The Green Zone: Brains and beauty invade the cheerleading realm

"Cheerleading is, like, super-omega-awesome."

Freshman Katy Hazeltine looks at me with utmost sincerity as she discusses the deep philosophical underpinnings of her craft.

I'm being eyed suspiciously by some of the men playing intramural volleyball in the gym as I stretch out with the cheerleaders during one of their final practices before their homecoming performance.  But really, I think they're jealous. 

I mean here I am the lone male, which I think makes me the alpha-male by default, amidst seventeen shapely Norse women clad in tight blue and gold "Spirit Squad" tank tops and skimpy shorts, all of them jumping and hollering about the Elmen Center.

Those guys should be jealous.

For once I'm not getting pummeled by wrestlers or vomiting on track runs.  I just have the opportunity—no—the privilege to sit on the sidelines and watch stunning women scramble about the gym practicing their routine with wide doe eyes and bleached smiles smeared across their faces as coach Catie Menke yells "five, six, seven, eight," over and over until her team gets everything right. They move mechanically, like a sexy engine designed to haul Augustana's sports fans into a frenzy.

The routine consists of a dance that sort of reminds me of that scene from Flashdance when Jennifer Beal leans back in her chair and gets hit with the water onstage, followed by a horribly dangerous looking portion where they fling the little cheerleaders—"flyers"—up into the air and somehow avoid dropping them teethfirst on the hard gym floor. 

During a break, cheer captain, senior Maren Larson—a striking brunette with jade eyes that would be easy to get lost in—orders the flyers to "make sure to keep your chests up, and don't forget to squeeze your butts when you prep."

I have no idea what she's talking about, but I am absolutely certain that I have no objection to her demands.

There's a lot of supportive clapping amongst the squad, a lot of smiling, and a lot of "Whoo! Alright ladieeees!"-ing going on in here. And to be sure, there are certain aspects of this practice that reinforce the bimbo cheerleader image.  The word "like" is a common part of cheerleading sentence structure, and apart from "five, six, seven, eight," it is without a doubt the most frequently used term at practice.

However, I cannot judge too quickly, as most of the team members are involved with any number of groups on campus.  Many of the ladies have two or more majors, such as chemistry and biology or psychology and economics, not to mention the fact that the team boasts a higher cumulative GPA than nearly every other team on campus.

Almost all of the women have been cheerleading since they were in fourth or fifth grade, and their experience shows in the quality of their performance.  They are just as dedicated to their sport as any other athlete at Augustana. 

They put in long hours. 

They train hard. 

They demand excellence.

And when you think about it, they do have a respectably heavy burden to bear, because while you're at those mid-November football games whining about the cold, they're down on the field in very little clothing with smiles and face paint, cheering the team on and acting like they're loving the frigid temperature.

They rehearse the show a few more times until the performance is up to Menke's standards.  As the practice is about to end, she turns her troops loose on me and suddenly I find myself surrounded by the team whose smiles have now turned mischievous as they grab my arms and haul me out onto the floor. 

Before I have much time to think, they're preparing to launch me like they've been doing to the other flyers all night.

Perhaps this is where this thing backfires. 

Perhaps this whole interview full of brainy babes was too good to be true, and I'll end up lying toothless in a pool of my own blood after I crush my eye sockets into the floor. 

The intramural volleyball players momentarily halt their game as I prepare to lose my dignity in front of the team.

To my right and left are dream twins Kirsten and Karmen Nyberg.  Just as they're getting ready to toss me into the air, Shelby Kontz, a freshman with swoopy brown hair, steps up behind me and grabs my butt to support me if I fall.

"Squeeze your ass," she reminds me.

Yes ma'am.

They thrust me upward, and in one swift movement I'm standing on top of their extended arms.  I hang there for a moment, feeling like the master of my domain, and then Karmen yells, "Cradle! One, two!"

As I'm thinking about what that could possibly mean, the hands that support my feet are suddenly gone as I just sort of drift down and am caught by Kontz and the wonder twins, whose arms might just as well have been a bed of roses.

I've had some fun interviews in the past, but as I lay in the arms of these beautiful women, I come to realize this is totally, like, the best assignment I've ever had.