I've earned my third sabbatical here at Woodberry, earned through seven years of hard labor. In 2008 I attended the Harry Wendelstedt Umpire School. In 2015 I spent a month in London. In 2023, I'm attending as many women's soccer games as I can get to around the country. I love women's soccer for its own sake, on its own terms. And a long-term goal is to share my love of women's soccer with students at my boys boarding school - students who don't necessarily have a negative view of women as athletes, but generally no view of female athletes at all.
Notes from my trip to Portland Thorns 3, Angel City FC 3: Saturday Apr 29.
The game itself: Angel City scored in the 10th minute through Alyssa Thompson, when Jun Endo sped by the Portland defense. Hina Sugita answered with a penalty - right in front of the supporters section where I was watching - 20 minutes later. Well into the second half, Morgan Weaver schooled the Angel City defense to put the Thorns up 2-1. But Julie Ertz - best player on the pitch - forced an own goal, and then scored a few minutes later to make it 3-2 Angel City. Finally, on the very last kick of the game, Thorns keeper Bella Bixby came up for a corner, and back-heeled the ball into the net to equalize. Bedlam and chants of "she's our keeper" ensued.
Physics teaching observations from the trip: (These will have more relevance than the game summary to the majority of blog readers, as I suspect the number of NWSL fans reading this is minimal):
I met Rachel and Lesa, a couple from San Francisco, on my flight into PDX. Rachel saw my jersey as we arrived, and we talked for a bit. They apparently have season seats at three NWSL parks: Angel City, Gotham, and Portland. They use their money to support women’s soccer everywhere they can. They live part time in Portland, part in the bay area, so they fly pretty much every weekend to a game somewhere, giving preference to the Thorns. They sit in the field boxes. Fantastic folks. And very different from anyone I know at my boys boarding school in central VA.
That was what struck me throughout the whirlwind trip – difference. Powell’s Books was barely comparable to the "local" Barnes & Noble in Charlottesville, VA, down to the socks for sale with (to me) borderline offensive mottos on. The people in Powell's did not have anyone telling them to get a haircut, or to wash out the dye so their hair is back to its natural color. No, it’s EHS week all the time in the hair department.* And yet, somehow, everyone there is excited about reading, discussing books, and looking for new books to read. Seems that the express connection that so many schools make between conservative appearance and academic success has been empirically denied.
*For non-Woodberry people: in the week before our rivalry football game with EHS, some members of the student body cut their hair into mohawks, over-the-top mullets, and other outlandish styles for the purpose of garnering attention. The official school stance on these is "fine, okay, whatever you want, but you must put your hair back to 'normal' before exams start a few days later."
I sat with the Rose City Riveters in the general admission section of Providence Park. Take any seat. No visiting team colors or supporters allowed – all Thorns, all the time. Flags were distributed for people to wave. Most seats were occupied. When the game started, four Capos mounted stands in front of the crowd and led the cheers, while a large person banged a larger bass drum 20 rows back.
I kvetch that women’s soccer is marketed, with a condescending pat on the head, to 10 year old girls and their parents. Well, there were indeed a large number of 10 year old girls among us. They gleefully sang the songs: Oh when the Thorns! Come marching in! Oh when the Thorns come marching in, oh I want to be in Rose City (ROSE CITY!) oh when the Thorns come marching in (FUCK SEATTLE!).
I recall my physics friend from Portland who, eight years ago, explained this phenomenon. He had a 10 year old daughter then, and took her to sit with the Riveters. She was taught that the F-word was unacceptable in all circumstances, never to be used except as the coda for several Riveters songs regarding the city of Seattle.*
*The only person who showed even the mildest discomfort with the F-word in this context was Jamie our capo – who never said the naughty word, presumably because a public leader of the supporter’s group could not be seen denigrating another team, city, or fan base. But Jamie gave a resigned smile each time, with face and hands saying “I know what words y’all gonna shout next, so go ahead, I’ll wait, and then we will chant again from the top.”
