croce's "Roller Derby Queen," celebrating "the meanest hunk o' woman that anybody ever seen." Derby - which combines athleticism with attitude, sexy outfits with safety gear - also has been featured in films such as the recent Ellen Page/Drew Barrymore movie Whip It.

Yet even with all the attention, the Roller Girls are basically the same old lovable bunch, said Mishel "Violet Temper" Castro, one of the most experienced team members.

"Our main ethos hasn't changed: It's still very much DIY, skater-owned. Everybody has a voice. Everybody contributes to the league," said Castro, 34, of Fishtown. Yet the skills stakes are higher. "It used to be if you could basically stand on skates, we'd take you and train you. Now we can be a lot more selective."

When Vanessa "Euro Thrash" Jackson tried out for the team three years ago, she looked, she said, "like a baby giraffe walking for the first time." She was among about 20 others, most of whom made the team.

But this year, more than 60 women showed up for tryouts, held on a recent Saturday at Camden's Millennium Skate World. Some showed up with luggage bags filled with gear, including pro skates and helmets marked with stickers. Others brought only themselves and borrowed equipment. Some tried to sell themselves with funky stockings or sexy shorts; others wore sweats or jeans.

The would-be Roller Girls were excited, nervous, looking for positive signs in everything.

One girl was thrilled when she was assigned the number 33. It was the same number on the workout pants she was wearing. "That's my number when I played lacrosse in college," she said. (She got cut after the second round.)

Even as "Fresh Meat," or newcomers, skaters will have six hours a week of practice, and they're expected to make 75 percent of those hours. Many of the skaters cross-train, and some Roller Girls work out together with a strength trainer.

Still, new skaters might have to wait as long as a year to play on one of the league's three teams. They will have their skills assessed every few months as they move up through the ranks and become eligible for scrimmaging or the travel team.

"It's not just a chance to wear fishnets and roll around and look pretty," Jackson said. "It's a serious sport."

The team has to be selective: Less-experienced or unprepared skaters are hazards to themselves and others. They might slam into walls too hard or find themselves unable to stop when another player falls in front of them. They might not know the right ways to fall or how to take a hit.

Even with a bunch of pros in the rink, there are going to be injuries. Jackson likes to rattle off her history by moving from head to toe: a concussion, two black eyes, a bloody nose, a fat lip, a ripped muscle, a broken wrist bone, a fractured finger or two, a hip bruise so large and long-lasting she named it "Peaches," torn knee cartilage, "rink rash" also known as "fishnet burn" on her thighs, and two sprained ankles.

That said, Jackson won't give up her sport. "This community is so close-knit it's like a second family, and it's so empowering because it's almost all women," she said. "That makes the physical and mental tolls worth it."

The tryouts were divided into three rounds. Basic skating skills were tested during the first challenges. That was followed by more advanced moves, including falling on one knee and quickly recovering to a standing position. The third round was a two-parter: Besides attempting more advanced moves like jumps and basic blocking, those who made it that far were interviewed individually by current team members.

The five judges sat in the middle of the rink. Besides Jackson and Castro, the judges were the skaters known as Olivia Face, Annie Christ, and Mo Pain. They scribbled furiously as each skater took a shot.

After the first round, the group was cut by a third. After the second, 11 more were eliminated. Because there's no limit on how many girls can make the league - and experienced players know that not everyone who makes it will necessarily be able to keep up with the demanding schedule - about 30 moved into the final round.

Keith Stebbings was there to support his ex-wife, Amanda Stebbings. He jokingly told their sons - Trent, 7, and Toby, 5 - that they shouldn't shout "Go, Mom!" because it wasn't tough enough: "Princess Killgore" was the name Amanda Stebbings would use if she made the team.

"It kind of suits her personality," Stebbings, of Brookhaven, said of the sport. "She's small, but she's got lots of spunk."

During the first drill, Stebbings held up Toby so he could see over the low wall that surrounds the rink. Toby waved wildly each time his mother skated by. She smiled once, quickly, and then concentrated on her one-foot glides.

"She can't wave," Stebbings whispered to the boy.

During the second round, Toby continued his enthusiastic waving. His mother rewarded him with a skate-by hand slap at the end.

But she didn't make the cut. No worries, her ex-husband said. She hadn't been on skates in years, but she'd still done well. "She'll be back next year," he promised.

Dottie Fredericks of Cape May watched as her daughter tried out. Stephanie Fredericks, 24, recently moved to Philadelphia and took her first full-time, post-college job. She'd been partially inspired by Whip It and had attended Nationals at the Convention Center, her mother said. She also wanted to do something athletic and meet new people.

She wasn't worried about her daughter's being injured; after all, she said, Stephanie now had a job and the health insurance that came with it.

Fredericks watched nervously while her daughter attempted a T-stop, a one-knee fall, a rolling squat, and cone weaving.

She executed each move, more or less smoothly, while her mother cheered in whispers: "Oh my God! . . . Down, Steph! . . . Good girl! . . . Yeah!"

Fredericks made it through the third round. After an on-skates routine that included two body checks, she and two other candidates sat down for an interview with two current Roller Girls. The goal, Jackson said, was to check a skater's attitude.

"We could have someone who is a fantastic skater, but then we take her interview and we say, 'Hmmm, not going to work out,' " she said.

Similarly, if a so-so skater has enthusiasm and drive, she could end up on the team.

Curran and Fredericks made it through the three-round process, then left without knowing if they'd made the team. We'll call you within 48 hours, the Philly Roller Girls promised. And they reiterated, "Don't call us. We'll call you."

Fredericks said she felt good about her performance but said that even if she didn't make the team this year, she would volunteer to help during games until she could try out again.

"I really liked everyone," she said. "This was a lot of fun."