Roller derby resurgence
Homewood league harnesses inclusivity, empowerment: ‘Everyone’s part of the show’
“When you hear that roar from the crowd, as skaters, we feed off that energy and react to it. In that way, everyone in the building’s a part of the show.” — Ash Mateja, founder and owner of Chicago Knockouts
The concept of female empowerment has been an essential part of the sport of roller derby since its Chicago origins in the early 20th century. It started with gender-neutral rules and evolved to include full contact — and full makeup.
So when Ash Mateja, founder and owner of Chicago Knockouts, is asked about empowerment, she gently points out the sport was founded on the concept. Inclusivity and accessibility, while natural extensions of the sport, she explains, are not accomplishments so much as constant practices. Nor are they, ultimately, the point.
The empowerment is real, but for the people who come to monthly derby events in Homewood the main goal is pure entertainment.
“I want the audience to feel like they are a part of every bout,” says Mateja, 29, of Chicago. “When you hear that roar from the crowd, as skaters, we feed off that energy and react to it. In that way, everyone in the building’s a part of the show.”
Mateja, who founded CKO in 2018, explains the sport has evolved over the decades, shifting from an early focus on endurance to the full contact, wrestling tinged team productions of the 1960s. The sport’s admittedly esoteric rules can make it difficult for fans to follow the action, so Mateja’s iteration plays to its theatrical spirit.
“CKO focused on being spectator friendly. The emphasis was on that fast, forward-skating action, blended with theatricality,” she says, noting accessibility was also vital for both audience and participants.
“Inclusivity is important,” she explains. “Roller derby has traditionally not been too welcoming to skaters of color, or those who
are not heteronormative.”
In the same vein, costly equipment or practice-time rentals frequently are barriers for participants of any stripe.
“I bought a bunch of gear from roller rinks to make it accessible to people regardless of income level,” she says, explaining that given the sport’s amateur status, most derby leagues are pay-to-play. “I wanted to shift to a system where the revenue is generated by ticket sales.”
Enter the Homewood Arts Council, a nonprofit leasing an auditorium from the village. Chris Castaneda, the council’s president, says the decision to host the derby was not entirely coincidental.
“My wife is actually a member of the team,” he says. “At the time, when I pitched the idea (before becoming president) they were practicing in roller rinks.”
Since then, Castaneda, 42, says it’s been fun to watch the enthusiasm spread.
“I’ve seen the audience grow with each bout in the space. We had 250 for the Michigan bout, which is just about capacity,” he says, referencing a rambunctious January grudge match with out-of-towners. “Early on I could tell the neighborhood was sort of scratching their heads about what was going on. It’s been great to watch the audience grow.”
Mateja is determined to continue that growth, including promoting youth involvement. Free skating lessons last summer led to the development of a minor league for participants younger than 18. She now has more than 20 participants.
Rozanne Prado, 50, of Homewood, says her daughter, Helaina Nicastro, 8, started with the free lessons and now plays for the minor league. Prado says the derby’s well known tactics of feigned aggression and over-thetop theatricality only thinly veils the hugely supportive, welcoming atmosphere her daughter has come to love.
“She has these amazing women that are one, giving her their time and attention to train her and two, it’s also building social skills; it’s building her character,” Prado says. “They have made a family and they include the people that come into their universe.”
She, while not skating, is hardly immune to the enthusiasm herself, she says.
“What did I know about roller derby?” she laughs. “But we share the same passion for the excitement, and we share a sense of community.”
Mateja says she picked up on the same feeling.
“The coolest thing we found in Homewood was the enthusiasm,” she says. “I think the venue you’re in can make a huge difference. The auditorium gives us just the right balance. You get this great view from the stands, but you’re close enough that you feel part of the action even as you’re watching it.””
“There’s no other way to describe it,” Prado explains. “It’s just exciting. The spectators become part of the action.”
Fans of any age are welcome to strap on a pair of skates and join the fray. This was the draw for player-turned-fan-turned-player Renee Scott, 49.
“I used to play for Windy City Roller back in the early 2000s,” she says. Several CKO social media posts piqued her interest.
