Contest of Animals:
A Deprived and Twisted Tale of the Florida Cheer & Dance Championship
"How old are you...eighteen? Ah, eight...stay that way!"
- Response after an eight-year old cheerleader complained about the reception of her cell-phone.
Rancid fumes fill the cold winter air as I top off the Jeep's tank with three dollar-per-gallon gasoline. "George Bush better do something about those Arabs or I'm gonna have to mortgage off my land!" said a poor bastard filling up his monster of a Chevy truck next to me. "Indeed," I replied, watching my own numbers climb on the pump.
I was on my way to watch my girlfriend's younger sister compete in a cheerleading competition (mind you - she's eight). Well, that was the original intent...but secretly my ultimate goal was to try and capture the event in a totally different way - one that would creep up any person's spine and strike fear into the weak-minded. After all, this was the Florida Cheerleading Championship.
Thirty minutes before hitting the South Carolina line, I recall bringing up the idea to my significant other, who was fighting sleep in the passenger seat.
"The true beauty," I said. "Is turning yourself around during the event to catch a glimpse of the crowd's facial expressions - that's what makes it fun!"
She sat silent. I could tell she was not interested in what I had to say.
"The parents raising these animals will be the true show," I continued with caution. "Anyone that goes with all that..."
"What makes it any-different than a football game?" She blurted.
"Jesus! Football's American!" I interrupted loudly. "This is insanity at its purest form. Nine and ten year-olds acting twice their age with crazed parents and creeps cheering them on!"
"Well, we need to show her our respect." She replied, softly.
Indeed - with a shot of mace and a pint of rum, I thought.
Fourteen hours later we had arrived. Jacksonville, Florida - home to this year's competition. We were there, along with ten-thousand girls, ages 9 through 16 - and their parents, all crazed out by the excitement of what was to come.
Our hotel was packed with what must have been two thousand of them. All screaming and shouting with excitement. It was like boarding the Titanic the moment it started sinking. Luckily, the twelve-hour drive and half a bottle of So-Co I drunk, once I got there, put me into a deep sleep.
The next day we arrived at the stadium - 8 o'clock sharp. I was destined not to miss one second of this outrageous event! The place was full of people from all over Florida. Real genuinely-deprived freaks. There was a security checkpoint at the entrance. You know homeland security has gone too far when they search through your bags at a state cheerleading event. Well, I can now see why. Anyone could go mad in there - and I was just entering, slowly being dragged in by my significant other. I slowly made my way through the checkpoint, carrying with me all the necessary items to get me through the day: One iPod chocked full of Led Zeppelin and The Stones, a Rolling Stone magazine, note cards, one pen, cell phone, and my camera - in which I would be trying to capture, at my best, the sheer horror that awaited.
I find a seat...
It's time...
They start.
Creeping Jesus! The whole place is full of miniature freaks, all dancing and being thrown around like distasteful beast! If the parents of these things would have taken one good look at me, instead of their children, they would have thrown me out with the garbage...yet, they were raising some of the most sinister-looking animals I had ever laid eyes on! I was sitting in a nest stocked full of vermin and roaches and other revolting creatures. It was like a giant Gila monster had climbed up my back and sat right on top of my fucking head! What a vile and disorderly event! I wasn't on psychedelics of any kind, yet I could barely handle this outrageous trip!
Too scared to observe anymore, I screeched a horrific sound and climbed out of the sea of estrogen, that was slowly swallowing me up one limb at a time, and proceeded toward the exit. I recall my girlfriend asking where I was going, but this didn't process until I running between the exit and the parking garage. Where the fuck did I leave my car? Where the hell is it? "Where is it?!" I shouted in the parking garage. Everyone was inside watching the show but how the hell would they've known anyway? I was not thinking rationally. After wondering around the garage for what seemed like days, I finally spotted it and drove straight to the nearest bar. I had no tolerance for such a scene. My blood was too think and my soul was too pure for what they referred to as a "Cheerleading Competition." So I drowned myself out with strong drink. Once the event was over and the sunlight was fading away, I got the nerve to call my girlfriend, for I was too drunk to drive us back to the hotel.
