photograph by chuck ford
At the Pipkin Building in Liberty Park, Memphis Roller Derby means high energy with every lap.
Editor's Note: The urge to win runs deep. But for most of modern history, athletic domination has been seen as a man’s pursuit. In recent decades, though, women’s sports have gained ground. The WNBA has been setting viewership records; revenues from women’s sports are climbing. Locally, women athletes are impressing crowds with their prowess and ingenuity — though true parity remains a distant goal. Women in Memphis are going the distance, taking flight, and smashing the competition (and no, those aren’t just metaphors). We highlight several women and teams here whose stories show that athletics aren’t just for the guys anymore. This is Part Two in a three-part package we published in our magazine in October. Other stories focused on long-distance runner Savannah Crittenden and the University of Memphis Spirit Squads.
On a spring afternoon, the Pipkin Building in Liberty Park was abuzz with fans. As team skaters with star-stamped helmets whipped around the track — with serious grit — it was clear this league ran on more than adrenaline. They ran on more than adrenaline. They ran on community.
Community for the league looks different, depending on where you observe them. During their bout, the crowd’s hype elevated players to rock-star status, every lap earning an encore, each breakthrough met with a roar. When a skater known as “Don’t Blink” successfully broke through her opponents, the audience went crazy. Memphis was behind her — and she knew it, throwing a two-handed wave and a smile to fans as she rounded the track.
Family members and friends donned merch — some with the league’s name — while others opted for custom-made gear featuring their favorite skater’s face. Only some people sat in graffiti-sprayed chairs, the Pipkin Building well past standing-room-only. Derby was a big deal that day, but its importance goes beyond the bouts.
“It’s an honor to be able to skate with all these people. I feel like over the past season we’ve been creeping up in the ranks and getting better and better, and everyone here who shows up regularly is super dedicated, not only to the sport but to the league and the community we have formed.” — Jenna Clary
On a Tuesday afternoon prior to the game, the Pipkin looked a bit different. Skaters piled in for practice, and the indoor track seemed almost too pristine, too quiet — begging for a bit of edge that only chaos and passion can bring.
The skaters moved from their pre-practice huddles into synchronized stretches. Their uniform side-to-side warm-ups transitioned into a high-energy sequence set to music. The beat blended into the background, and each players’ infectious swagger reverberated through the building.
Jemma Clary (known as Jem in the derby) lovingly refers to it as “off-brand Zumba,” led by their teammate Chandler. “It’s huge,” she adds. “It’s so fun because when we do it at games, other teams will sometimes join in. It’s always fun — hypes us up, gets our heart rates moving.”
From the energized warm-ups to the pre-scrimmage laughter, the camaraderie and community in the space was palpable.
Eye on the Star
Pay attention to the person with the star on their head,” Clary tells me before the scrimmage round. “They’re going to be the one to watch. They’re going to be the one that’s scoring all the points for the team.”
I learn that the league prides itself on being a part of a niche subculture, one that stays alive partially through exposure to newbies. I’d only seen the sport on shows like Bunheads and The Fosters — usually as a shortcut to a character’s “edgy phase.” But that Tuesday’s practice was my first glimpse into the world beyond my streaming queues.
Clary translates derby in a beginner-friendly way, likening it to a mix of rugby, speed skating, and even a little bit of chess. While popular culture is often a person’s first introduction to the sport, Kendall Olinger (aka Choke) notes that these representations tend to conflate the sport to being “gimmicky” and akin to phenomena like wrestling.
The MRD league started here in 2006. “It’s evolved over the past 20 years to really stand alone as a serious sport with serious athletes,” Olinger says. “A lot of the stuff you see in the movies — or a lot of people bring it up from watching roller derby from the ’70s or ’80s — it’s really gotten a lot more serious and way more focused on the sport. Lots of rules have changed, and a lot of those gimmicks have disappeared.”
Dylan Miller, an MRD jammer, says, “You’re getting lessons on all the basics and there’s somebody presenting the lessons, but you’re also getting one-on-one help from skaters in the league. We try to make sure it’s as accessible as possible to everyone regardless of their income.”
The league has taken this a step further by introducing Derby School, a program designed to refine their technique for derby readiness.
It’s been gratifying for Miller to see her growth from someone getting back on her wheels to joining the league. She notes it’s a “hard shift,” yet the league’s welcoming environment propelled her confidence. As a self-described “classic overthinker,” derby has given her the opportunity to get outside of her head and “leave it at the door.”
Why Skate?
Beyond the requisite moxie, inclusivity seems to be an appealing tenet of derby culture. League members share that the search for community in adulthood can be surprisingly complex. Many found that the sport satisfies a hunger for togetherness, while also satiating the desire to achieve something real.
Stacy Bautista, for example, says that life after college graduation leaves much to be desired. For her, derby revives the thrill that sports like rugby and softball impressed on her while growing up.
“I loved a full-contact sport,” she says. “When you get out of college it’s like, ‘What now? You’re going to work a job and that’s it?’”
Ironically, it was through working as a carhop at Sonic that Bautista says the “roller derby seed” was planted. Yet, while derby was appealing as a return to the full-contact nature she grew to love, she was hesitant to go for it. A friend helped her overcome those initial jitters, and she’s now been engaged in the sport for 13 years.
Jemma Clary says skating had “been her thing” since college, so enrolling in skate school was “something to do” as opposed to an introduction to the skill. And while she was looking for a way to pass time, she found a refreshing way to make friends in this new stage in life.
“I didn’t even come in wanting friends,” Clary says. “I joined and everyone’s just so friendly and welcoming. Roller derby is [also] like a pretty big queer space. I never really had fellow queer people around me, and it’s a lot of people that are older than me. It’s a pretty heterogeneous mixture of people, and people who are truly Memphians.”
These intergenerational spaces have proven to be invaluable. Not only does it contribute to league culture, but it’s what keeps the community thriving. The shared passion of skating permeates participants — both newcomers and seasoned skaters alike.
“It’s an honor to be able to skate with all these people,” Clary says. “I feel like over the past season we’ve been creeping up in the ranks and getting better and better, and everyone here who shows up regularly is super dedicated, not only to the sport but to the league and the community we have formed.”
The league operates as a nonprofit driven and run by skaters and league members. Members like Bautista and Olinger are not only team members but work as the heads of training and marketing, respectively. Along with sponsors and community support, members and participants help keep the culture and sport alive.
Whether it’s through skate school or a bout, the skaters invite others to learn about derby. While each player may have a personal reason they keep returning to the track, they recognize their presence builds upon a legacy that lasts long after their wheels stop turning.
A version of this story was published by the Memphis Flyer in April 2025.
