There are moments in life when you look at your child and realize they’ve become something extraordinary—not just to you, but to the world around them. For my wife Kay and me, that moment came in the summer of 2010, inside the sprawling Oklahoma City Myriad Arena, where our daughter Emily Mathews—known to the roller derby world as “Suzi Uzi”—brought a dream to life. It was a night of sweat, cheers, and tears, a night that capped over two years of relentless determination and heart. And I had the privilege of capturing it all through my camera lens.
Emily’s journey with roller derby began long before that summer night. She fell in love with the sport back in 2006, starting on flat tracks with a fire in her soul that only grew stronger with every lap. But Emily didn’t just want to skate—she wanted to build something bigger, something Oklahoma hadn’t seen in decades: a banked track roller derby league. A banked track is a beast of its own—made of masonite, wood, and steel, sloped upward to create a thrilling, high-speed spectacle. It’s a throwback to the sport’s golden age, and Emily envisioned bringing that magic back to Oklahoma City.
She didn’t do it alone. Alongside her teammates and a small army of volunteers, Emily led the charge to make it happen. For over a year, they poured their hearts into fundraising—bake sales with cookies shaped like skates, car washes under the blazing Oklahoma sun, and countless grassroots efforts to scrape together every dollar they could. It was grueling, unglamorous work, but Emily never wavered. She’d come home exhausted, her hands stained with flour or soap suds, and tell us, “It’s worth it, Dad. You’ll see.” And Kay and I believed her, even when the finish line seemed so far away.
After a year of toil, the dream took shape. The Red Dirt Rebellion Roller Girls, the team Emily co-founded and coached, finally had their banked track—an 8,000-pound marvel they’d built from scratch. But the real test was the debut event at the Myriad Arena. That expansive venue, with its capacity for 10,000 roaring fans, was the perfect stage for Emily’s vision. She and her crew spent days assembling the track inside the arena, piece by heavy piece, their hands calloused and their spirits high. For weeks, they blanketed Oklahoma City with flyers, rallied the community, and spread the word: roller derby was back, and it was going to be unforgettable.
The night finally arrived, and I’ll never forget the scene that unfolded before the match even began. As people started filing into the Myriad Arena, Kay and Emily stood together in the middle of that hard-won banked track, the fruit of years of dreaming and a year of relentless work. They didn’t know if all their effort would pay off—would anyone show up? Would it matter? But as the seats began to fill, the reality hit them, and they just couldn’t hold back. Tears of joy streamed down their faces, a rare chink in Emily’s armor, a fleeting moment where the weight of it all broke through. I watched, my own heart swelling, as they clung to each other, overwhelmed by the sight of the crowd they’d fought so hard to bring. But then, as “Suzi Uzi,” number 9mm—a clever nod to the Uzi gun’s caliber—Emily wiped her eyes and turned her focus to the track. She wasn’t there just to celebrate the moment—no, she was there to win. Her gaze hardened into that steely-eyed, competitor’s stare, cutting through the noise of the growing crowd and the weight of the occasion. She’d spent years building this dream, but in those final hours, it wasn’t about the happiness of holding an event—it was about dominating the match. Kay and I watched her pace the sidelines, her jaw set, her mind locked on strategy, as she skated and coached her team with a precision that left no room for doubt.
When the whistle blew and the skaters tore around that banked track, the energy was electric. Emily’s competitive fire burned bright—every lap, every block, every point fueled by that unrelenting focus. I snapped photo after photo—her piercing gaze locked on the competition, her body leaning into each turn, her teammates feeding off her intensity. The crowd roared, but Emily didn’t flinch. She didn’t let the emotions slip through, not yet. This was her battlefield, and she was a warrior in full command.
And then, it was over. The Red Dirt Rebellion had fought hard and won, and as the final whistle sounded, the dam broke. The stress of those years, the hard work, the challenges—it all hit her at once. Emily skated off the track, her steely facade melting away, and the tears came. Tears of happiness, of relief, of triumph. She came to us, sweaty and trembling, and fell into our arms. “We did it,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Kay squeezed my hand so tight I thought she’d break it, both of us overwhelmed with pride as we held her close, tears streaming down our own faces. “You did it, Em,” we told her. “And we’re so damn proud.”
Looking back, that summer night in 2010 wasn’t just about roller derby. It was about Emily—our Suzi Uzi—showing us what it means to chase a dream with everything you’ve got, to fight with unrelenting focus, and to let the heart spill over when the battle’s won. Kay and I will carry that pride with us forever, and I’m thrilled to share these photos with you. They’re more than images; they’re a piece of our daughter’s soul—her fierce determination, her quiet strength, and the joy that erupted when it all paid off—captured in a moment we’ll never forget.
