POMPOMS & POWERUPS: Ch1

How Video Games Helped Me Become A Cheerleader. And how cheerleading Helped me become a game designer.

There are sixty people in a rehearsal room in a gym on Manhattan’s west side. Earlier in the day, this room was used for children’s dance classes, and child-sized chairs are placed on one side of the room. Thirty adult cheerleaders sit on the tiny chairs. The other side holds thirty people trying out for the team. In the middle, sits a row of judges who will determine which of the hopeful applicants have what it takes to be a cheerleader.

The thirty cheerleaders aren’t in uniform. They wear t-shirts with the team’s logo; a silver crown like the Statue of Liberty. They also wear an eclectic mix of bottoms. Some are in wool pencil skirts, having come straight from work. Others wear jeans, or yoga pants, a few are in fancy dresses with the shirt pulled on over. The cheerleaders are not performing tonight, they are here to cheer for the new recruits.

One of the judges at the center table, quietly, reminds the team to smile. The people trying out are already intimidated just by being here; an army of scowling people would make it even more nerve-racking. Although, the tiny chairs help to make them look less menacing.

The recruits are dressed in athletic attire. A few of them wear shirts from other cheer squads; teams they were on during college, or a competitive “All Stars” team from their youth. Some of them have no experience at all. These newcomers will have to rely on what they learned in a few hours of practice at training “Clinics” over the last two weeks.

It isn’t hard to spot the ones who’ll definitely make the cut; a couple of girls are petite and limber - exactly what’s needed for a “Flyer” (The little person who goes at the top of a human pyramid). Several of the men are tall and athletic, perfect for “Backspots” (The burly person who stands at the back of a four-person pyramid). Others aren’t especially brawny, or dainty. These people might make good “Bases,” the people at the sides of the 4-person “Stunt pod.” Each base holds one of the flyer’s feet, while the backspot holds the flyer’s calves or hips.

One girl points out that she is fluent in sign language. Does she know that the team’s first paid performance this year is at a walk-a-thon for the hearing impaired? She, and the other girl who casually mentions that she can sign, are certainly going to make the cut.

The hopefuls are brought up in small groups. They do a short dance, a simple cheer, then they form stunt pods and hoist a flyer into the air. In the first group, one girl is clearly nervous. She flubs the choreography in the cheer, then misses the final move of the dance.

Others nail the tryout, doing everything perfectly. But athletic skill alone isn’t enough to make this squad. This team is also a non-profit organization that raises funds for the gay community and AIDS charities. Everyone is asked a few questions like in the interview component of a beauty pageant. A year ago at tryouts, one woman did a great job at dancing and stunting, but wasn’t able to answer a simple question about the team’s charity work.

She didn’t make the squad.

The hopefuls are also asked about their connection to the LGBT community. The stereotype about male cheerleaders is mostly true, and every man on the team is gay (With one or two bisexuals). Several of the male recruits are flamboyantly gay (One dresses like Brittany Spears during his interview). None of them are straight. Some of the women trying out state that they are gay or bisexual, and a few speak about their work with gay charities. People don’t have to be gay to join the team, but the straight women do need to be firm “Allies.” There are no straight men present but, presumably, if one tried out for the team, he would have to be an ally to the gay community.

It takes over two hours to go through the entire process. At the end of the tryouts, the thirty members of the team do a cheer, rhythmically chanting, “We! Are! Proud of You! Yes we are proud of you!” then everyone makes their way out of the gym to Manhattan’s dark, wet streets on this rainy August night.

The tryouts are held at a fashionable gym that overlooks the Hudson river on 12th Avenue. The bus which goes from the riverfront to the nearest subway station has just pulled away from the bus stop. This is New York City, so no one has a car, and everyone walks eastward, in small clumps, towards 8th avenue.

Two years earlier, in 2017 I was one of the people trying out. The tryouts were likewise held on a rainy weekday evening in August. I was so excited afterwards that I ran four blocks to the subway in my new white sneakers, ballet leotard and cheer skirt, arriving home wet, but full of well-founded optimism.

This night, in 2019, I’m one of the cheerleaders.

I wear my t-shirt with the team logo on it, and a long pencil skirt in a matching shade of navy blue. Earlier in the day, a random woman on the street recognized the team logo on my shirt and seemed impressed that I was on the squad. I smiled politely, and reminded myself not to take this for granted. This is the fourth time I’ve been on this side of the tryout room, and I’ve seen hundreds of people try out, but only one fourth of them make it.

I walk slowly to the subway with a group of four teammates. One of them is a petite flyer; a doll-like woman with blond curls. Another is one of the taller female backspots; even taller than me, and I’m one of the tallest female bases. Ahead of us is a lean flyer who walks next to one of the smaller bases, discussing their recent trips abroad.

We’re all adults, but this moment feels like high-school: Someone mentions she has a date this weekend. The girls ahead of us are talking about how they spent their summer while the team took a few weeks off in July.

Boys. Summer break. Cheerleading. It’s the high school experience I never had.