SKATING A LAP ON THE BANKED oval track, Heather (The Gun) Gunnin confides a trade secret. ""There's cameras all around,'' she says, ""so you have to stay in character the whole time.'' We are in a 22,000-square-foot sound stage at Universal Studios in Orlando, Fla., where Gunnin works her trade, dressed in clingy black Lycra and in-line skates. ""In character,'' she says, tossing a playful elbow at her interviewer, ""I'm like the Antichrist.'' Her teammate Brian Gamble skates up from behind. The two have arrived here from different quarters--she from speed skating, he from martial arts and ""American Gladiators Live''--but right now they are converging quite neatly on one rolling NEWSWEEK reporter. Gamble assesses the possibilities. ""Let's tune him up,'' he says.
The language may be new, but that tossed elbow and ersatz menace can mean only one thing: Roller Derby is back. Immortalized in song by Jim Croce, and by Raquel Welch in the film ""Kansas City Bomber,'' Roller Derby all but disappeared during the early 1970s. But with the recent success of pro wrestling, the stage was set. This Friday, Jan. 15, TNN introduces ""RollerJam,'' the first nationally televised weekly dose of rolling thunder in 25 years. It's got major advertisers like AT&T and Gillette on board, targeting what co-executive producer Ross Bagwell calls ""the NASCAR crowd.'' Jerry Seltzer, whose father invented the game along with Damon Runyon during the Depression, is back as commissioner of the six-team league. ""The game has something that just won't die,'' he says.
At the Orlando sound stage, where all the games are taped, the Florida Sundogs practice such time-hallowed moves as ""The Whip,'' under the guidance of derby veteran Erwin Miller. Each team has male and female squads; many players are too young to remember Derby I, so they've learned the game's stagy mix of speed, muscle and extracurricular fighting from old tapes. The Sundogs are what is known as a ""white'' team, for their clean play; dirty teams are ""red.'' The Dogs are conspicuously blond and good-looking. Debbie Rice, a champion speed skater, takes a breather from the vigorous workout, her toilette still immaculate. ""Most of the girls,'' she says, ""don't leave the house without their makeup.''
Though the competition is ""manipulated,'' admits co-executive producer Stephen Land, the bruises and stitches are genuine. ""If someone doesn't want to go down,'' says Jannet Abraham of the New York Enforcers, a decidedly ""red'' team, ""you have to take 'em down.'' Abraham, a power weight lifter, is also an ordained minister. ""These days,'' she says, ""I'm a Minister of Pain.''
Such trash talk, the organizers stress, is only a small part of ""RollerJam.'' They hope viewers will tune in for the high speed and agility. But this is cutting things too fine. Deep down, Richard Brown of the Sundogs sums up, ""everyone likes to see two women fight.'' As Runyon, Croce and Raquel all knew, such simple wisdoms make the wheels go round.
Uncommon Knowledge
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
