Do it, go to it, let’s fire up to win!
Do it, go to it (clap clap), do it again!
Yes, darlins, I was a high school cheerleader. Our Wildcats were Texas-proud, State Class B football champions. It was really hot stuff in our small town to be on the cheer squad, baton twirl, band or football team. We had 153 students in our high school (33 in my senior class), so participation in ‘extra-curricular’ was pretty much assured. Not that we didn’t earn our cred. We practiced all the time, because there wasn’t much else to do.
On Friday nights, everyone came to the game. The whole town of Bittie Spring (population 1130) showed up. It was grand. Parents and friends filled the bleachers. Attendance was de rigueur (that’s French for ‘expected or in fashion’)1. No consolidated school districts for us, thank yew. Our shrine to the Wildcats was a fine example of school bonds floated with the full faith and support of the citizens and financially backed by a strong tax base. The community possessed the unique circumstance of being a wet town in a dry county2. Even so, the city fathers believed in balance. We had an equal number of churches and liquor stores. And an equal number of patrons for both types of establishments. Once, our cows got out of the pasture and meandered onto the highway. The liquor store patrons put aside their brown bags and helped us herd our Herefords back into the pasture. Good times, good people.
The cheerleaders were ambassadors for the community. We were asked to make local appearances at the used car dealership and at the grocery store during Friday penny-pincher specials. Our week in Dallas at SMU Cheerleading Camp was chronicled in our hometown paper, the BS Journal. But then, everyone was in the paper. You just went downtown to the newspaper office and submitted your ‘news’ to the editor. Placement was assured. We didn’t have any reporters on the beat. No need for that. We were all citizen journalists, reporting on current events. Said differently, it was easy enough to spot your neighbors doing whatever and let it be known around town. Crime was non-existent3, because someone was goin’ to see you doin’ sumthin’ and tell your momma.
As a cheer squad, we were tight. You couldn’t swipe a Visa card between us. Secrets were told and honored with cross-our-hearts-and-hope-to-die-stick-a-needle-in-my-eye-if-I-lie sincerity. Loyalty and fidelity occurs when back flips are practiced4.
2, 4, 6, 8, who they don't appreciate: Michaele Salahi with the former Redskins cheerleaders at a Sept. 18 rehearsal. (Jamie Christian), via The Washington Post.
So, call me amazed when I read that alleged White House gate-crasher Michaele Salahi posed as a former Washington Redskins cheerleader. What was she thinking? Cheer is not a place where you blend in. Your teammates know you. According to news reports, she couldn’t perform her routines, and the alumni didn’t recognize her. She was out there, shaking her pom-poms without permission5. But they gave her a jersey anyway, just to be nice6.
It was also reported that Ms. Salahi, in preparation for her non-invitation to the White House, spent all day at the salon getting ready. Whew! Marathon of beauty! Who hasn’t been there.
This Nov. 27, 2009 file photo released by the White House shows President Barack Obama greeting Michaele and Tareq Salahi, right, at a State Dinner hosted by Obama at the White House in Washington Tuesday, Nov. 24, 2009. Via The Washington Post.
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1A cat burglar could have cleaned out everyone in town. No one stayed home and we didn’t lock our doors.
2Alcohol, y’all. No bars, just cash-n-carry liquor stores. They came from three surrounding counties, loaded up their pickups with pallets of beer and Wild Turkey, and returned home to share their contraband with neighbors living in alcohol-free strongholds. We got a first-class public education in a state-of-the-art facility from the demon’s brew.
3 There were attempts to provide a local, volunteer police force. My dad tried it for 48 hours. We were bbq-ing steaks out back on a handsome grill he made from a new, half-cut oil drum and looking forward to the Cowboys game, when the phone rang. The owner of the local no-tell motel said, “Tell your man to get his pants on and come down here. We got trouble.” Just to be clear, my dad was wearing jeans. He was not known around town for being undressed. My mom hung up, turned to my father and said, “Call the city manager and turn in your badge. Dinner is a family time.”
4 The only other time I’ve seen this is in Bible study. You know what I’m talking about. In cheer, your squad physically has your back. In Bible study, your group spiritually has your back. Same, same.
5 Washington Post, 12.3.09, Paul Farhi, Cheerleaders get fired up about Salahi. “She was never at an audition, never at a game and never performed” as an original cheerleader, said Sheryl Olecheck, a Redskins cheerleader from 1986 to 1996 who choreographed the team for seven years. “When I saw her, I had to ask around: ‘Who is that?’ ” …Olecheck said she was “unnerved” by the episode. “It takes a lot of time and heart and practice to be a Redskins cheerleader,” she said. “It’s really a privilege to wear the burgundy and gold. So I’m resentful. . . . For her to get out there and think she can just shake her pompoms is upsetting.”
6 This is a testament to the cheer-leadership I remember. Unlike that dreadful cheer mom in Houston, Wanda Holloway, who planned a murder-for-hire to kill 38-year-old Verna Heath and her 13-year-old-daughter, Amber , as a way to assure her own daughter, Shanna, a place on the cheerleading squad. Dark days, that episode. Bad things should not happen in a sport called cheer.
