Rolaboi, Renegade Skater

By Jayson Sutcliffe

From finding a pair of rusty roller skates in a garage, Jayson Sutcliffe went on to become world champion in his sport, overcoming trial and hardship, bias and sexual abuse and the untimely death of his beloved brother. Jayson was the first artistic roller skater from Australia to win an individual medal at a Word Championship and went on to make history by becoming the first skater ever to win a world title on both roller and in line skates for figure skating.

From the Author: When my best friend gave me an autobiography as a gift for Christmas, my first thought was, 'I don't really read much'. Then, after reading only three chapters, I soon found myself at a desk enthusiastically tapping away on a keyboard, recounting my own life story.

My involvement in a unique and obscure sport, like artistic roller skating, was never questionable when I first took to wheels. It was a sport, like any other, and extremely popular at the time, it was the 80`s after all. Being different, on the other hand, was questionable. Was I, or wasn't I different? Who had the answers? And what was so different about me? That was what I was in search of, and about to learn, it was what the sport revealed, a side of me, both my family, and I, had never known or experienced.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 3, 2012
• ISBN: 9781623098711

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

COME IN TO MY ROOM

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might explode from my chest. My palms were sweating. For a moment, time stood still. Then the confirmation came through: My dream of becoming, World Champion had been realized!

After the years of dedication, the trauma of having dealt with the senseless death of people dear to me, the endless journey to discover who and what I am, I had finally made it. And yet in some ways, the journey had only just begun…

As a child watching Saturday morning cartoons I did what many children do, I imagined myself as a hero, a champion … a person who could defeat the odds and win. But when I left the sanctity of this imaginary world and re-entered the cold harsh reality of the real world, even as a small child I knew I hadn’t found my niche. I didn’t always fit in. I was never enthusiastic about contact or team sports. I always preferred lying on my bed in my room, drawing various cartoon heroes: Astro boy, Marine boy, Road Runner and The Herculoids - these were among my favorites, each for being unique in their own way. My other love, perhaps my true love at the time, was horses. I especially loved to draw them. I fancied that one day I would be a jockey, until I learnt I was going to be too tall. It was a brutal slap in the face, my one dream stolen away from me because of something I had no control over. But like most kids, the moment passed in an instant and I moved on.

It must have been around this time when my interest in ballet started as a mild fascination with the concept of men in tights. I was intrigued as to how grown males got away with wearing costumes that were made out of elaborate fabrics and decorated with sequins. It was an art form that piqued my curiosity – I had to know more. The graceful movement of ballet seemed very natural to me, so did dancing around a room with a bunch of girls. But perhaps more intoxicating was the emotion and intensity. It was like a fairytale brought to life; a fairytale that I could only dream of becoming a part. But with three brothers, two of whom were heavily into baseball, you can imagine ballet was not high on the family approval rating. Instead I was ushered down to a local park to try out for the junior baseball team. When the team coach lined me up to face the ball, I swung and I missed, and missed again. I was terrified. Needless to say, that was the extent of it. My brothers used to call me ‘sissy’ all the time, but I tired very easily of that. As much as my brothers tried to force a square peg into a round hole, in terms of thrusting their macho image of what boys should do onto their little brother, it was a battle they were never going to win.

I loathed the idea of playing soccer or football, and finally agreed on the compromise of tennis. It wasn’t a terribly popular sport at the time, but I liked the idea of getting a new racquet and the tennis club was close by so I decided to give it a go. I took a class once a week for a while, but I wasn’t showing signs of becoming the next John Newcombe, nor was I enjoying it as much as I thought I might have. At the same time my sister, Leanne, was making regular visits to the local roller rink with her high school girlfriends, Janine and Christine. She was very popular amongst the lads, vibrant and very flirty. My older brothers, Tony and Colin, would often go along as escorts (although I suspect they enjoyed the attention). Tony was a pretty big guy who was heavily in to weight training, a bit of a stud, and very popular amongst the girls. Colin, although smaller than Tony, he was still a ‘one of the boys’ and I would have never picked a fight with him. I stuck to walking to the corner of our street to watch them strut off together, wishing it was me going with them.

It wasn’t until Christmas 1980 that I came upon a pair of the old strap-on style roller skates by chance. We were just leaving our cousins home in Warrnambool when I happened to glance in their garage. The old skates had long ago been abandoned. They were dilapidated and the bearings had seized, full of rust from sitting around in the dampness of the garage. But to me they were a pair of magic shoes. With some assistance from Leanne, I soon found myself gliding down the driveway. I begged her to take me with her to the rink, but she was somewhat reluctant to include me in her evening socials, fearing I’d catch her snogging some lad, no doubt. Instead she conceded to take me down to roll around on Saturday mornings. It was enough – it was the start.

