why cheerleaders hate me

You know what book I really love? "Hate Mail From Cheerleaders" - it's a compilation of Rick Rielly's sports' column on the last page of SportsIllustrated. I started reading it again today - found it in my trunk (always a mess & sometimes a treasure chest).  I found it appropriate to read from today since cheer nation has infested my darling Alabama campus.  Every summer I am guaranteed two things. ONE, I will come VERY close to beating the crap out of one of these little brats with her spirit stick when she forgets that I am a student and not a camper, therefore would like to order my double cheeseburger and french fries and un-Diet Coke without looks of disgust and whispers about my calorie in-take. And TWO, I will, at some point and probably more than once (or six times), obnoxiously lay on my horn when a couple of high school seniors forget that they don't "own this place" like they do their 3A high school, and not only jay walk in front of me on MY campus, but practice their routine, while jay walking in front of me. Sorry for being obnoxious with the horn, I was merely trying to speak cheer language.  Anywho, that's why I vented about my cheer-phobia with my fav columnist, Rick Reilly. He shares the belief that cheerleading isn't a sport and he is in large part responsible for inspiring me to write my infamous 'Just Jones It' sports' column my junior year of high school that, not only is to blame for my gmail inbox getting blown up with incredibly hateful e-mails from the cheerleading squad, but is also to blame for my mean, pink Post-It note death threat that read:
Since we're not a sport, we'd love to have you at practice today to admire your skills at what we do. -Senior Cheerleaders '04

This ordeal is funny -well hilarious actually - to me now, but earlier I used the term 'cheerleading squad' and what I meant to say was 'small army'.  The '04 cheer militia pretty much loved to hate me, and there was a ton of them. I guarantee you there were more members on that OHS cheerleading squad than there were buzzed heads walking around The Citadel campus on any given day. (Ok, maybe not that many, but close to it!) Let's just say that I successfully pissed off about 25 bia-bias in orange skirts - according to my pink post-it I found in my locker about... eh... 25 minutes after our school newspaper got back from going to press and was delivered to the 3,200 guys and gals that made up our super-sized student body. Some say you can spot the Great Wall of China, the Egyptian Pyramids, and the OHS Cheerleading Squad from outerspace ( only when they wear the orange uniforms, duh). At the time this blog post was published, NASA had yet to confirm this theory.

Let me try one last time to un-declare war amongst me and the pom-pom mafia.

1. I said it wasn't a sport, and I have a right to my opinion today, just as I did when the original publication went to press (Fall 2004). fyi, my opinion stays unchanged.

2. I said you girls were athletes. One must be athletic to jump, bend, twirl, fly, throw, flip, twist, tuck, clap/suction the hands, bob the head, thrust the pelvis, and point the toes. All the while smiling at the crowd of people cheer moms and screaming out football terminology from three plays back. My bad, the people cheer moms are all watching the football game that's going on behind behind you. (The special teams are in to punt, but y'all are still doing that "1st and 10, Do It Again!" chant).

3. I'm still laughing at your invitation to come 'show you my skills.' I'm a sportsman, not one for the Fine Arts.... so, how about 'no!'

Here's what I have to say to that, five and a half years later.

• The Lions Tale usually had a press deadline that fell on a Friday. Which really meant that we got it out Monday morning NIGHT. Therefore, it usually came out on a Tuesday. Tuesday in Baily's World meant one thing: speed workout day.
• Speed Workout Day: the cross-country runner's day from hell. Usually consist of four 1mile repeats. Whether we ran these mile splits on the 103 degree asphalt or on the trails at the cemetary always Depended on how immature/mature the JV Boys' cross-country team was during the team meeting (which was made up of 9 slow and egotistical members of the Varsity wrestling team and approximately 13 state champions rings). And so it goes... 9 out of 10 times the wrestler's pretending to be cross-country runners would act like infants, which in turn caused me to bitch them out, which resulted in a hot afternoon on OHS's ghetto-ass track doing sub-6:30:00 mile splits. 
•  Which leads me to this point, you Cheer Camper you... I will humor you with my toe touches and bowlegged, wobbly-kneed stunts if you can make it around that track four times in six and a half minutes. But listen, since I 'offended' you, I'll give you a 7min split time since a few of you about croaked last Friday night getting to the endzone to lead the cheer. But, stretch! 4 miles in 28 minutes is a lot harder than the two 'warm-up' laps you do around the indoor lunch room of ours.
• I won't call you 3 out, but one of you is the main suspect in the Post-It detective file. The only suspense is what senior in high school still dots her i's with a heart. In a threat, on a pink Post-It note. FAIL.
• When I wasn't in a fight with the real-life A.C. Slaters, I joined them on their immaturity level during  warm-ups and cool-downs. Usually because they half-ass cared for cross-country and were just trying to cut weight for wrestling season, so they would sneak us in to the AC to do our cool-downs if the temptation was even slightly there. Very immaturely, we put bets on which one of the three was walking with a side-stitch after her 2 laps around the lunch tables. Conversion: half a lap around the track.