The night at the hotel wasn't any better. I recall going down to the lobby to get more towels, when I noticed they had fresh coffee in the sitting area. Well, to my great surprise, four girls were between me and the coffee machine. Where the hell were their parents? Didn't they have any supervision? In a town with nearly 200,000 people, on a Saturday night at 11PM -what is this world coming to? I smiled and squeeze by.
"Hey weirdo!" One of the girls shouted. - They had given me a name.
"Hello." I mutter as I reach for the cup.
"One of the girls upstairs is having a slumber party." The girl replied.
"So." As I was pouring my coffee.
"We weren't invited." A long, awkward pause arises.
"How old is this girl?" I quickly perked up.
"Seventeen...I don't know? Maybe older? There are guys invited."
How the hell were there guys invited? The whole town was smothered with estrogen. With a girlfriend lingering by my side all weekend long, I would have given anything to sit down somewhere and have a decent chat with a respectable gentleman like myself. "Show me where the room is!" I demanded. Quickly, I grabbed my coffee and towels and followed the four of them up to the third floor.
"It reeks of pot!" I screech.
"What's pot?" One of them asks.
"Never mind. Take me to the room!"
The whole place smelled like it, but where was it coming from? Could this so called party really be something? An orgy of sixteen year-olds experiencing great kicks that I haven't dwelled in for months?
"Where is it?" I said, swashing my cup of coffee around frantically.
"Right this way."
The door was shut with a 'Do Not Disturb' sign, strongly in place. I knock.
"Who are you?" A voice from behind the door shouts.
"Room Service, I brought up the towels you requested."
There's a pause.
"We didn't order towels (giggling)" They talk among their selves.
Finally, the door opens.
"Who are you?" The slightly older one (but not what I imagined to be) shouts, as she's looking right at me.
"Um, I was just around...noticed you all were having some pot...I mean party." - Shit, I thought, what the hell had I gotten myself into?
The girl looked down at the now three 10 year-olds behind me. (Apparently one got lost on the way up to the room, which involved a search party and police investigation to find her.)
"No, we're not having a party." She said.
I look out in-between her and the door opening to see if she was lying to me.
"Is there any guys in there?" I quickly snap.
"No!" She laughs nervously.
I stop to think about how surreal this has become.
"Okay, don't be too noisy, some of us have to sleep, especially after a day like this!"
Forget it. I didn't care if they had a whole mariachi band, stripped down with leather shackles and whips, tied up in their bathroom - with pigs and other farm animals, and a whole case of drugs and beer - I didn't care, by then. The rest of the girls, who had led me up there, had already run off. Where were their Parents? Who knows, maybe they were smoking the pot.
I still smelled the intense aroma of marijuana as I descended down the stairs, back to my room. I was too tired, after the day I had just experienced, to care anymore. I slowly wondered down the hall of the 2nd floor, opened the door to room 213, and slammed it tightly behind me.
I can't remember falling asleep that night, but somehow, I did. Waking up in rancid Floridian humidity, it didn't take me long to realize I'd left the damn window open all night.
We left home late Sunday night. Fun trip? Bad trip? Why couldn't it been a college-level cheerleading contest?
Right before we left, I was standing outside the complex waiting on my girl when suddenly I heard a voice from behind.
"What?" As I turned around sharply.
"Did you go in '75, to see them?" The man repeated.
"Um, the State Cheerleading Championship?"
"No, your hat...you a Rush fan?" He smiled.
In less than twenty minutes, I would be leaving the event without any self-confidence, whatsoever, and out of nowhere, a decent person comes up and comments my hat. I'd forgotten I had worn it. After listening to poorly mixed, highly repetitive dance beats for eight consecutive hours, you tend to forget about the simple pleasures of real music.
Our conversation continued for the next ten minutes, before my girlfriend would come out and want to leave. We ended up talking about Rush for a good while, covering vast topics such as how Neil Peart is the world's greatest drummer and their upcoming tour. He told me all the records he owned and all the concerts he had been to - as well. Maybe I'm going on a limb here, but it made all the previous happenings: The God-awful child cheerleading championship, the 8 year-olds pretending to be 18, the pot-induced hotel filled with obnoxious teenage girls, and neglecting parents - seem to just melt away like a rotten hangover on a cool, autumn day.
