The Field House
A sanctuary could be explained to some people as a place of worship, or a temple, a holy place. But to some, it is explained as a jam packed stadium full of on-looking fans, hopeful for their version of the right outcome. Tonight’s sanctuary; Spence Eccles Field House on the University of Utah campus, close to the Foothills of Salt Lake City. The passionate rivalry matchup between Brigham Young University and the University of Utah is seen once again in an up-and-coming sport: Women’s lacrosse. In this case, a third opponent, Westminster College fields a team and hopes for a chance to overcome these dominant programs.
Walking in, the fierce battle Utah and Westminster was happening right before the spectators’ eyes. While some watched more intently than others, the crowd was seen trying to piece together this game play by play. Many people were seen leaning over asking questions about the rules of the game and why every girl stopped at every whistle. One could see it’s not the rules, boundaries, or plays that bring these spectators here on a Saturday night, but the pure athleticism of the athletes portrayed in this night’s game. This crowd was there to support, to cheer, and to congratulate or perhaps console after a game that means so much to each and every player.
There were more people there than expected. As family members and friends walked in to support their favorite players, they seemed a little awe struck by the large crowd and lack of room to even move. This large group of fans created only standing room available to the latecomers. And those before them were forced to sit on the turf, the kind of turf with those black pebbles that somehow get everywhere. They sit Indian style, intently watching every move of the ball or they sit with their legs straight out, obviously enjoying the company they’re with as they throw their head back in laughter or smile from ear to ear. Red, purple and blue sweatshirts are scattered through the mass of people, each proudly displaying a simple letter that indicates which side they’re on.
Hometown teams come with a lot of familiar faces. Lacrosse is such a small sport that the players on these three teams all know each other from playing on club teams and in high school together. Blue players hug red players, there are clumps of purple, red and blue all trying to get a word in before the whistles blow. Like a mini high school reunion, a player dressed in purple slaps sticks with a player dressed in red, they smile and turn their attention back to their team, ready to play.
On their respective sides of the field the two teams do their warm-up drills. Some are catching and throwing, some are stretching. And some are tying their cleats with casual glances towards the other half to catch a glimpse of their opponent’s strongest players. The blue goalies are being warmed up with dozens of little rubber balls coming at them with all the force behind an up-tight goalie coach, who looks a bit like Shrek; tall, large, and bald wearing clothes that don’t seem to fit quite right.
A whistle blows, an older middle-aged woman yells, “Captains!” Three girls from each team jog to the middle of the field. These captains shake hands and listen to the referees. A coin is flipped and words are exchanged, just not loud enough for the rowdy sidelines to hear.
The captains resume their warm-ups and shortly after their coaches call in a huddle. The blue team cheers, “Cougs!” which echoes on the red brick walls of the field house. The starters take their places on the field, like they’re in a play and have assigned spots on the stage. Each player has their own nervous habit. Some do some more stretches, fix their sticks, pull up their socks, tighten their ponytails, or simply stand there waiting for the first whistle to sound.
The game finally starts.
The ball gets flung into the air; all 24 players on the field watch it as if it was the only thing that mattered. A blue player picks it up and rushes down the field. The players are noticeably anxious and flustered. They’re dropping passes, missing ground balls, rushing goals and shaking their heads. They are nervous and too excited as they try to settle into a rhythm they’re used to. The ball is passed quickly to different players almost too fast for the fans on the sidelines. Balls are dropped into the green and black turf but for the most part each girl catches the ball consistently. Plays are called, inaudible to the sidelines. But once you hear the noise, each player assumes a new spot towards the goal, ready to trick the other team’s defense into making a mistake. These plays have noticeably been rehearsed as each player consciously takes a different place on the field and fulfills a specific duty. Some girls stand behind the goal, others pass the ball above the goal, other girls are cutting in and out of the red zone where the goalie doesn’t want the ball to be. Subs are put in for tired legs to keep the pace of the quick game moving. Goals are scored, some unassisted from a long run past several defenders. Some goals come from a quick, crisp pass that would have been almost impossible to stop.
It’s easy to spot the dominate players quickly. They are the loudest on the field, calling the plays, making the goals and running the fastest. The ref blows her whistle often. You see, in women’s lacrosse, there are many rules and most rules end up in a change of possession or a penalty shot on the goal and when each whistle blows every girl on the field stands still, like freeze tag.
The red team seems tired, like they’re a bit out of shape or tied of being beaten down by BYU. The score halfway through is 4-0 for the fierce Cougars. The red team has barely crossed the half-field line.
Girls are noticeably tired and rushing to the sidelines for paper cups of water given to them from what looks like the coach’s young daughter. No one gets injured but some girls fall and suffer from turf burn or some come away from ground ball shuffles looking at their fingers, which were mistaken for a stick somewhere in the shuffle. Cleats are retied, mouth guards are rinsed with cold water, jerseys are adjusted and coach’s yell from the sidelines. When each goal is scored the team comes together and slaps sticks for a job well done. A slight pain of defeat is seen on the red teams’ defense when somehow the ball was put past all seven of them and hit the back of the net.
Another whistle sounds, time has run out. Which team cheers? And which teams walks to the bench with their heads down?
The blue team is victorious. A final score of 7-0. They join their coach with smiles on their faces and more slapping of sticks. They do a cheer for the other team, who knows how sincere, but a tradition that stays the same. Red and blue jerseys become a sea of purple as they shake hands with each other, sharing pats on the back and several “Good games.”
Players switch from cleats to slippers, take off their goggles and sling their blue and white backpacks over their shoulders to join the fans that came to support them in a sport they so desperately love. Each player gets a hug from someone, as sweaty as they may be. I can see number 33 walking slowly towards me with a sweaty red face and a slight limp in her step from shin splints that have been a recurring problem this season. With a hug from her and some chats with past teammates and team parents, we head for the nearest exit.
Winning is something each athlete yearns for, works for and dreams of. Each goal is a small moment that gets them closer to that feeling of excitement, relief and happiness that all winning comes with. Defeat comes with the sting of regrets, wishing you hadn’t missed that shot or dropped that ball or wishing there had been a few more minutes in practice. Unfortunately, one team always has to feel that sting, which sometimes makes the taste of victory that much sweeter.
