Get the daily email that brings 100% Austin news, info, and entertainment direct to your inbox
(Claire Partain)
Long before the craze rolled into 2020, roller skating has held deep ties to Austin.
When the pandemic left a nation stuck at home and even "Tiger King" got old, thousands hopped on wheels to spice up quarantine life and stay active—and the sport has grown in popularity into 2021.
TikTok creators have garnered millions of views as the embodiment of retro cool on wheels, while trick skaters on Instagram have gained traction as street-savvy adrenaline junkies. Demand for skate shops grew exponentially: from March to August, roller derby legend Estro Jen's Southern California skate brand Moxi Skates grew by nearly 1000% from March to September she told the Huffington Post.
The sport is nowhere near new to Austin, however.
Deep ties to the city
In 2003, Austin made waves as the site for the first-ever professional flat track roller derby league in the world. Born from a mix of authentic Austin weirdness and the city's rep as the live music capital, the Texas Rollergirls pioneered a standardized flat-track formula and became known worldwide as the founders of the modern roller-derby movement. With outlandish names (Shutem Up Buttercup or Thugs Bunny), unapologetic aggressiveness and the fierce aura of girl power, the Rollergirls warranted enough attention to inspire a documentary and help create hundreds of professional leagues around the world.
Founding Rollergirl member Amy Sherman, who created the measurements for the official flat track still used today, said that the city's love for entertainment and live music made it a perfect place for roller derby to flourish.
"I think that Austin just being Austin lends itself really well to accepting this sport," Sherman said. "In the very beginning, it was kind of more about the music culture as we were learning how to skate and do tricks. We would have bands play at halftime, and so they kind of helped us with the draw, but we don't need bands anymore because now we're the attraction."
(Texas Rollergirls Travel Team/Twitter)
Since the beginning, Sherman and the six other founding members sought to make roller derby as accessible as possible. A flat track, as opposed to the former banked track, could be played anywhere with a large flat surface. The non-profit league also spent as much time traveling to help create leagues in other cities as they did playing the actual sport, an effort that has paid off with over 600 leagues in the world in 2021. To Sherman, it's the "for the skater, by the skater" mindset and grassroots aspect of the league that has kept this type of roller derby successful for nearly 20 years.
The pandemic has turned back the clock in more ways than one. Just as many are channeling the '70s in their funky bell-bottom roller skating videos, many traditional roller derby athletes are moving back to the streets to stay on wheels at a safe distance.
Sherman said that many veterans are now going back to their roots as outdoor skating becomes increasingly popular.
"It's kind of come full circle," Sherman said. "In the early days, there were a few of us that were involved in the skateboarding community as we were getting the Rollergirls rolling, and we would go and skate at skate parks. And then when roller derby got going, a lot of those park skaters came and focused on the roller derby aspect a little bit more. Now, a lot of derby skaters that can't skate because there's no contact sports right now have taken to the parks again."
The derby girls are joined by a growing movement of outdoor skaters who pull tricks alongside skateboarders at local skate parks.
A new era of skating
For former trapeze artist Amanda Alexander, street skating has been a therapeutic way for her to transition from the adrenaline rush of circus acrobatics. After a friend strapped on some skates on here, there was no going back, and Alexander has committed ever since.
"Skating really blew my mind as being equal to the adrenaline rush of circus but being way more simple because you can just strap on your skates and go," Alexander said.
Since she started two years ago, skating has also become "free therapy" and an escape from the daily stresses of life.
"You just kind of forget about all the stupid stuff that's really not all that important in life and when you walk out of here you just feel at peace," Alexander said. "I feel like it's definitely a free form of therapy at this point."
Street skaters Amanda Alexander (left) and Andrea Phillips take a break at House Park in Austin. (Claire Partain)
For fellow skater Andrea Phillips, outdoor skating is as much about the people as it is the sport. While Phillips had long been one of the only female skaters and few roller skaters on the ramps at her favorite skate park, new visitors come and go much more frequently now.
"With skating culture, we're all just so weird and all goofballs," Phillips said. "Nobody really cares here, so you can just get away with so much and it's always just fun and nobody is ever super competitive. When it boils down to it, we're just adults playing with toys so there's no judgment."
Both Phillips and Alexander are members of a team themselves. The group, known as Grindstone, consists of 10 "dirty southern roller skatin'" trick skaters. According to Alexander, the Grindstones were created by a fellow Austinite who looked to sponsor some local skaters with her toe-stopper company.
From a mystery skating ramp in the middle of the desert in Marfa, Texas to New Orleans, the skaters have since formed a tight bond as friends with a deep common interest. Despite strong personalities, Phillips said all of the players manage to get along.
"We all have different styles, but we're all super aggressive with whatever we do," Phillips said. "We all just get together, skate, wreak havoc, and travel, although that has slowed down because of COVID. I've never seen 10 alpha females work together in one unit, it's mind-blowing."
While neither Phillips or Alexander have an interest in roller derby, many derby athletes have crossed over to the Grindstones during the pandemic. Similarly, Sherman said that she is inspired by roller derby players who could bring more players onto the Rollergirls after COVID cases go down.