I guess I bit my tongue for once in my life and didn't explain this sooner. I don't expect anyone to care now that five years has gone by, but I doubt anyone cared five years ago either. I was inspired by a book that a sports enthusiast/genius wrote, and I wrote what came to mind. A lot of the 2005 girls who were my best friends were members of the short skirt mafia, and I love them dearly and respect what they do. They just rubbed me off as being a cynical tomboy whose hair wasn't pulled back into a mind-altering coma that brainwashed me into a cheer cult like theirs was. Ha... and here I was thinking y'all just had a thing for unnatural ringlets and hair nets. Rah! Rah! (Shish-Koom-Ba!)

cheer coma

a whole new meaning to late-onset developmental delay, or traumatic brain injury.

(image: google images)

I feel less bad for the very decorated toy poodle I saw at breakfast this morning. Peaches probably didn't have to wear a hair net, and Peaches is a lap dog (scale: Missy's hairbow weighs 12 lbs. Peaches weighs 13 lbs.) Nevermind, I'm siding with Peaches. Missy is old enough to know right from wrong and THAT. IS. WRONG.

Anyway, sorry I never made it to cheer practice that day, girls. The threating tone mixed with the whole heart shape dotted 'i' thing really had me confused.  I might have taken it more seriously if you woulda been all like "you just got served" about it by doing a little jazz-hand number and a simple, to the point bitch comment like "Bring It On!"
That movie's a classic, right? Up there with Casablanca, Citizen Kane, Gone With The Wind, and Bring It On.

(I'm rolling my eyes and 'for real' gagging this time).

Hate mail? Comment below. Not sure if there's a computer formula to make the dot in your 'i' a heart but the ol' less than sign (<) paired with a three (3) always works pretty good... but you already knew that, I'm being silly. I think they teach it at cheer camp!

rah rah rah <3 <3 <3 love and peace <3 <3 <3 rah rah rah

bjj

before any current or former mafia member is about to get all west-siiiiide on me let me remind you of a few more smart-alec points...

1. a columnist has an entirely different code of ethics than a reporter. political correctness is not required, bias opinions are greatly encouraged.

2. my name was on the by-line which means I fully endorse my opinions

3. i fully supported the cheer troops at competitions because some of you are my friends

4. re-itterated: i cheered for cheerleaders who were cheering for a score by the judges, not for a score on the stadium scoreboard.

5. i'm probably bow-legged and wobbly-kneed from all that lactic acid build up in my muscles from playing my SPORTS.

6. I could have guessed which 3 west-siders gained 50lbs post-grad.

7. Hell no, I can't run sub-06min30second mile repeats anymore but I don't see too many basket-tosses in your near future there either, Thunder Thighs.

8. And for crying out loud, whoEVER thought making a suction cup of the palms of your hands was a revolutionary form of clapping needs to chill out with all the cheer competition coma idealogy.

HAHAHAHAHA. This one might even make Nick Saban show a little grin. Funny, silly, spirited girls! (Insert overly obvious eye-roll or 'gag me' gesture here)

and add a little consideration for the un-cheery type to all that spirit and wait until you get to 'nationals' at disney world to rehearse. I am, I'm excited about my trip home to Orlando, and excited about how inexpensive this SouthWest Airlines ticket was, I just forgot to put on my silver glitter eyeshadow... my bad. Pardon me while I read "Hate Mail From Cheerleaders" and cuss myself for not planning my trip on any of the other 51 weekends this year.

Nothing is worse than a plane full of Alabama's perkiest, peppiest, bufont-haired girls who are Disney-bound for the first time since they were in the toddler age group in the beauty pageants. Wait, yes there is..... their MOMS! Yep, there they are. Hard to miss their beloved title, "Cheer Mom," spelled out in horrible clumps of glitter and confetti on every single accessory and item of clothing that they own.

Ok I'm done. I just re-read my cynical rant and I'm disgusted at #5 up there.

I cheered for cheerleaders who were cheering for no one.

Sweet. I could have done something better with that 4 hours of my life. Take up a new sport or something: you know, like bowling or poker or bass fishing. The stuff that's on ESPN.

p.s. we appreciate the bloomers, but I probably would have taken you more seriously if you had left the paw prints off your ass cheeks.

Game over.

And THAT is why you are not a sport. No sport, or athlete, or fan that I know of considers a gay man's banana hammock a piece of sports equipment.

words of wisdom to cheerleaders everywhere: when in doubt, don't ask your mom.

because THAT up there happens.

and this girl down here truly believes that the roach-sized star stamped on her temple is going to earn her squad-army some bonus spirit points! (1, 2, 3, 4, like totally... ok!)

however, she seeing different stars as a result of her cheer-coma.

Hey Casper... your hairline is bleeding.