Jack Gould: Untitled [band and cheerleaders] (1958)

"…I have no particular influence with The Gods…"

I feel as though I have been Cheerleading for Decency’s team since I began this writing series thirty-one mornings ago. The playoffs finished this week, and the World Series begins two nights hence. I have stood steadfastly on the sidelines, rooting for the home teams to win. I have called no plays or engaged in any games I’ve witnessed. I’ve perhaps just made a fool of myself, gesticulating on the sidelines in front of the stands. I’ve not pitched, hit, or scored a single run, nor could I. I have not broken my leg on a questionable 4th-period Hail Mary play. I’m part of the second string contingent on the varsity bus, there for atmosphere rather than substance. I haven’t once forgotten the unwritten rules of engagement here. I’m present to draw attention away from myself and toward the play on the field.

Like any cheerleader, I’m not here to embody anybody’s idea of masterful play. I more often try to point out the obvious and encourage holding faith when the fates seem to turn against us. I need not necessarily embody Decency myself to encourage anybody else. I dispense faith, especially when things seem most hopeless. I reminded the assembled of what could happen if we keep our faith, rather than what might happen if we don’t. My job involves promoting beliefs I might not even possess to preserve hope, especially when winning seems most unlikely.

I could choose to be unscrupulous in my pursuit of this end. I might deliberately misrepresent the gravity of a situation, for instance. I might pretend that we’re likely to win even in the clear absence of supporting evidence. This represents the Cheerleader’s magic, their true contribution to their team’s successes. That unshakeable faith can inspire a tired and spent team to try just one more time again. Even if these efforts never change the outcome, the contribution improves something. Even a spare ounce of faith might enhance the quality of any experience, however fleeting, and might leave fans and team still believing in themselves, even when, especially when, losing.

Decency seems to demand such behavior from someone. The team clown can always fill in when the cheer team’s not around, but for the big games where something important seems to be on the line, the team needs practitioners —people who have practiced putting on their game faces and understand how to move a crowd’s emotions. I am an unabashed fan of Decency. My role here involves cheering it on when I see it occurring and reminding others that it still exists when it seems to have gone missing. This has been exhausting as well as exhilarating, and overall, more wearying than enlivening. I’m growing to understand that the outcome must necessarily remain out of my hands, perhaps out of anyone’s hands alone. It demands more luck than I’d ever before appreciated, and I do not every morning feel all that fortunate. Yet I clearly understand I must suit up each morning, even though I’m not pitching, quarterbacking, or point guarding in this competition.

I understand that The Gods remain more in charge than anyone else. The championship team almost always relies upon mysterious forces to win. It’s inevitably a mystifying convergence. The coach mostly makes the right calls. The players seem to read each other’s minds. The sun and shadows provide just the right balance of blindnesses, and the umpires and line judges make the proper calls. Each game contains its share of mistakes and miracles. The Cheerleaders engage to remind those assembled that they assemble on more or less hallowed ground, a place where miracles routinely occur, if not necessarily always for the proper team. As Decency’s Cheerleader, I’m here to help focus attention upon those impending miracles, even though I have no particular influence with The Gods to make them appear.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #Decency, #PureSchmaltz