Perspective

Hello all!

 So my name's Shrinking Violet (or, I suppose, Purple Pants) Obviously that's not the name on my birth certificate, but honestly, who cares? I'm Violet. I skate for Steel City Roller Derby, for the Steel Beamers, our b level travel team. Typically I'm a jammer, but I'm trying to be a pivot as much as possible, because I love to block, and because I'm starting to be less attached to the idea of jamming all the time.

This blog represents my umpteenth try at blogging, but you know what they say: "If at first you don't succeed, just keep hurling yourself bodily at the problem until either you or it breaks." It's rare that you find an adage as apt as that one. Anyway, I'm going to take a crack at derby blogging, and hopefully someone somewhere will find it interesting.

Today I'm going to write a little bit about how I feel about jamming. I've been jamming almost exclusively since the Beamers were formed, three seasons ago. At our first (I think) practice, I was told by our bench manager, Miss Ill and whoever was our coach at the time, probably Athena, that they were making me a jammer. At that point in my derby career I was just getting blocking figured out, and was doing a pretty solid job partnering with J-Bomb in our first season with the Allegheny Avengers. As a note, the Avengers are by far and above the best home team in Steel City. This is not opinion. It is fact. We represent a shining beacon of achievement in roller derby, all other teams aspire to be as magnificent as the Avengers. Anyway, the point is that when I told J-Bomb that I'd been drafted as a jammer, her immediate response was, "A jammer? What the hell are they doing? You're too solid a blocker! I'm going to go have a talk with them," which I thought was very sweet. 

Initially, I agreed with her. Going from blocking to jamming is frankly terrifying. Typically as a blocker, you don't get hit all that much. You're doing the hitting, and unless you're either very good or very bad, you get left alone. Gunning for other blockers in derby is typically a bad idea, since they can't score points and focusing on them can be a massive waste of energy. The end result is that unless the other team is making a strong offensive push, blockers just don't get wailed on very much. Jammers get no such treatment. The first months I spent jamming were much like the first months anyone spends jamming; I got hit. A lot.

When you're not an experienced jammer, or when the other team is significantly better than your team, jamming is an extremely disheartening experience. You get smashed in the gut over and over again. You get sent flying, and get your soul crushed over and over and over. After a little while, you stop seeing holes, or even your own players. You start focusing on opposing blockers, and watching them hit you over and over. Your world becomes this bewildering, painful place, and the jam never ends. The first couple months jamming become a series of practices where all you want to do is sit down and cry. It's rough.

After a little while, things start to slow down a little bit. You start seeing your blockers more and more, your vision becomes very high contrast. You see your friends' jerseys as a path through the wilderness. Since we skate in black and gold, my blockers start to look a little like the yellow brick road after a while. Your blockers become this wall of safety, and you get very attached to them. You plan your moves through the pack, based on those islands of yellow, and you grab for them desperately. You also get more aggressive. Experienced jammers are willing to hit other jammers, or even to hit blockers. When you line up against a much weaker jammer, for instance, you start imagining eating the baby and ruining her day. You debate whether to send her flying and then move, or whether to just run, and send her flying on your next lap. Your one goal, forward motion, becomes an opportunity to excel. Nothing can stop your forward motion. These bitches are toast.

 And then one of those bitches comes out of nowhere and launches you into the audience.

Jamming narrows your focus incredibly. Anyone who knows me personally can tell you I have no ability to focus whatsoever. I'm a golden retriever of a human being, incapable of shutting out information, running from topic to topic, getting distracted by kitties. When I'm on the jammer line, however, my world shrinks. I wear a hockey helmet, and in the seconds before a jam starts, I lower my head. The hockey helmet is cut much lower on my forehead than my old helmet was, and as I stand there, head down, eyes forward, I can't see anything at all. The helmet cuts much of my field of vision out, and essentially all I can see is the track beneath me. This is one of my favorite moments in derby. It's part of a process of shutting everything out of my head but jamming. Running forward as powerfully and quickly as I can. When I jam, my feet do things I didn't know they could do. My brain limits itself in a way it just can't seem to do any other time in my life. My vision narrows, color contrast goes up, my world is quiet, and aggressive, and focused.

 -Violet