I had absolutely no reason to be there, as I had about as much chance of being chosen as a snowball would have in the climate of Hell; but I am truly impressed with the absurdity of life and feel that part of life is embracing madness from time to time. Besides, being a student of psychology is so, well, bourgeois that there is an occasional need to break the boundaries of convention. And it would totally confuse the dickens out of some of the professors! One in particular, a hyperfeminist. She was from New York, and consequently was always surprised with the mores of the local area.
What the hell! I was talked into doing it by a friend, an old high school classmate, who presented as an idea of doing 'just for the heck of it.' That same notion boosted me into truancy when I was younger, and other indiscretions.
It was a tryout for cheerleaders for a professional sports team, the New Orleans Hornets. Ahhh, there were over 250 of us dressed in shorts and tops of various degrees of modesty crowded into a gym. We tried out three at a time on a choreographed dance number before the selection judges and a crowd of onlookers who added to the setting. The ultimate goal: the selection of 20 from the local area. I went, well armed with irony and the spirit of fun. It was not like I had what it takes (toilet paper, notwithstanding).
I thought I was physically fit, if not as pneumatic as some of my competition; but running through the paces was quickly exausting. Wow! Cheerleading is hard work! Actually, it's mainly dancing, and I'm not a household word in my gracefulness. (Guys liked to dance with me, as I made them look good by comparison.) However, I kind of got into the spirit of things, and my competititve blood got flowing. I jumped, and danced furiously. I was gonna show 'em! Unfortunately, my tennis shoes slipped and I fell unceremoniously on my fanny!
I rated a smattering of applause. But no halftime and intermission dancing for me! Ah, that is for the graceful of foot, among other things.
One of my aunts saw me on television in the background when there was a brief panning over the participants as part of the news report on a slow day (no homicides). Needless to say, she called this fact to all of my relatives. And also let all and sundry know that she was not pleased. She wouldn't be. Mama told her to hush.
I later visited a voodoo shop to get something to retaliate for her meddlesomeness.
What the hell! I was talked into doing it by a friend, an old high school classmate, who presented as an idea of doing 'just for the heck of it.' That same notion boosted me into truancy when I was younger, and other indiscretions.
It was a tryout for cheerleaders for a professional sports team, the New Orleans Hornets. Ahhh, there were over 250 of us dressed in shorts and tops of various degrees of modesty crowded into a gym. We tried out three at a time on a choreographed dance number before the selection judges and a crowd of onlookers who added to the setting. The ultimate goal: the selection of 20 from the local area. I went, well armed with irony and the spirit of fun. It was not like I had what it takes (toilet paper, notwithstanding).
I thought I was physically fit, if not as pneumatic as some of my competition; but running through the paces was quickly exausting. Wow! Cheerleading is hard work! Actually, it's mainly dancing, and I'm not a household word in my gracefulness. (Guys liked to dance with me, as I made them look good by comparison.) However, I kind of got into the spirit of things, and my competititve blood got flowing. I jumped, and danced furiously. I was gonna show 'em! Unfortunately, my tennis shoes slipped and I fell unceremoniously on my fanny!
I rated a smattering of applause. But no halftime and intermission dancing for me! Ah, that is for the graceful of foot, among other things.
One of my aunts saw me on television in the background when there was a brief panning over the participants as part of the news report on a slow day (no homicides). Needless to say, she called this fact to all of my relatives. And also let all and sundry know that she was not pleased. She wouldn't be. Mama told her to hush.
I later visited a voodoo shop to get something to retaliate for her meddlesomeness.
You would have made a great Hornet cheerleader!
ReplyDeleteSo, what happened to your aunt?
ReplyDeleteA psychology student that succumbs to peer pressure, eh?
ReplyDeleteBeauty, brains, bourgeois. What more could a guy ask for?
A great thing to dare. Do they do more dancing, yelling, or gymnastics?
ReplyDeleteAre they as easy as they look?
ReplyDeleteAnon, don't moronically stereotype cheerleaders!
ReplyDeleteIt sounds like you had fun. What sort of voodoo did you use?
There has to be video you're not sharing. Come ooooonnn.
ReplyDeleteI second Mike's motion! Come ooooonnn!
ReplyDeleteThe Hornets missed a good one.
Oh, dat tush!
ReplyDeleteDuckbutt -- Thank you for that sompliment and vote of confidence.
ReplyDeleteBilbo -- A gris-gris caused her t.v. to not show Matlock.
John -- Plus a psych major who bows to peer pressure when it comes to fun.
Banana Oil -- Mostly dancing. Nothing dangerous
Anon -- You can't tell anything by appearances.
Heidi -- Thank you. My thoughts too
Mike and Elvis -- Sorry, no film at 10.
King -- Which one?
Cheerleading is for exhibitionists.
DeleteNo Matlock?? The horror!!
ReplyDelete