Thursday, September 1, 2011
Those who believe winning isn't everything are on a losing team
They were losing, and not just losing, but losing big time.
It was the first Friday night football game of the season and I had chosen the wrong team to watch.
Being the big Bearcat football fan that I am, I've learned a thing or two during the last few seasons like being on the winning team really is more fun, and those who believe winning isn't everything are on a losing team.
My high school days, all of them, were spent as a cheerleader for a losing team.
Trying to remain "spirited" while my team and best friends were literally getting their hind ends handed to them became sort of an art.
"No, we can't do the 'Go, Fight, Win Cheer,' because we're not going, fighting or winning," I'd remind the other girls.
Now that I'm a bit older, I realize how lucky we were that our fans had refrained from throwing the remains of their chili dogs at us as we pranced, clapped and yelled our way through a 42-0 loss.
For some reason, year after year, I'd put the purple and black cheerleading uniform of my high school back on and hope for a win — yes, A win, I'm a realist.
Granted, cheerleading was really the only option in the way of high school activities. For less athletic girls like me, volleyball was not an option.
As my other half puts it, I suffer from "baby giraffe syndrome." All arms and legs.
As the helpless, teenaged girls pranced, clapped and yelled at their silent stands Friday night I could only watch in horror.
"I sure hope I wasn't like that. Those girls really should be doing something productive, like bringing me a hot dog, slurpie or even a foam finger."
Just think of how different taking a devastating loss would be if Friday night football included served snacks and entertainment.
Let's see, watch the quarterback take another sack or watch as Timmy and Tommy use their foam fingers as light sabers to defeat the evil Darth Vader and take a tumble down the bleachers?
Once the score becomes obviously clear of a loss the cheerleaders would put aside any further embarrassment on their part and bust out the goods.
Heck, they could make selling hot dogs a cheerleading experience. No one said they have to yell, "get your hot dogs here." They're clever girls, they'll come up with something.
Maybe for every 10 coneys sold the girls could do a back flip.
Realizing I may not be the only cheerleader-type to suffer from a lack of athleticism, combined with the weight of carrying dozens of hot dogs and a set of bleachers, I put my ideas to rest and went home, a sore loser.
Good thing the Bearcats start their season this week.