You think we’re nice. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you
think we’re elitist; maybe you think we’re promiscuous;
maybe you think we’re things I can’t print here.
But regardless of what you think we are, I’m sure you
would not label sorority girls, football players.
Even though I’m pretty sure UCLA’s defensive line
doesn’t subsist on Diet Coke and lettuce, football has been
on the minds of more than just the “real” Bruin players
this past week. Yes, it’s sorority IM football playoff
time.
You laugh, but this is no joke ““ sorority IM football is
intense.
There must be some Jekyll-and-Hyde complex going on because
those girls you see on campus clad in Tiffany’s and two
pounds of lip-gloss change completely when it comes time to walk
onto the North Athletic Field. The term “game face”
takes on a whole new meaning for sorority girls without mascara and
black eyeliner.
In fact, some of the moves girls try to get away with warrant
the creation of a tackle IM league ““ screw the flags.
It’s clear that IM football is becoming a better outlet than
the therapists at the Ashe Center. Katy, one of my roommates, likes
to describe how her hair is consistently “mistaken” for
a flag.
Please ““ that is not a mistake.
“At almost every game this season someone’s tried to
rip out my ponytail,” she said. “They try to get away
with these illegal moves, and they all pretty much work.”
If you think we’re afraid to break a nail, you’ve
got it wrong because the girls who come out play ““ and play
rough. One of the girls had acrylic nails that would make
Wolverine’s adamantium claws look tame, and she scratched at
my back to rip off my flag ““ which, might I add, was around
my waist, not my shoulders. Even a sorority girl angry at her
boyfriend cannot compare to a sorority girl intent on taking you
out in football. And I have to admit; I think we all like it.
The only generalization that seems to consistently hold true in
these games is the girls are a little”¦ starts with a
“b,” ends with a “y,” and has the word
“itch” in the middle.
At one game, a team’s obvious ringleader stood on the
sidelines, arms crossed over a tummy that showed one too many Pint
Nights, and looked very stern, almost as if her life was riding on
this game ““ in an eerily Toledo-esque fashion.
“They’re throwing to the chick with the blonde
hair,” she yelled to the girls on the field.
“She’s the only one who can catch!”
Besides the fact that all five of us on the field were blonde
(surprised?), Kristin (the receiver in question) was not the only
one who could catch. Instead, sideline girl had unknowingly figured
out our play, which had worked for the entire first half.
Our team would have changed it up if the competition ““
“competition” ““ had only deciphered it sooner.
“˜What,’ you ask, “˜you have plays?’
I’d share them, but you never know who might dig this out
next season and prepare an adequate defense. All I’ll say is
that our most effective was dubbed the “Rainbow”.
There is certainly a stigma attached to being a “sorority
girl.” The label always corresponds to shopping sprees with
daddy’s credit card instead of going to class, and of course,
drinks afterwards.
But when the Bruin men invade the Rose Bowl tomorrow, look
around in the stands. The girls sitting en masse with matching
highlights and Ralph Lauren sunglasses staring intently at the
field are mostly likely trying to decide how to convert the plays
to five-on-five match-ups.
After all, it’s never too early to prepare for next
season.