When Amanda Harter tells people about her hobby, she prepares for the inevitable flood of follow-up questions. 

"Everyone kind of has preconceived notions about roller derby," said Harter, who goes by the skater name Swift D. Mize.

For some, the sport conjures thoughts of fuming, looming ladies looking to blast and bodycheck challengers. But the reality is a little less sensational.

Yes, it's a full-contact sport. Yes, you're bound to endure a bruise or two. But those injuries are more likely to come from a fall than a biker chick with a bad attitude. 

In the Redding roller derby scene, those bruises signify a bond. And that connection is a crucial part of the draw for the 15 or so members of the city's lone squad, Shasta Roller Derby, which next takes the rink Saturday night at 6:30 at Big League Dreams.

When one feels the pressure of parenthood, professional pursuits or both, players say the sport provides a competitive outlet and circle of friends — as long as you're willing to step out of your comfort zone and into some skates. 

The crazy days of roller derby

Where does roller derby's violent reputation come from? A good person to ask is Judy Arnold, a Redding local and member of the sport's Hall of Fame. 

Arnold was one of roller derby's biggest stars as it boomed in popularity during the 1960s and 70s, when it drew rowdy crowds with scripted brawls and flamboyant showmanship. 

"When we skated, there was at least a fight or two a night," she said. "That’s what the fans wanted to see, that action."

Not all of the chaos was planned. Arnold once got caught on a rail and broke her ankle in seven places. And more than once, she was endangered when derby buffs let their appreciation spiral into obsession. 

In St. Louis, opposing fans mobbed her after a game, rocking her car and smashing a bottle on her window while her driver struggled to start the engine. 

In front of her home crowd in Philadelphia, a fan rushed the track to defend Arnold from a phony fight and had to be subdued by police. 

"There was a lot of that," she said. "Fans were, in Philadelphia, they were there for you. So the police were always trying to guard the track so the fans wouldn’t get the opposing team."

What the sport is like now

Arnold describes Redding's current iteration of roller derby as more legitimate. One way of imagining it is if the WWE ditched theatrics in favor of conventional wrestling you'd see in a high school gym. 

"There’s a really bad stigma that used to go with it that you’re gonna get beat up and bloodied up," Alecia Barnett, one of the team's newer members, said. "But the reality of it is … most of us are moms, and we want to go home alive." 

Barnett, or Mama Smackdown, only got into roller derby when someone spotted her skating at a birthday party and implored her to try it. After a few months of training with Redding's team, she feels like the sport sets a positive example for her daughters, 5, 8, and 10, of showing strength and confronting the unknown. 

Like Barnett, Steve Thomas, head coach of Shasta Roller Derby, didn't seek out the sport. He first learned about the local scene when a former Redding team asked his business, Thomas Imprints, to be a sponsor. 

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After watching the sport for a few months, he volunteered to be a coach. 

"It’s not like any other sport I’ve played or coached," he said. "It's constantly switching from offense to defense the entire game. I mean, it literally changes every 12 inches down the track."

You don't have to know all the rules of the sport to be entertained, as long as you learn that points are scored when a team's certain player, or "jammer," successfully skates past a group of defenders trying to block them. 

Who can play roller derby?

If you ask Shasta team members, there isn't a particular shape or size for the best roller derby players. In fact, a variety helps. 

"We have bigger girls that are blockers and they're phenomenal blockers because they’re not getting moved by other people, and they hit really hard," Danae Villarreal, or Wrecking Doll, said. "And you can have a jammer that’s like super tiny, still sturdy, but she’s fast, and she’s gonna be the one that's juking through the pack."

Beyond body size, the team's coach said one of the things that stands out about the sport is the different background its players bring. 

"We have girls that are baristas ... We have CEOs. We have nurses," Thomas said. "Last year we had a gal that was in her late 40s. I know another team, they have a player, she’s 60 years old."

The fascinating part, Thomas says, is that the sport can take such a diverse group of people and unite them around a common purpose. Above it all, the sport introduces a sense of unity, as if the team were Shasta's idiosyncratic sorority. 

As Thomas puts it: It’s like the boys' club, but it’s the girls' club.

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