Even though the rink was small by any standards, it appeared enormous to me … and I loved it. My younger brother, Shane, joined us showing complete fearlessness on wheels and was soon racing around like a formula one driver. He is three years younger than I am, so at the time, we were both little horrors on wheels. The concrete floor was completely smooth, coated with a urethane finish, not at all like gliding down the driveway with your sister. It wasn’t until several hours, and numerous blisters, later that I felt relaxed enough to embrace the sensation beneath my feet. After that it became religion to go skating on Saturday afternoons. As fate would have it, my neighbor, John Hawkins, simultaneously became involved with the artistic side of the sport. When I watched him skate I could see this was the closest activity to ballet I was likely to participate in, and quickly I knew I wanted to live, breathe and sleep skating.

Perhaps surprisingly, in High School I failed physical education. I felt so intimidated by the other guys in my class I would regularly forget my uniform unless I knew we were doing something where body movement was involved, such as trampolining or gymnastics. It was only in these areas of sport I knew I could excel, and in team sports the larger macho boys seemed to think this was a great excuse to lay into the more ‘slight’ guys at every opportunity that presented itself.

I started taking beginners lessons at the roller skating rink with a wild twenty year old who drove a funky Volkswagen beetle. Her name was Lynda Flint and she soon became the guiding light in my world. At the tender age of eleven I quickly developed a burning desire to show her I could do anything she wanted. Lynda so impressed me with her outrageous personality and unique sense of style I was determined to win her undivided attention by outshining those who had been around the rink for some years and demanded the limelight.

Before long Lynda started to silently acknowledge that I was gathering momentum on wheels. She promptly encouraged me to join the advanced class, which was a big step for me (or anyone else joining the class), as I instantly felt intimidated by the other skaters – who wouldn’t? They all had expensive skates, club tracksuits, they knew one another and, naturally, they were all better than me. But I wasn’t going to let that stop me! It probably goes without saying that I had a teenage crush on Lynda. Some days she would arrive at the rink in her boyfriend’s white TR7 and I used to imagine what it would be like to be dating her. Occasionally I would have arrived ahead of the class to wait outside for her. I knew when I was there to greet her she would let me sit in the car while she unpacked her gear. She’d always greet me with a huge smile and a friendly, ‘Hi Jayse’. Oh how I dreamt of driving away with her in that car and owning a rink where she could teach me all day long, all to myself.

Skating soon became an everyday part of life for me. Even in primary school I would ride my bike to the rink after school to train and take classes. But as my involvement in roller sports increased, so did the need for money. I guess it stopped being a hobby when I escalated rapidly and to the point where new equipment and more lessons were necessary. My fabulous parents could see how committed I was to the sport, and thankfully they made sacrifices to ensure I had everything I needed. I can never truly thank them enough or repay them in full for encouraging and supporting me, especially as skating is one of the most unrecognized sports when it comes to any financial returns for being the best. In fact over time it probably represents the house I have never been able to buy!

It was every skaters dream to have the best equipment available, especially mine, but paying more than $300 for a pair of roller skates in those days was outrageous. My first pair of skates were a funky blue and yellow suede ‘disco inspired’ style, purchased from a toy store in Oakleigh. Dare I say now, they’d be rather cool looking. My neighbor, and by that time, good friend, John, had a pair of the ultimate, ‘Snyder’ skates, which to me were like gold. I was so envious of him. But it was through John I learned about the opportunities to compete at State, National and International levels. Suddenly I had my very first real goal in life. I was going to achieve my childhood dream after all … and be a world champion!

CHAPTER 2

OBSESSION

You know if my sister, Leanne, had taken me to an ice-skating rink instead of a roller-skating rink, the story I am telling now might be very different… Extremely different in fact, beyond belief! The support and recognition Ice receives is astounding (deservedly so), and I only hope one day that artistic skating can achieve such a height. At one point, there was such hope, when an article appeared in a newspaper back in `82 stating that is was likely we’d see Artistic Skating at the `84 Olympics. That in it self was a huge motivation, although a goal our sport has not yet realized. In saying that, I am extremely grateful to one of the ice-skating greats of all time, Robin Cousins, for his contribution to my book.