“The second we walked into the auditorium, it just felt right,” she said. “There was a buzz in the air and an energy that reminded us of the old days.”
Scott loved the energy so much she now travels from Skokie to compete.
“It was like coming back home,” she says. “Honestly, with the world being the way it is today, that kind of earnestness is revolutionary.
There’s a reason people are drawn to CKO.”
Steven Ahrendt, one of three regular announcers for CKO bouts, agrees. After emceeing hundreds of events over the past decade, Ahrendt, 52 says derby brings something special to the table.
“It’s so fast-paced that it caters to the social media attention span that exists in 2023, which gives it a universal appeal. Each time they go around the track it’s like watching a TikTok,” he jokes. “Plus it’s an incredible display of athleticism by very talented women. Even in 2023 athletics are still very much male-driven, and even the WNBA struggles to continue because it’s not supported like its counterpart.”
Costumes aside, he points out, the sport requires considerable technical ability. Simply roller skating can be challenging enough, he says, as is putting on an entertaining show. Try doing both while attempting to score points by hurling a teammate past opponents using momentum and sheer strength, he suggests.
“In roller derby, women are strong and athletic with great characters who fascinate all that watch,” he explains. “The crowds get larger each time and the buzz is growing.”
Mateja says the Homewood-CKO connection has been lucky on many fronts.
“No one pays to play, thanks to Homewood making it affordable,” Mateja says. “We love being here and want to carve out even more of a home.”
She adds while the Homewood auditorium can only accommodate flat track, she’s hoping, along with the exuberant attire and appealing athleticism, to bring banked track play to the area.
“In 2019 the track used for (the 2009 movie) ‘Whip It’ came up for auction online,” Mateja says. “I got it with 7 seconds left to bid.”
She trucked the banked track up from Oklahoma City and it now sits in storage, waiting for a new Homewood-area home. Mateja is hoping for 10,000 square feet of pillar free industrial space to house the track. While she can adjust the length of the track anywhere from 80 to 125 feet, the width is a set 60 feet, limiting the possibilities slightly.
Nevertheless, Mateja remains optimistic a permanent venue will appear. In the interim, bouts can be caught one Saturday a month at the Homewood auditorium. The next matches are planned April 15, May 13, June 10, Aug. 19, Sept. 16, Oct. 14 and Nov. 11.
Looking back, moving forward
During the height of a dancea-thon fad in the 1920s and ’30s, increasingly desperate contestants met increasingly stringent and sensationalist requirements from equally desperate promoters, leading to perturbing photos of semiconscious people (usually women) being held above the floor by their dance partners for the sake of prize money.
As that phenomenon waned, enterprising Chicago event promoter Leo Seltzer gambled on more wholesome and egalitarian roller skating endurance events taking their place. Initially, two-person teams competed on flat tracks to skate “coast-to-coast” events that might take up to three weeks to finish.
Over the next 15 years, Seltzer changed trajectories and turned to teams, describing the new sport’s appeal as “noise, color, body contact.” But equity was a priority from the get-go.
“This is the only American sport ever created where men and women are equal,” he told the New York Times in 1971. “The women can see themselves in the roller derby.”
Interest in the sport over the ensuing decades waxed and waned. By the late 1950s, Seltzer handed the reins to his son, Jerry Seltzer, who determined overthe-top theatricality was the way to go. Marrying the spectacle of scripted drama and ongoing feuds of professional wrestling with the action and athleticism of roller derby worked, albeit impermanently.
“I spoke with Jerry Seltzer on the phone,” recalls Mateja, who is helping to drive the local resurgence in the sport. “It was really an honor to talk to him.”
After Jerry Seltzer disbanded the league in 1973, several attempts were made to resurrect the sport but none stuck until 2003, when a group of amateurs formed a league in Austin, Texas. The group embraced punny character names, flashy costumes and full face makeup for bouts.
While contact these days is limited — no punching, kicking or elbows — the athleticism is not. Mateja hopes the enthusiasm that brought her league to its current four-team, 40-member status only grows as word spreads.
“The roller derby revival started very underground, which has its own kind of magic to it,” she says. “It’s what drew me in.”