StanleyWheeler

“Arise, arise, Riders of Théoden!

Fell deeds awake, fire and slaughter!
spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!"

Saturday was a red day. Stalwart shield maidens arose in their flamboyant gladiatorial war skirts and vibrantly colored tops, armed with flashing pom-poms and crowned with ornate oversize bows to clash above the painted hardwood on a drab gray foam battlefield in a fierce no-quarter contest of talent, skill, and will. Fell deeds indeed; heroes fell. Hopes fired and dreams slaughtered. Wills were shaken. Hearts splintered. A glory day, a red day, the sun rises on new champions!

In other words, Saturday was the state championship cheerleader competition. Among the tremendously talented athletes, in one division two teams stood out: the blue team and the red team. Blue, the returning champions, may have been the best team in any division in the state; the red team had imbibed of the sweet succulent vintage of victory in the past; they returned to the battlefield with a thirst for that transformative taste of triumph. Every other team yearned to garner those same laurels but only one had a chance to topple one or both of the titans. The fantastic fight and strenuous struggle to vanquish competitors and capture the title played out throughout the afternoon and evening upon the gray mat.

At the end, after the battlefield with its invisible wreckage of damaged dreams, ghosts of wounded pride, and memories of hallowed heroes had been rolled up and removed from the hardwood, the shield maidens gathered to await the casualty count. Most of them knew that they had taken wounds but hoped that they had given as good as they had got and then some. These were the moments of inner tension, the battle with the turmoil within, self-doubt, apprehension, and a recollection of how superbly the other competitors had performed. Would the blue team walk away with that title that seemed theirs for the taking in spite of the best efforts of the other contenders? It seemed so as the various categories within the competition were being announced. In the three events that determined the championship, blue took two firsts; red had a first and a second. Blue was headed toward a repeat victory. If blue took first or second in the final announcement, they would walk away once more with the championship trophy. It seemed a foregone conclusion...until the moment when the voice introduced the blue team as the third place team in the event. 

A sudden uncertainty reverberated through the scene as if a grand hammer had struck the gong of possibilities. Could red reach the victory crown or had blue still finished ahead? As the announcer gave the second place finish in the event to the spoiler, a brightness dawned upon the red team as of the first light on the fifth day at Helm's Deep; they could win; they could win it all if they finished first in the event. They would have two firsts and a second against blue's two firsts and a third. A mighty grasp  of Fate's unseen hand gripped the throat in that limbo between the ecstasy of triumph and the dark despair of defeat. Hopes longed to fly skyward on victorious wings but remained chained to the leaden possibility of disappointment.

The proclamation of red as the event winner dissolved the chains of doubt. Red soared to victory, to triumph, to the pinnacle of success. Red had seized the championship by virtue of hard work, skill, dedication, luck, and willpower. Blue (as well as other teams) had all those things as well in as much abundance. Somewhere along the way little things made the difference. Little things add up--there are a lot of little things. They say, "Don't sweat the small stuff," but it's the small stuff that determines those narrow margins of victory between champions of the highest caliber. Can you calculate ability by the blister, skill by the sweat-soaked shirt, or talent by the teardrop? No magic formula can render the intangibles that coalesce to make champions anymore than a hammer can forge a cloud. Although there can only be one champion of the day, every competitor wins a bit of courage, a ration of character, and whiff of victory's aroma for having struggled and strained to reach for the prize.