My girlfriend grabs me by the arm as I said goodbye to my new friend.
"Maybe next time we'll meet at a Rush concert...not some cheerleading thing!" the man shouts, as his wife mutters something about showing their daughter a little respect.
I wave goodbye and continue toward the Jeep. A man, I thought, in the same league as me, taken against his will, by his wife and daughter...yet, a simple thing like my Rush hat made his and my day so much brighter.
Back at the room. Strange feelings pervade the air as I frantically pack my suitcase. The room was filled with used towels; they were hanging everywhere. I was taking the soap and hangers, and even tried to take the lamp, as well...but it wouldn't fit. Suddenly I heard laughing coming from the window. I stopped what I was doing and walked slowly towards it, gently opening the blinds. All the children were swimming and having a good time in the pool. Finally, with the contest over and the frantic parents calming down, they can now act like, kids.
Why do parents push them? Is it the ones who stay at home - attending the house and take the kids everywhere? Do they tend to become tired of watching soap operas and Martha Stewart - and thanks to sheer boredom, expand their dreams and ambitions subconsciously onto their children? Do this Jimmy...You'll have fun doing that Jill...Go out there and win for Mommy! In the process, the kids end up doing something so hideous and loathing that one must ask, why? They grow up.
No wonder so many people are on antidepressants now days. No room for failure, I suppose. We are all lost in a state of false dreams - and spend just enough money on prescriptions that we are led to believe them! No more white picket fences; life is too hectic. But as long as they've got a few hours, swimming, jumping, and having a good time in that pool, before their parents come to push them again, at-least they've got that - as short as it may be.
I grin as I shut the blinds, quickly grab my bags, and walk out the door...never to see the poor kids again.
O' children of mendacity and savage dreams, how will ye prevail?
Sanity slowly comes back as the long trip back to Tennessee carries on. The crazed freak, with his girlfriend asleep next to him, can on only think of one thing as he drives his bright, red Jeep across the dark, snow-covered mountains. Marlon Brando's blood-covered face from Apocalypse Now. Continuously chanting: "The horror...the horror..."
A Deprived and Twisted Tale of the Florida Cheer & Dance Championship
"How old are you...eighteen? Ah, eight...stay that way!"
- Response after an eight-year old cheerleader complained about the reception of her cell-phone.
Rancid fumes fill the cold winter air as I top off the Jeep's tank with three dollar-per-gallon gasoline. "George Bush better do something about those Arabs or I'm gonna have to mortgage off my land!" said a poor bastard filling up his monster of a Chevy truck next to me. "Indeed," I replied, watching my own numbers climb on the pump.
I was on my way to watch my girlfriend's younger sister compete in a cheerleading competition (mind you - she's eight). Well, that was the original intent...but secretly my ultimate goal was to try and capture the event in a totally different way - one that would creep up any person's spine and strike fear into the weak-minded. After all, this was the Florida Cheerleading Championship.
Thirty minutes before hitting the South Carolina line, I recall bringing up the idea to my significant other, who was fighting sleep in the passenger seat.
"The true beauty," I said. "Is turning yourself around during the event to catch a glimpse of the crowd's facial expressions - that's what makes it fun!"
She sat silent. I could tell she was not interested in what I had to say.
"The parents raising these animals will be the true show," I continued with caution. "Anyone that goes with all that..."
"What makes it any-different than a football game?" She blurted.
"Jesus! Football's American!" I interrupted loudly. "This is insanity at its purest form. Nine and ten year-olds acting twice their age with crazed parents and creeps cheering them on!"
"Well, we need to show her our respect." She replied, softly.
Indeed - with a shot of mace and a pint of rum, I thought.
Fourteen hours later we had arrived. Jacksonville, Florida - home to this year's competition. We were there, along with ten-thousand girls, ages 9 through 16 - and their parents, all crazed out by the excitement of what was to come.
Our hotel was packed with what must have been two thousand of them. All screaming and shouting with excitement. It was like boarding the Titanic the moment it started sinking. Luckily, the twelve-hour drive and half a bottle of So-Co I drunk, once I got there, put me into a deep sleep.