But families were maybe 1/3 of the crowd. Most were adults unaccompanied by children, there for their own entertainment. These adults sported more tattoos just in section 106 than I suspect are in all of Madison County, Virginia.** The adults came in friend groups, couples, and lone attendees like me. They were male, female, and everything in between – I assumed our (tattooed) capo was a woman, yet they entered a men’s restroom as I left it at halftime. The point: don’t assume. And the other point: Toto, we’re not in central Virginia any more.
**Of course, the population of section 106 during the game might be greater than that of Madison County.
Jamie was our capo’s name, who sang enthusiastically all game. They were everything a cheerleader should be. They did not wear a too-short skirt and carry pom poms, nor (as cheerleaders do at my school) an orange prison jump suit. No, Jamie dressed in a black Rose City T-shirt jean shorts, and glasses. Jamie never stopped singing except briefly to take a drink from a water bottle. Jamie exhorted the fans in sections 105 and 106 to sing, passing out a cheer sheet before the game so we’d know the words. Jamie made eye contact with people in the crowd, encouraging everyone to join in, to be loud.
I describe Jamie in such detail because of the way they dealt with the sometimes tough crowd. We were all there to support the team and watch the game; we all had opted in to the crazy supporters section. Yet the dedication to chanting wasn’t universal, nor even always majority. While certainly some folks sang every song at the top of their lungs, even those folks’ enthusiasm waned in the 21st verse of Allez Allez Allez. Jamie’s didn’t.
When my school's cheerleaders see the student section not joining in, they attack. They pick on a poor student who doesn’t sing; they get angry, singling out the freshmen (even if it’s the upperclassmen who are being quiet). They throw a football at the underclass student who isn’t paying detailed attention to them. They try to bully the crowd into doing what they say to do; anyone who doesn’t join in becomes a target of wrath.
Contrast that with how Jamie handled themself. When the crowd’s engagement waned, they got more engaged, until people joined in. It felt like they sometimes willed the lyrics out of us with their indomitable cheerfulness. Jamie never showed frustration, never displayed any negative language - neither body language nor verbal language - about or toward the crowd.
Now, I can’t say I was the loudest or most engaged singer. I tried to show willing by clapping occasionally in time with the drummer.* But joining in full-throttle in a cheering section is uncomfortably close to dancing for me. And dancing brings out the most severe social anxiety you can imagine. Greg doesn’t dance. Famously and emphatically.
* I realized my ability to sing in tune in a loud crowd has mostly vanished now, likely due to my hearing issues. I swear this was not a problem for me when I was 13. So I didn’t sing much.
And I was sitting only a few rows in front of Jamie, on the aisle. Jamie saw me, made eye contact with me several times. I can’t imagine that Jamie thought I was particularly enjoying myself (though I was); I suspect Jamie chalked me up to a lost cause early on in the night. I was certainly not the only one who wasn’t full-throated in their chanting. Yet Jamie kept the cheers going.
In the 87th minute, it was time for me to race out of Providence Park and to the airport. The game started at 7:40, not 7:30, and took a full 15 minute halftime interval. Thus, the game actually ended at 9:32 after eight minutes of extra time; I had scheduled my uber for 9:25. During a break in the cheering, I went up to Jamie and said how much I appreciated them. Jamie looked shocked, but pleased. They smiled and looked right at me. “Thanks, man, thanks!”
Positivity had been the order of the day for Jamie. I think they thought they were tossing their positivity away into a crowd that took them for granted, as if they were scenery. I hope it felt good for Jamie to hear that even the smiling but quiet middle-aged man enjoyed the experience, and appreciated their performance.
The teaching connection here is probably obvious, but just in case: more times than I can count, I’ve had a student who seemed to be uninterested or uninvested through part or all of the year, but then much later I’ve found out how much said student enjoyed and was influenced by my class. Keep the faith. As we kept faith in the Thorns that Saturday night, and were rewarded with the late equalizer while I was on my way to the airport for the overnight flight home.
