Ed. Note: They really meant well. They truly wanted to bring back a once-glorious, now-forgotten piece of pop culture history and make it popular again. The timing was right: Pro wrestling was at the top of the cable ratings, the nation was in a pre-millenial nostalgic mood, and TNN was hungry to change its country music image. So why not bring back the original "sports entertainment," the game that launched television as a (lowbrow) mass medium? Over 30 years ago, Roller Derby was so popular it outsold major league baseball teams in their own stadiums. So who's to say it couldn't happen again? In fact, Rollerjam started out strong, updating the classic Derby with inline skates and California girls in spandex. But as the ratings waned, the producers made desperate changes, introducing evening-gown battles and angry midgets. Any semblance of "competition" disappeared in a flurry of cat fights. The producers really missed the point: Audiences like fights, sure, but they want to believe in the players, too. Finally, when TNN landed the World Wrestling Federation, the network dropped Rollerjam like a skanky prom date. Just as in the original Roller Derby, some of the players are yet clinging to their moment of glory, playing random games. But it would appear that the Derby is finally dead.

* * *

By any measure, Mark D’Amato has one ugly mug. And right now it’s snarling in disgust—dark eyes flashing, thick brow furrowed, lips sneering beneath a graying goatee. Standing tall in his antiquated "quad" skates, muscles bulging obscenely from his skintight black lycra uniform, he looks like one of those scavenging mutants from Road Warrior—complete with a sweaty bald head and arcane tattoos emblazoned on his massive shoulders. Gripping the padded railing of the World Skating League rink, D’Amato appears ready to fling himself bodily at his antagonist: a little old lady in the fifth row.

The game hasn’t actually started yet, but the septuagenarian has decided to pick a fight with the brutish captain of the New York Enforcers. She rises out of her seat, thick glasses flashing, and shakes her fist at him, shouting an insult. D’Amato squints, possibly assessing how difficult it would be to scramble up into the stands on skates. Taping will start in about 10 minutes–can he really afford the time to take her down? His teammates whiz by on their practice laps. No, best that he expend his anger on the hapless blond heads of the California Quakes. D’Amato gives grandma one last glare before skating off. She sits down, crossing her arms in victory, another villain put in his place.

Roller Derby, if you haven’t noticed, is back. Here at Universal Studio’s Stage 21 in Orlando, Fla., the rebirth of a pop culture phenomenon that saw its apex 25 years ago is being witnessed by 250 cheering, booing, screaming spectators culled from the amusement park. Suddenly, the house lights go down and the show begins. Pulsing disco lights splash the gray plastic track with spinning wheels in cool blue hues, and a crunching rock song blares from the massive sound system.

"Welcome to ROLLLLERJAM!" screams an announcer over the P.A. The crowd roars back as cameras get shots of their rabid anticipation. Some hold crudely-made signs they found in the aisles: "Shake the Quakes," "Brian Rules," and "Karen Will You Marry Me?" (the latter clutched by a hopeful little fellow who looks like no stranger to pocket protectors). As team members are introduced, the audience cheers or hisses appropriately, picking out the heroes from the villains.

Of course, it’s not all that hard–the Enforcers are pure evil, dressed completely in black, with no respect for the game’s few rules regarding physical contact. What’s more, most of them are pretty darn ugly. There’s the burly Jannet Abraham (a.k.a. "The Minister of Pain"), an ordained minister from Detroit who performs "spiritual power" demonstrations by breaking bricks over her head. Then there’s big Tim Washington (a.k.a. "Titan"), a cousin of Marvin Hagler who boasts of his "Redneck Radar" while gleefully pointing at his massive forearm. But no one is booed more than team captain D’Amato, the grizzled Derby veteran who refuses to wear modern inline skates and is known for his signature move, "The Screamer," in which he slams down opponents with a flying scissor-kick to the abdomen.

"There are only two things that make me happy: violence and revenge," D’Amato grimly declared on last night’s show on The Nashville Network. And he looks like he genuinely means it.

But then in skate the good guys, the California Quakes, and cheers mingle with whistles. With their shimmery blue uniforms and cocoa-brown tans, the Quakes symbolize all that is beloved in America: good genes and toothy smiles. Skating out front is "The Bod Squad," a trio of young beach babes who perform their trademark victory dance, "The Quake Shake," as they cruise around the rink, tossing their blonde curls and snapping fingers. The team is led by Sean Atkinson (a.k.a., "Atk Attack"), a third-generation Roller Derby player who doesn’t exactly exhibit the same wholesome appearance as the other Quakes–husky, goateed, with slicked-back hair, he’s known as much for his big mouth as his skating abilities.

"The Enforcers? They’re old!" he howled Friday night on national television. "Yabba dabba DOOOOO!"

It promises to be a thrilling battle. And that’s exactly what the producers are banking on as they watch nervously from the sidelines—that after a year of brainstorming, developing, training, and spending, their show of combatants on wheels will excite enough viewers to bring them cable TV success. But for fans of classic Roller Derby, the stakes are even higher—this is the last, best shot the sport has for making a comeback into the public consciousness. After decades of being little more than a campy memory, Roller Derby finally has a chance to once again captivate millions with the fine art of The Whip.

Next: In the Beginning…

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