The next day we arrived at the stadium - 8 o'clock sharp. I was destined not to miss one second of this outrageous event! The place was full of people from all over Florida. Real genuinely-deprived freaks. There was a security checkpoint at the entrance. You know homeland security has gone too far when they search through your bags at a state cheerleading event. Well, I can now see why. Anyone could go mad in there - and I was just entering, slowly being dragged in by my significant other. I slowly made my way through the checkpoint, carrying with me all the necessary items to get me through the day: One iPod chocked full of Led Zeppelin and The Stones, a Rolling Stone magazine, note cards, one pen, cell phone, and my camera - in which I would be trying to capture, at my best, the sheer horror that awaited.
I find a seat...
It's time...
They start.
Creeping Jesus! The whole place is full of miniature freaks, all dancing and being thrown around like distasteful beast! If the parents of these things would have taken one good look at me, instead of their children, they would have thrown me out with the garbage...yet, they were raising some of the most sinister-looking animals I had ever laid eyes on! I was sitting in a nest stocked full of vermin and roaches and other revolting creatures. It was like a giant Gila monster had climbed up my back and sat right on top of my fucking head! What a vile and disorderly event! I wasn't on psychedelics of any kind, yet I could barely handle this outrageous trip!
Too scared to observe anymore, I screeched a horrific sound and climbed out of the sea of estrogen, that was slowly swallowing me up one limb at a time, and proceeded toward the exit. I recall my girlfriend asking where I was going, but this didn't process until I running between the exit and the parking garage. Where the fuck did I leave my car? Where the hell is it? "Where is it?!" I shouted in the parking garage. Everyone was inside watching the show but how the hell would they've known anyway? I was not thinking rationally. After wondering around the garage for what seemed like days, I finally spotted it and drove straight to the nearest bar. I had no tolerance for such a scene. My blood was too think and my soul was too pure for what they referred to as a "Cheerleading Competition." So I drowned myself out with strong drink. Once the event was over and the sunlight was fading away, I got the nerve to call my girlfriend, for I was too drunk to drive us back to the hotel.
The night at the hotel wasn't any better. I recall going down to the lobby to get more towels, when I noticed they had fresh coffee in the sitting area. Well, to my great surprise, four girls were between me and the coffee machine. Where the hell were their parents? Didn't they have any supervision? In a town with nearly 200,000 people, on a Saturday night at 11PM -what is this world coming to? I smiled and squeeze by.
"Hey weirdo!" One of the girls shouted. - They had given me a name.
"Hello." I mutter as I reach for the cup.
"One of the girls upstairs is having a slumber party." The girl replied.
"So." As I was pouring my coffee.
"We weren't invited." A long, awkward pause arises.
"How old is this girl?" I quickly perked up.
"Seventeen...I don't know? Maybe older? There are guys invited."
How the hell were there guys invited? The whole town was smothered with estrogen. With a girlfriend lingering by my side all weekend long, I would have given anything to sit down somewhere and have a decent chat with a respectable gentleman like myself. "Show me where the room is!" I demanded. Quickly, I grabbed my coffee and towels and followed the four of them up to the third floor.
"It reeks of pot!" I screech.
"What's pot?" One of them asks.
"Never mind. Take me to the room!"
The whole place smelled like it, but where was it coming from? Could this so called party really be something? An orgy of sixteen year-olds experiencing great kicks that I haven't dwelled in for months?
"Where is it?" I said, swashing my cup of coffee around frantically.
"Right this way."
The door was shut with a 'Do Not Disturb' sign, strongly in place. I knock.
"Who are you?" A voice from behind the door shouts.
"Room Service, I brought up the towels you requested."
There's a pause.
"We didn't order towels (giggling)" They talk among their selves.
Finally, the door opens.
"Who are you?" The slightly older one (but not what I imagined to be) shouts, as she's looking right at me.
"Um, I was just around...noticed you all were having some pot...I mean party." - Shit, I thought, what the hell had I gotten myself into?
The girl looked down at the now three 10 year-olds behind me. (Apparently one got lost on the way up to the room, which involved a search party and police investigation to find her.)
"No, we're not having a party." She said.
I look out in-between her and the door opening to see if she was lying to me.
"Is there any guys in there?" I quickly snap.