When I was at school, and still a teenager, I used to sit in the library and take the same book out every time I went in there and just sit and gaze at it. It had Robin’s picture on the front, he was wearing a red costume with three white stripes down the arms and legs, like an Adidas tracksuit. I just thought it was the most fantastic costume I’d ever seen and I wanted one of my own to wear. I consider him to be one of my all time heroes, a real master of the sport, a true artist. Not only that, Robin was also an Olympic champion, one who will be remembered always for his charismatic command of the audience. He was also the first to perform the ‘layout back-flip’ on ice and that in itself warranted a ‘cool’ status in my books.

In 1981 I was very keen to go and watch a roller competition to see what it was all about. The National championships that year were held in Melbourne, which presented me with an opportunity to watch the Juvenile boys division. I couldn’t believe the atmosphere; it was unlike anything I’d ever known. The air was electric; charged with anticipation, nerves, and rivalry. I could feel it surging through my veins. My eyes became expansive saucers, soaking in the cascade of adoring crowds and talented skaters in their team outfits. It was the first time I had any sentient awareness of what I was missing out on.

My mother was apparently seized with the knowledge that this was something I would never quit at. As a result she gave me her complete attention. In hindsight that might have put a strain on the rest of the family, but I have to acknowledge that mum was an integral part of my involvement in skating. It did feel, at times, as though I was getting priority treatment in order to follow my dream, but looking back on it my brothers and sisters all seemed willing to go without at times so I could journey that extra mile. I can never truly put a price on the support I received from my family as I was slowly but doggedly clawing my way to the top.

Even though I was constantly reminded that education was the most important ingredient in securing a solid future, especially from my dad, seeing as though he was a teacher for seventeen years, my love of skating took precedence over everything. I just couldn’t devote the time to studying that I applied to my training, especially as most nights I didn’t get home from the rink until eight o’clock. Invariably I was exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was homework.

Less than a year later, I was to compete in my first National Championships. I couldn’t believe I had really made the state team. And I couldn’t believe this meant I was actually going to be traveling to skate – especially as I’d never been further than Warrnambool before! Going to Newcastle in New South Wales was like going overseas to me.

A group of us from the Rollerworld Springvale Club journeyed up the coast together in a convoy of three cars, which in retrospect probably looked a bit like the ‘Adventures of Priscilla’.

Initially it was thought that I would compete in my first National Championship purely for experience, to give it a go and get a feel for what the interstate skaters were like. Following the state meet, I was entered as the third ranked male in my division, from a small field of four. Leading up to the meet, all odds were on the Queenslander, Neale Warr, to win. He was touted as the greatest thing on wheels, having won the National title the previous year. I felt an icy chill sweep my spine when I pictured myself competing against him. Yet when I finally met him at a training session I was in for a huge surprise.

Neale wasn’t quite the skater I had built him up to be in my mind; although given I had pictured him somewhere between Superman and Rudolph Nuruyev it shouldn’t have been that much of a shock. As soon as I learned he was not in fact endowed with superpowers, my confidence accelerated to a level I wouldn’t have believed was within my reach.

When the lights went down and the crowd cheered, I was transported into a world where nothing was beyond my grasp. At school I may not have been a macho man, and socially I was still discovering who I was, but here on the rink I knew, I just knew, I could shine and be who I wanted to be. I had to give it everything I had. There was no room now for fault or failure, no room for doubt or hindsight, there was only now – the moment when I had my chance to prove to everyone what I was really capable of. I skated with every muscle in my body. The agony and ecstasy of pleasure and pain dancing through my senses with every turn I made. I knew my performance was all I could make it, but was that good enough?

Before the competition none of the other skaters had considered me, an unknown, as any kind of threat. It was more like Jayson who? So when the scores started coming through, clearly indicating I was going to win, I couldn’t believe it. At my first significant competition I had caused a major upset. Not only was the defending champion knocked in to second position, but Grant Lawrence, the state champion of Victoria and also National Primary champion from the previous year, failed to even make the podium! I felt for him, but I was happy to be on the box with my team mate, Mark Kinzett.

My parents were cheering, yelling my name at the top of their lungs. I could hear them and yet it sounded as though it was happening somewhere else, in some far off distant land. My coach, Lynda, was tearful with joy, jumping up and down, hugging me. The prickles of excitement that pierced my entire being were welcome little sobering shocks resulting from the utterly electric environment in which I now held center stage. Skaters I had only dreamed of actually speaking to during the week, came up to me to congratulate me on my performance. They were God-like figures to me, people I had only heard about from far away places who commanded great respect in the sport. Ron Irving, coach and father of Paul Irving, was very eager to pat me on the back and that for me was definitely one of the highlights. All I knew at that age was that Paul Irving was the best skater in the entire country. For both him and his father to acknowledge me was something I wouldn’t have dared imagined was possible.

