Packing the Stands

There was one section of the stands where we were sure of loyal support. The Pats gave each cheerleader one complementary ticket and donated six to members of the Radcliffe administration (last year all the Deans came to the game, but apparently once was enough). Since these complementary seats are all together, they form a nice block of people who are genuinely interested in the cheerleaders and would even cheer.

But there was one problem. The seats, understandably, are the least expensive, and consequently are located in the middle of what would be the bleachers if it were the spring and the Red Sox instead of the Patriots were in Fenway Park. These seats are so far away from the field that it's really difficulty to establish any sort of communication. Our fans were so distant that they couldn't hear what we were saying; and if they tried to cheer along, there was necessarily a time gap just because of the time it takes sound to travel. So when we were screaming "block that kick," they were still on "hold that line."

Also, through a stroke of luck, we lost some of our most dedicated rooters. The neighbor of one of the women connected with the Radcliffe gym has season tickets on the fifty yard line, which were generously donated to about six of our staunchest supporters. Ordinarily, this would be fine--we could see them and they could hear us and maybe their enthusiasm would be contagious. BUT, the seats were on the side of the field where the players sit; directly in back of the Boston bench, in fact.

Now you may think that Harvard is prejudiced against female cheerleaders (and you're right) but it's got nothing on Coach Holovak. We'd been warned before the game to get nowhere in the vicinity of the Patriots' bench, and if we had to pass by, to do it as quickly as was humanly possible. So we gave our fans a few quick "Rahs" as we dashed by, but they really didn't have any time to respond.

Most of the male fans were friendlier than the coach, however, at least as the game and the beer were nearing an end. "We want cartwheels!" was the cry. We compiled, feeling pretty proud of ourselves until a small boy called out from the stands, "My grandmother could do better than that!" Such boys were, for the most part, completely unimpressed. "Would you girls get out of the way? We came to see the game.