"No!" She laughs nervously.
I stop to think about how surreal this has become.
"Okay, don't be too noisy, some of us have to sleep, especially after a day like this!"
Forget it. I didn't care if they had a whole mariachi band, stripped down with leather shackles and whips, tied up in their bathroom - with pigs and other farm animals, and a whole case of drugs and beer - I didn't care, by then. The rest of the girls, who had led me up there, had already run off. Where were their Parents? Who knows, maybe they were smoking the pot.
I still smelled the intense aroma of marijuana as I descended down the stairs, back to my room. I was too tired, after the day I had just experienced, to care anymore. I slowly wondered down the hall of the 2nd floor, opened the door to room 213, and slammed it tightly behind me.
I can't remember falling asleep that night, but somehow, I did. Waking up in rancid Floridian humidity, it didn't take me long to realize I'd left the damn window open all night.
We left home late Sunday night. Fun trip? Bad trip? Why couldn't it been a college-level cheerleading contest?
Right before we left, I was standing outside the complex waiting on my girl when suddenly I heard a voice from behind.
"What?" As I turned around sharply.
"Did you go in '75, to see them?" The man repeated.
"Um, the State Cheerleading Championship?"
"No, your hat...you a Rush fan?" He smiled.
In less than twenty minutes, I would be leaving the event without any self-confidence, whatsoever, and out of nowhere, a decent person comes up and comments my hat. I'd forgotten I had worn it. After listening to poorly mixed, highly repetitive dance beats for eight consecutive hours, you tend to forget about the simple pleasures of real music.
Our conversation continued for the next ten minutes, before my girlfriend would come out and want to leave. We ended up talking about Rush for a good while, covering vast topics such as how Neil Peart is the world's greatest drummer and their upcoming tour. He told me all the records he owned and all the concerts he had been to - as well. Maybe I'm going on a limb here, but it made all the previous happenings: The God-awful child cheerleading championship, the 8 year-olds pretending to be 18, the pot-induced hotel filled with obnoxious teenage girls, and neglecting parents - seem to just melt away like a rotten hangover on a cool, autumn day.
My girlfriend grabs me by the arm as I said goodbye to my new friend.
"Maybe next time we'll meet at a Rush concert...not some cheerleading thing!" the man shouts, as his wife mutters something about showing their daughter a little respect.
I wave goodbye and continue toward the Jeep. A man, I thought, in the same league as me, taken against his will, by his wife and daughter...yet, a simple thing like my Rush hat made his and my day so much brighter.
Back at the room. Strange feelings pervade the air as I frantically pack my suitcase. The room was filled with used towels; they were hanging everywhere. I was taking the soap and hangers, and even tried to take the lamp, as well...but it wouldn't fit. Suddenly I heard laughing coming from the window. I stopped what I was doing and walked slowly towards it, gently opening the blinds. All the children were swimming and having a good time in the pool. Finally, with the contest over and the frantic parents calming down, they can now act like, kids.
Why do parents push them? Is it the ones who stay at home - attending the house and take the kids everywhere? Do they tend to become tired of watching soap operas and Martha Stewart - and thanks to sheer boredom, expand their dreams and ambitions subconsciously onto their children? Do this Jimmy...You'll have fun doing that Jill...Go out there and win for Mommy! In the process, the kids end up doing something so hideous and loathing that one must ask, why? They grow up.
No wonder so many people are on antidepressants now days. No room for failure, I suppose. We are all lost in a state of false dreams - and spend just enough money on prescriptions that we are led to believe them! No more white picket fences; life is too hectic. But as long as they've got a few hours, swimming, jumping, and having a good time in that pool, before their parents come to push them again, at-least they've got that - as short as it may be.
I grin as I shut the blinds, quickly grab my bags, and walk out the door...never to see the poor kids again.
O' children of mendacity and savage dreams, how will ye prevail?
Sanity slowly comes back as the long trip back to Tennessee carries on. The crazed freak, with his girlfriend asleep next to him, can on only think of one thing as he drives his bright, red Jeep across the dark, snow-covered mountains. Marlon Brando's blood-covered face from Apocalypse Now. Continuously chanting: "The horror...the horror..."