"I find it really inspiring that some of those roller derby skaters have now taken to the skate parks and more street skating, and I think it's helped inspire some of the more average skaters," Sherman said. "I definitely think that will bring more people into the league and people will want to expand their horizons and not be afraid anymore to get out there, because it can be intimidating."
(Claire Partain)
For Phillips, the future of outdoor roller skating lies in making the sport available to all. Phillips said that she hopes the Grindstones eventually tour different cities, teach classes and inspire young athletes along the way.
"We're trying to teach people and teach legitimate classes so we can get everybody going," Phillips said. "There's people in po-dunk towns who have never seen roller skating. If someone had rolled into my town when I was 10 and shown me roller skating, I'd have been in a lot less trouble."
Popular
Former UT tennis coach Michael Center told Sports Illustrated he thinks others were involved in the Varsity Blues scandal at UT.
His name dragged through the mud, Center was fired, arrested by the FBI and sentenced to six months in a Central Texas federal prison after pleading guilty to two charges related to mail fraud. And over a year after his release, Center told Sports Illustrated he doubts he was the only one in burnt orange involved.
When the Varsity Blues scandal broke out to the public in 2019, the investigation was a perfect storm for nationwide attention: Hollywood glamour, blue blood conspiracy and faith in the tried-and-true American education system came to a head as 33 movie stars and other elites were found guilty of paying more than $25 million to pave their children’s way into eight colleges, including the University of Texas.
UT was one of eight schools caught in the college admissions scandal. (Laura Figi/Austonia)
Singer's client, private equity executive Chris Schaepe, was looking for a way to bend UT's tight admissions policies for his son, who was seeking a position oddly as a manager on UT’s basketball team. Through a middleman, Singer contacted Center, who eventually agreed.
Schaepe's son hadn't played tennis since his freshman year of high school. It was a detail that Center says passed through plenty of hands before he was admitted, including "academic support staff, the compliance office, the sports supervisor and, ultimately, the athletic director," SI's Jon Wertheim writes.
No one in the entire athletic department, including seven "risk management and compliant services department" employees, was named, implicated or punished. After an internal investigation, Center was the only one named in the Varsity Blues "subterfuge" in a September 2019 UT news release signed by the university president.
He told Austonia he was never contacted by the university during the investigation, and when the NCAA interviewed him for its investigation, he says it cleared him of any violations.
“I almost fell out of my chair,” Center said. “I literally couldn’t breathe. There’s no college coach in America—much less at a state school, much less a coach of a nonrevenue sport—who can admit an athlete without consulting other people in the athletic department. What they were asking people to believe, it’s just impossible.” SI said Center's assertion was backed by multiple UT coaches and administrators at other schools.
But why would the Forty Acres be complicit?
(Matthew/Adobe)
Center said UT’s then newly named athletic director Steve Patterson made clear that Center suddenly was responsible for more than building a successful tennis program. He was to be a "fundraiser first and coach second" and he would need to find donors to fund a new tennis facility. Patterson admitted to SI that he wanted his coaches to find donors and said the department was "$15 million in the red" when he started in 2013, though he denies any knowledge of the false tennis recruitment.
Center said he knew he would be "considered a team player" if he let in the son of a Silicon Valley magnate. And sure enough, Schaepe immediately began pulling out his wallet, donating $100,000 to UT tennis and a six-figure check to the school's communication program.
"I never entered this as a way to profit. This was a fundraising mission where I made a terrible mistake at the end,"
Center said.
Months after Schaepe's son was admitted, Center agreed to meet Singer at the Austin airport and found himself accepting a backpack filled with $60,000 in cash meant for him, personally. He said he immediately knew he had made a mistake. He told SI “I put the money in my basement and gave most of it away.”
“Why did I do it?” Center told Sports Illustrated. "I go to bed and wake up each day asking myself the same question. I had to convince myself that I somehow deserved the money."
Once in court, Center showed texts with UT's compliance official and mentioned Chris Plonsky, a department executive involved in "overseeing men’s tennis, compliance, academic support (which generates letters of intent) and the Longhorn Foundation," according to SI.
“I knew I had to answer for my guilt,” Center said. “But I was like, 'Man, schools are going to get hammered.'"'
But Center was the only Longhorn to go down for the crimes. “I was no rogue actor,” Center said. “And this wasn’t my word against their word. There were signatures that went along with it. That’s the system... There wasn’t one point in the process where I thought people wanted to learn the whole truth.”
Back at home in Austin, Center watched as actress Felicity Huffman served just eleven days for her part in the scandal. Some served up to five months; others simply paid a fine, and others, like Singer, await sentencing.
And because the prosecution chose to blame individual coaches, framing schools as victims in the case, universities like UT have received less than a slap on the wrist for their possible involvement.
“I was always taught that actions have consequences,” Center said. “What I’ve come to realize is that, yes, for some people actions absolutely do have consequences. Serious, heavy ones. For others, actions can have no consequences at all.”
- Excitement, tensions build as Austin expects 18k fans at first Texas ... ›
- $10 million Austin NIL scholarship fund to help Longhorn athletes ... ›
- UT plans on Longhorns football in fall 2020 - austonia ›
- UT is going SEC! Texas board of regents approves move to future ... ›
- Former UT tennis coach Michael Center in halfway house after ... ›
- Former UT tennis coach Michael Center completes 6-month ... ›
