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“Oh come on, Bethany. You’ve got to tryout with us! You’d be great!”
“Hmmm… I don’t know.”
“You’re peppy. You’re little. You’d be perfect.”
I envisioned myself in a short skirt bravely cheering USU on, boys begging for my phone number, girls seething in jealousy.
Somewhere between the “short skirt” and “boys begging” did I forget that I was about as stretchy as a lug nut. It also slipped my mind that I was afraid of flips and heights and boys. I was uncoordinated, didn’t give a hoot about sports, and couldn’t balance worth a poop. But, yes, I was peppy and little.
“Okay! Let’s do it!” I clapped.
I walked into the auditorium and saw the other girls stretching. They were very bendy. They’d been preparing for this tryout for decades—they’d gone to cheer camp as toddlers, tumbling classes in utero, four years of high school cheerleading, sparkly makeup application seminars…
The closest I had ever gotten to cheerleading experience is kissing one of the starters on my high school’s basketball team.
I started warming up. I stretched and I pulled. Only when I attempted the splits and accomplished a mere 90 degree angle did I understand the gravity of the situation.
“Turn around! Go home! You are not a cheerleader; you are a scrap booker!” my better judgment implored.
But the judges had already pinned a number to my back. I felt stuck.
The cheerleaders first taught us a basic cheer dance. I stumbled and tripped as I tried to perform. The judges stifled their laughter.
Then the judges asked to see our best tumbling tricks. I offered a somersault.
Meanwhile, the girls around me were doing “back handover vaulted pull-around flip springs.” They rallied. They sparkled. They made me look like an idiot.
Correction: I made myself look like an idiot.
At least I was peppy… and little.
After tryouts were over, I cried a little. Then I called my mother to brag that I had tried out for college cheerleading and made it up to the final cut.
There was only one cut.
P.S. I’d like to add that my friend Steph almost (and should have) made the team. Go Steph!
“Hmmm… I don’t know.”
“You’re peppy. You’re little. You’d be perfect.”
I envisioned myself in a short skirt bravely cheering USU on, boys begging for my phone number, girls seething in jealousy.
Somewhere between the “short skirt” and “boys begging” did I forget that I was about as stretchy as a lug nut. It also slipped my mind that I was afraid of flips and heights and boys. I was uncoordinated, didn’t give a hoot about sports, and couldn’t balance worth a poop. But, yes, I was peppy and little.
“Okay! Let’s do it!” I clapped.
I walked into the auditorium and saw the other girls stretching. They were very bendy. They’d been preparing for this tryout for decades—they’d gone to cheer camp as toddlers, tumbling classes in utero, four years of high school cheerleading, sparkly makeup application seminars…
The closest I had ever gotten to cheerleading experience is kissing one of the starters on my high school’s basketball team.
I started warming up. I stretched and I pulled. Only when I attempted the splits and accomplished a mere 90 degree angle did I understand the gravity of the situation.
“Turn around! Go home! You are not a cheerleader; you are a scrap booker!” my better judgment implored.
But the judges had already pinned a number to my back. I felt stuck.
The cheerleaders first taught us a basic cheer dance. I stumbled and tripped as I tried to perform. The judges stifled their laughter.
Then the judges asked to see our best tumbling tricks. I offered a somersault.
Meanwhile, the girls around me were doing “back handover vaulted pull-around flip springs.” They rallied. They sparkled. They made me look like an idiot.
Correction: I made myself look like an idiot.
At least I was peppy… and little.
After tryouts were over, I cried a little. Then I called my mother to brag that I had tried out for college cheerleading and made it up to the final cut.
There was only one cut.
P.S. I’d like to add that my friend Steph almost (and should have) made the team. Go Steph!
6 comments:
I love that you did a summersault! That is awesome! I wonder if everyone there thought you were making fun of cheerleaders?! Hmmmmm.....
Okay that doesn't happen to be the same tryouts that you did while we were in the dorms, is it? How funny! (if it is...) I totally remember that...and WHAT WERE WE THINKING?!!!! hehehe, what a good description of how we ALL felt :) I agree though, Steph should have made it! Thanks for the awesome account of how it all went down :)
Ahhhhhh you are too sweet!!!! I agree though gosh dang it! I should have!!!! Hee hee. I must say I remember you being a rockstar though...love ya girl!
One of the things I love most about you, my darling funny girl is your willingness to trot out all of your humiliations for the entertainment of your adoring public.
You have a wonderful ability to laugh at yourself. What a great example to all of those who are tempted to take themselves a little too seriously.
Bethany, who was the starter you kissed? I should know this and I can't remember!
Curi Yutzi. It was at our graduation party. It was magical... not.
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