You look awfully pretty when you get pissed. Even prettier when you start to blow your top when the ref goes for the card.
I tear the tape with my mouth and toss the roll back into my bag. With a sigh, I look up at the ceiling, decorated with the dramatically lit outline of the New England Bobcat itself.
Colton James Bradley, where are you when I need you most?
We don’t need to enter the field properly to hear how amped up the crowd is – and how many of them are out there. The roaring is almost quadruple what we heard back in DC. You can barely hear the throb of the music when the Clippers rush out of the tunnel, pumping the crowd up so they move from ridiculously loud to borderline deafening. It’s not really that many people in the grand scheme of things: professional football matches fill the entire place up, and this is maybe a small fraction of capacity. But for us, in a sport that’s been in the back corner our whole lives, this is everything.
Before the game gets into full swing, we meet our parents in the tunnel for wishes of good luck and encouragement, at least for the next couple hours. We keep it short and sweet as we always do. Papa and Mumma know the drill. We exchange hugs, and my parents give me their last few bits of advice, as always.
From Mumma: ‘Play it smart, May.’
From Papa: ‘Wreck ’em.’
‘All right, ladies. All right. All right.’ Coach makes her way down the line of us once we’re in the tunnel, giving each of our shoulders a firm pat. ‘I want you girls to know that it means so much to me –somuch, that we are here right now. That each of you have put in the hours on the field, and off it. Many of you, I’ve watched you go home and work two, three jobs to keep yourself here. I’ve watched you wait tables and kiss frogs and literally muckshit—’
Maddie bursts out laughing, triggering the rest of us on impact. Coach rolls her eyes, but she bats away a tear. Coach Dillon, the stoic queen of OKC lacrosse, and tears? I don’t believe it.
‘And every little thing you’ve done, I want you to know thatit has a permanent place in my heart. That thisteamhas a permanent place in my heart. Always. Whether we win this, or we don’t.’ Coach sniffs, and we immediately surround her in a big Riders hug. ‘Oh, you girls,’ she laughs from inside our circle. ‘Come on. Get ready to go out there. May, darlin’, take it away.’ Coach gives my hand a squeeze, and I nod, signalling to the girls to back up.
‘Let’s do this. Riders on three, Riders on me, y’all hear?’ I grin, adjusting my goggles from where they sit on top of my head. ‘One, two, three—’
‘RIDERS!’ we scream at the top of our lungs, the loudest we ever have, just as the announcer’s voice comes on over the stadium.
‘For the very first time inhistory, making their Division One College Lacrosse National Championship Debut, the University of Oklahoma City Riders.’
The girls burst out the tunnel with their sticks in the air, howling to the sky as the walkout song of our choice, Luke Combs’s ‘Ain’t No Love in Oklahoma’ blares in the stadium, the enormous chunk of OKC fans packing the stands on their feet, towels already in the air. I run out last with the UOKC spirit stick, a crosse that’s been in the school for generations, with a dozen ribbons in a dozen shades of orange and white tied around it, one for each past captain. I jog under the tunnel of crosses the girls make for me, coming out on the other end to raise the spirit stick at the fans, who roar in reply. The energy is palpable. In just about two hours, we could be standing here as champions.
We stand for the anthem first, and at the end, post-applause, break to the bench to strategize. Coach, binder in hand, is already prepared.
‘Okay, girls,’ she says, head down. We all crowd around tight. ‘I’m gonna put May at the draw. I want my starters on. Cover May’s right. No matter how the ref puts that ball, the girl that takes draws for AT is going to try and force May to the right – always does. I’ve instructed May to use that momentum to carry the ball back, hopin’ that puts us in possession for the first play. Sound good?’
Nods and affirmatives all around. This is it. First play of the championship.
We jog back on and into positions. Lights flash and massive cameras follow the game as I line up at the midline, opposite the girl from Augusta Tech. I look up for a brief moment, and my heart thunders in my chest when I let myself take it all in. If I give it my all tonight, push it as hard as I can … we could walk home with the biggest piece of hardware we’ve ever had. And I could open major doors for my career. For the MLL.
But only if I decide Iwantto open those doors. Isn’t this beautiful? This crowd? This sport? Isn’t this what I want to do for as long as it’ll have me?
I shake away the thoughts. I can’t do that right now. I can’t think about what I have to gain and lose weeks from now when there’s so much on the line right here.
The ref lines me up with the AT girl, the heads of our sticks against one another, ball in between, our feet on the midline. I meet her eyes through the grilles of our goggles. She has the same look of fiery intent as I do. I know Coach mentioned she’d go right earlier, but I don’t know. Something in my chest, something in the way the ref’s placed the ball, tells me she’s going to push to the left this time – where she thinks I won’t go.
The whistle blows and, putting my legs into the push upward,I forgo the intended right and flick my wrist to the left, letting her help me win control of the ball. I bring my stick upward, my eyes on the ball, and sure enough, the pressure from her end only helps the ball to careen upwards and down onto the grass. One correct decision. So many to go.
As I scoop up the ball, looking for an opening, I hear Brianna’s trusty, ‘HERE!’, and I send it right to her. It’s a clean pass, and then Brianna runs it before connecting with Jordan, out into the clear. My best friend has to do some darting to evade defence, and in the end, AT is too unpredictable. Jordan makes for a shot, and in a flash, the ball’s with the goalie – deflected. Just like that, AT’s already in possession, and we’re in the hole.
The end of the half sees us down 2–7.
‘We won’t make it to the end at this rate,’ groans Maddie as we peel ourselves from the locker room after a pep talk from Coach Dillon. It was rousing – one of her best – but it does nothing to help the despondency we feel when we think about getting back out there.
‘We have to.’ My own voice sounds exhausted. ‘Think of how far we’ve come. And Mads – you’re the future of this team. Jordan and I, our chapter comes to a close this season.’
Maddie swallows hard, nodding. A junior, she will be the one who stays on after us and – more likely than not – will take up the mantle of captain.
‘Guys,’ Brianna pipes up, ‘there are thirty minutes left in this game.Thirty. Our story’s not over just yet.’
Jordan, still on the bench, stick discarded in front of her, taping up a stubborn ankle, looks up, and she finds me among the girls, locking eyes with me. It’s all about this moment forus. We’ve played side by side since our very first match. This is full circle. We have thirty minutes to keep that alive.
‘We,’ I start, ‘are the only Southern Conference team to ever play a championship. Theonly team. If we take this game, we’ll be theonlySouthern Conference team to touch a championship trophy, men or women. Theonlyones to ever hold that title.’
