Growing up as a soccer player, I always underestimated the importance of cheerleaders.
I don’t know why, but I was firm in my belief that cheerleading was merely a fun activity and therefore should not be classified as a sport.
The irony here is that I did gymnastics for seven years, and my level was extremely comparable to what many cheerleaders were doing on the sidelines at football games. But my preconceived belief never faded — I stood strong in my sentiment.
However, as my sporting career progressed, I found that support from the cheerleaders on the sidelines played a very important role in my life. Being a girl already comes with its challenges, but adding a sport on top of that … let’s just say it takes a lot of confidence in oneself to do so. In that case, having people who always have your back and will support you no matter what makes it feel as though anything is possible.
Above all other cheerleaders, my mom was the best at always standing by me, no matter what.
***
I’ll be honest — I’m an extremely competitive person. Not just the type who wants to win their soccer game — I mean, who doesn’t? My competitive nature infiltrates every aspect of my life and, even more than that, it’s heavily tied to my emotions.
I was always the girl who cried after her soccer games whenever my team lost. My poor parents were unfortunately stuck with me on the drive home, bawling tears of frustration, constantly unable to look on the bright side of things.
I think my dad was better at resonating with me — he also played competitive sports growing up. But my poor mom had to deal with my crazy self, questioning what was the right thing to tell me to, at the very least, attempt to pause the tears.
In the end, though, she always knew the right thing to say.
If I could pinpoint the least competitive person in the world, there’s no doubt that it is my mom, Courtney Matthews. In fact, I believe she deserves an award for it.
Her lack of rage over a loss and her ability to always look on the bright side in a seemingly tough situation made it easier for me to find solace in disappointment. And that’s why she was always the best at cheering me up. She was constantly positive and it’s very hard to stay mad at someone who radiates that type of energy.
Whether it was helping me see past my frustrations or making a joke that got me laughing until I couldn’t breathe, she mastered the art of calming me down. I guess it’s her maternal instinct, but I could use a few tips to navigate my emotions myself — I still don’t know how she managed to do it.
My mom was never the sports type. Sure, she played some sports here and there growing up, but she will never be caught talking about different athletes and complaining that her favorite team is underperforming for the fifth season in a row. Sports have never really been her passion.
However, having a daughter who’s a diehard sports fan gave my mom no choice but to be thrust into a world she wasn’t familiar with.
***
Around the end of November of my freshman year of high school, I had crafted a master plan to start playing golf as an excuse to get out of swimming and cross country. If there’s one thing to know about me, it’s that I’ll find a way to get out of cardio. Now, a Michigan winter is nothing to mess with, but my need to play would not let up. Above all else, my mom made sure my wish was granted.
We made a tee time for midday and we were, not surprisingly, the only people on the course. I figured it would be cold but just warm enough to squeeze in a round of nine before the end of the season.
The first three holes were as expected: very cold with grey skies. But it was nothing I hadn’t faced before. My mom, sitting in the golf cart, suited with a blanket and her chai latte to warm her hands, continued to snap photos of me, which I argued was the reason I kept hitting bad shots.
As we traveled deeper into the course, the snow flurries became evident and, before we knew it, it became a full-on blizzard. For those who are unaware, a blizzard is essentially the worst weather condition for golf. The big white flakes whirling around the course generate camouflage for the golf ball, making it impossible to be found. My hands were as red as a cherry, raw from the metal club that I gripped in my hands. I felt as though I was fighting for my life out there. And yet, there was my mom, sitting in the golf cart extending her unwavering support and doing her best to dodge the hail that flew into her face, all because she wanted to make my whim come true.
I think we both felt a sigh of relief as I sank the putt on the final hole. The drop of the ball signaled the end of what was one of the most treacherous rounds of golf I’ve yet to experience. However, she never once voiced her preference to sit inside the warm car with the seat heaters on.
Now, four years later, I sit and watch those videos, laughing at the enormous snowflakes that can be easily spotted through the camera lens. I still don’t understand how I finished nine holes in those conditions. But, in the background of the video, you can hear my mom’s laugh as clear as day, combined with words of encouragement.
I will forever cherish this memory, as I know my mom’s first choice of activity would be to put on a Will Ferrell movie and laugh our heads off while we complete yet another time-consuming art project. But for me, she was willing to sit in the freezing cold and watch me partake in my passions.
That’s love if I’ve ever seen it.
***
My mom attended Michigan State University, which would typically prompt a heated rivalry filled with constant banter between mother and daughter. However, since I’m dealing with Courtney, her approach is a little different.
On the day of Michigan State’s senior night, where the Spartans would host the game against the University of Michigan, my natural instinct was to don a U-M sweatshirt. I assumed that my mom would be sporting her green and white and, if she was, I couldn’t really hold it against her. To my surprise, though, she shocked me by wearing her navy crew neck that says “Michigan Mom” on the front in a bold, maize-colored athletic font.
When I asked her why she chose that outfit for the day, my mom responded in the most nonchalant way.
“I wore my Michigan State stuff last time,” she said. “Today, I will cheer for your team.”
Now, typically my competitive brain would be appalled at this philosophy. Who would willingly choose to root against their alma mater? But this small act encompasses my mother in more ways than one, extending beyond her lack of recognition of the rivalry between the two schools.
My mom understood that I would be happy if the University of Michigan won the game. And so for her, that was enough. If my happiness relied on a poor performance from her beloved Spartans, then so be it. And she knows that, from my perspective, cheering against your team for the satisfaction of others is the ultimate sacrifice, so we both went about our day knowing the other was happy.
With my being officially retired from competitive sports, my mom’s role as head cheerleader in my athletic endeavors has come to an end. But that clearly hasn’t stopped her from finding new ways to be front and center on the sidelines, cheering my name as loudly as possible.
Statement Contributor Sophie Matthews can be reached at sophmatt@umich.edu.
