College Football: The Best Place Is on the Sidelines

Most people do not like being relegated to the sidelines—but cheerleading makes you a permanent benchwarmer—an unconditional observer, a part of the game but never quite able to get your hands on the ball. But I like my spot on the sidelines, cheering on my college team, the Lehigh University Mountainhawks, the grassy terrain of Goodman Stadium stretching endlessly beneath my feet.

There is no prettier season than football season on South Mountain, in the old steel mill town of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. To my left, the distant trees are an array of rust and scarlet colors. This kaleidoscope of autumn colors reaches to meet a cloudless blue sky, a page ripped from an almost forgotten summer and one from a commencing fall. Often, the trees seem to nod as a soft wind blows by, and the rustling leaves obscure the straight line of sky to merge the two worlds.

In front of me, stands a long line of diverse men. Some are lanky, their lean torsos all angles. The majority are bigger-boned, though, with broad shoulders and curves only further accentuated by unforgiving white pants. Each seems to have adorned themselves with some piece of individuality, including sweatbands, red bandanas and elaborate tattoos.

It is really their faces and gestures that tell the story of the game, though. They are divided by size and various unique embellishments, but they all wear the same brown and white jersey with pride. Their faces are an open book of excitement, anticipation, worry, and anger.  They nod with vehemence. They slap their teammates’ backs and yell jumbled words of encouragement in their deep and always angry voices. They pump their hands in an effort to get the crowd to feel even one iota of their excitement. They lift up a four finger salute at the beginning of every fourth quarter to let everyone know that this is it.

To my right is a deeply sloping grass lawn, situated directly behind a goal post and flimsy chain link fence. The lawn is dotted with groups of people, decorated in brown sweatshirts, hats and hawk tattoos. Some spend the time propelling their bodies in a horizontal roll down the hill. Some are sipping smuggled beverages in an assortment of containers. Most are simply sitting with friends, knees pulled to their chests, watching the game through black tinted sunglasses. The sound of their enthusiastic claps and cheers drift toward me, their hoarse screams sometimes make me cringe.

Beyond these people, is a cadre of tents with signs announcing the sale of “fried dough,” “funnel cake,” “hot dogs” and, of course, “Lehigh’s famous brownies.” The smell of fried food floats towards me, and I always lift my chin to get a bigger whiff.

As a virgin writer for Bleacher Report, I know this piece is not your average sports news coverage, but this is what I think of as being the epitome of sports. This is the experience of sports—taking it all in, from the weather to the players to the refreshments. This is the joy of being a fan, the joy of the game.

An old coach once told me that most athletes train in the spirit of competition. I like to think that cheerleaders and all sports fans train simply in the spirit. We bring our A-game every game, whether it is watching a baseball game on our living room couch or sitting courtside next to Jay-Z at a Nets game.

We bring our pride and our hearts and our painted faces, and we take it all in. We don’t just watch games; we experience them in their entirety, and we live for our spot on the sidelines.