From that point on, everything changed. I no longer felt in the backseat. I had my future ahead of me, and the world at my feet.

The rest of the year seemed to be lost in the hazy fog of a dream. When I got back to school the local newspaper, the Journal, interviewed me and I had my first article in black and white. The picture was laughable. My hair looked like I’d just come out of a wind tunnel and I appeared to have ballooned in the face, even though I was such a slight little guy. My father told me as a reward for my commitment I was going to be getting my dream pair of skates, the Snyder skates I had been so desperately wanting for so long. It was all a little overwhelming, but my coach was never one to rest on laurels and she had me working twice as hard for the next six months with even greater goals in place for the future.

Lynda considered that inside three years I could make my debut on the international scene. Her knowledge never ceased to amaze me as she continued to challenge me in every way, both artistically and technically, over the following years. As we approached new seasons, I continued to grow with her, starting to experiment with original techniques of my own.

Our successes together carried through the next two years, climaxing with another National title win in the Advanced Men’s category of 1984 at the ‘Glass House’ in Melbourne (more commonly known as the ‘Melbourne Entertainment Center’). That’s right, I missed the ’83 title. This was in part because all the early success had gone to my head. That wasn’t a mistake I was about to repeat. In my defense, however, competing in the junior category, in my second year within the sport, was my first realization of pressure; and it was something I was totally unprepared for, most are. When it counted I crumbled. I remember standing in the stadium, waiting for my music to commence with my legs shaking so badly I had to pat them to try and relax them a little. There I was, undefeated all year leading up to the event, a bag full of new tricks, a huge showing of support from everyone, and I couldn’t stop shaking.

In hindsight it was the best thing that could have happened to me at that point in my career. It really brought me back down to earth and helped strengthen my character. It also gave me an understanding of why my father, for so long, had said, no matter what the outcome, you have to keep pushing yourself and never take success for granted. It’s something that has remained true to me, keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground ever since.

Aside from the frustrating performance in Adelaide, the year to date had been very challenging and rewarding. Only weeks prior to traveling interstate, I was the recipient of the special ‘Outstanding Achievement Award’ from Roller Sports Victoria. It was in recognition of my achievements spanning my first year in the sport. No other skater, to my knowledge, had received the Award in their first year before, and I was really taken aback by it. But greater moments of both pleasure and pain were still before me.

It was January 1984, when I met one of the greatest athletes in our sport to date, Scott Cohen, from the USA. He had just attained a No.2 ranking at the World Championships in Texas. I had seen a video of the meet and, as a teenager, I was in awe of the performances.

Both Tim McGuire and Scott were my immediate favorites, for different reasons: Tim for his powerful aggression, speed and technical perfection, and Scott for his artistic excellence with performances that were as powerful as they were emotional. He became the inspiration behind my creative freedom, as well as the most successful male artistic skater in history. He won five individual world titles, I think in no small part because of his parallel style to that of the ballet stars that had made such lasting impressions on me as a youngster.

Scott was in Australia with his coach, Jerry Walters, both very pale at the time and very much enjoying the Australian summer, were running a clinic in Adelaide at the Modbury rink during the competition in which I was to contest, aptly named, M.I.A.M.I (Modbury Interstate Artistic Meet Invitational). I had a broken arm at the time, as a result of an accident at the rink during a training session. However, this did not prevent me from taking part in the camp and aspiring to seek both Scott’s and Jerry’s undivided attention at every given moment.

He performed a number of exhibitions throughout the duration of the camp awe-inspiring everyone who saw him, including our own top skaters. One of his routines was performed to Elaine Paige’s version of, ‘Send In The Clowns’. Everything about that performance was breathtaking. It was the first time I can remember watching someone skate and knowing my bottom lip hit the floor in amazement. It also has to be said that Scott also had all the girls falling at his feet, something else I couldn’t help but admire him for.

Melanie Thomas and I were Lynda’s top students during this period. The costume that Melanie wore was unquestionably a testament to Lynda’s originality. It was a dramatic red leotard with lashings of black. The design of a spider’s web crawled across her back, with a vast plastic huntsman spider in the center that really