The Screamer

Drew was excited about getting to "play under the lights" at Bishop Kearney (pronounced car-knee). Most of their soccer games are afternoon games, but this Catholic High School, funded in part by a local entrepreneur, has an official field with a fancy track, scoreboard, and lights for night games.

Our team, with its one senior and tons of short jr high boys and struggling to reinvent itself after last year's winning mostly senior team, was woefully outmanned by this all star senior starting lineup of good sized men. The Kearney team had obviously been playing together for awhile and had honed their teamwork to a science.

Nonetheless, Finney parents, myself included, bravely lined the bleachers, battling the chilly fall temperatures, to support our boys. I huddled in my layers, wishing I had been able to go home first to get my winter jacket and gloves. At least my raincoat was long and lined, and I had the thin airline blanket I carry in the trunk for emergencies to wrap my legs with, and a thick towel to position on the metal seat to keep my butt from freezing.

I watched the teams warm up in their shorts and short sleeved uniforms. You have to be crazy to want to brave both the cold and the expertise of the opposing team. Our boys straggled in, their awareness of the odds apparent in their demeanor. I could read a determination to at least keep it from being a total slaughter.

We stood for the national anthem, and the game began. I didn't know the name of the woman I was sitting next to, nor could I tell from her running commentary on the game which player she was there for. But I knew right away which team she was rooting for.

The label truck driver came to mind as she used and reused her limited vocabulary to egg the team to victory. She shouted (and I mean shouted) the same few phrases over and over, as if somehow saying these things often could sway the outcome of the game.

Come on, Green!
Step in it!
Make 'em work for it!
Go, go, go, go, go! (exactly five)
Do it again - again!
That's it, [insert name of player here], that's it!

That was pretty much it, punctuated with groans and moans and foot stomping and arm waving. She jumped up and down on those bleachers wildly until I feared for my safety. It didn't matter to her what anyone else thought, she was totally involved in the action on the field. Sold out, 100% supportive, she knew every team member by name and number.

At first it was amusing. Then it became irritating, and finally, it was downright obnoxious. At half time, I went and sat in my car, trying to warm my bones. And when I returned, I didn't sit near her. She went right on doing what she knew she should do to support our brave boys against overwhelming odds ( we lost 5 - 0 ).

I wondered what she thought her actions were accomplishing. I'm pretty sure the boys couldn't hear her or weren't aware of her while they were playing. Her advice gave them no new strategies or suggestions on how to improve their game. She didn't elicit any sense of camaraderie from the other spectators. I'm pretty sure she didn't influence the outcome of the game.

But all told, I'd a lot rather have someone like her in my corner than the other parents in the stands who were talking on cell phones, reading, gossiping with friends, coming and going, eating, and otherwise disengaged except for the few occasions when the other team scored and they groaned in unison.

I think she must have worn herself out. I'm sure she was hoarse afterwards. She probably felt very alone since no one else joined her in her cheerleading. And I'm certain she will do it again on Saturday when we play Gananda. She may not know it, but, though I am no screamer, I was just as engaged in the game in my own quiet way. My heart rose and fell as the ball bounced back and forth, dropping into my toes when the other team scored, rising into my throat when our team came close to scoring.

Maybe next time I will strike up a conversation with this woman. It seems to me she would be a good person to know.