State Tournament
Photos by Travis Heying
Clockwise from left: An exuberant fan raises her arms after a three-point shot
in the second-round game. In small schools, everyone plays a part. Cheerleader
Tara Johnson subs as a sax player in the pep band before the start of the first
game. Head Coach Del Schoenfish gives his players instructions during a
timeout late in the first game.
Later that evening, the team at
tended a pizza feed with other tourney
teams at Pershing Auditorium.
Now they wait.
The cheerleaders return from their
shopping trip. They rush through the
hotel door and see their classmates’
familiar faces. - -
Carrie, a petite girl with long blonde
hair {Hilled back into a barrette, spots
her boyfHend, Brian Holtze, a senior
on the team, sitting on a sofa and goes
to sit next to him.
Bobbie, 18, a thin girl with shoul
der-length blonde hair pulled back
into a barrette, also spots her boy
friend, Greg Borland, a junior on the
team, sitting in a chair and moves
toward him.
Coleton Shifflet, a junior team
member, relaxes on another sofa in
front of lighted fireplace. He’s ner
vous.
“I’ll have trouble sleepingtonight,”
he admits.
At 6-foot, 3-mches,Shiffletdoesn t
look nervous as he stretches out across
the sofa wearing black shorts and a
Chicago Bulls T-shirt, his stocking
feet resting on the coffee table.
He remembers his coach’s advice:
“If we lose, give it all you got and
leave it on the court. It’s nothing to be
ashamed of.”
But he knows it isn’t always that
easy.
“It will be a new feeling if we do
lose,” he says.
By 10 p.m. the players are in their
rooms. The cheerleaders, still in the
lobby, camp out in front of the televi
sion to watch the news.
They clap when the score from the
Cambridge game comes on the screen.
“That’s us.”
“Woo, woo.”
One by one, the tired cheerleaders
go up to their room. They need their
sleep, too. Tomorrow is a big day.
V ***
By 8:30 Friday morning, the
cheerleaders and some of the play
ers are in the lobby again. Some of
the cheerleaders have their uniforms
on already.
They crowd together on two sofas
in front of the television. One player
sitting on the sofa eats a bowl of
cornflakes while two teammates have
breakfast at a table nearby.
Another player gets up and tups
through the channels. He finally settles
on “Three’s Company.”
Carrie and Brian sit on a sofa away
from the group, looking somber. Car
rie leans in toward Brian and puts her
arm around him.
“Does anyone have a crowbar?”
one player asks. “We need to separate
Carrie and Brian.”
At 8:50 a.m„ the players go up
stairs for a meeting in the coach’s
room. They crowd into the room, sit
ting on the beds and the dresser, lean
ing against the walls. The coach is
sitting at the table, making notes in a
folder.
The coach’s wife, Veronica, leaves
as the meeting is about to begin.
“Good luck, troop,” she says be
fore turning out the door.
“Thanks,” the team responds.
Assistant Coach John Johnson
briefs the team on its opponent.
Clipboard in hand. Coach
Schoenfish then gives the boys a pep
talk.
“Hey, anything can happen down
here,” he says. He tells them to look at
the game as a challenge and an oppor
tunity:
“Let’s see what we can do. It’s a
challenge for you to go out and do the
best job you can. In order to be the
best,you’ve got to play with the best.”
After the meeting, Schoenfish says
he’s not nervous but admits he’s a
little apprehensive.
“That’s what athletics is all about,”
he says.
The team walks slowly down the
hallway to the elevator, uniforms
clutched in their hands, duffle bags
draped across their shoulders. No one
says a word.
In the lobby again, the players wait
silently for a few minutes before they
leave for Pershing Auditorium, where
they will watch the Laurel-Concord
Bears and the Sandy Creek Cougars
vie for a spot in the Class C-2 finals.
“We want Cambridge. We want
Cambridge.”
Laurel-Concord fans chant after
their team’s sweeping victory over
Sandy Creek. They let everyone know
who they want to play in the finals.
The Cambridge Trojans don’t in
tend to disappoint them. Except for
the thump of a basketball hitting the
cement floor, silence pierces the air of
the Trojan’s dressing room. Coach
Schoenfish offers the team a few final
words before it meets the Lincoln
Christian Crusaders on the court. i
“They’re people, too, and they’re
no better than you are,” he says.
“They’re 17. They put their pants on
just like everyone else.”
The waiting is over.
“Let’s go,” the players shout be
fore they run out of the dressing room
and onto the court.
The orange and black sea is in
motion.
“C-A-M-B-R-I-D-G-E. Cam
bridge,” the sea roars above the music
of the band.
Ten-year-old Whitney Jones runs
in front of the crowd waving an orange
and black flag that is twice the size he
is. The same signs that decorated the
gym the day before color the walls
again.
Another storm is brewing.
***
Victory slipped away.
The Crusaders stole ahead early to
claim a 12-point lead at halftime.
The orange and black sea is rest
less.
“When that last buzzer rings and
they have more points than we, then
I’ll accept defeat, but until that buzzer
rings, we’re still in it,” Veronica
Schoenfish says at halftime.
The clock ticks away. Cambridge
never recovers.
The orange and black sea is calm
now. The storm has lost its fury.
“Geez, this is bad,” one fan says
under his breath. “Come on.”
Whitney Jones has put down his
flag.
“We’U never catch up, not like this.
They won by 20 points. Ugh,” he says
is he slides his back down the wall and
flunks down on the cement floor.
Tonya, wearing the gold earrings
she bought the day before, puts her
lands together as if praying and lifts
:hem to her face.
On the sidelines the team is quiet,
rhe players lean forward in their chairs
ind rest their chins In the palms of
their hands. A few players wipe their
brows with a towel.
Some Cambridge fans start chant
ing, “Let’s play football,” as Crusader
fans chant, “Overrated.”
Buzzzzz. The game is over.
The seniors on the team hug on the
sidelines and then slap hands with the
underclassmen on the team.
As they walk off the court, expres
sionless, the cheerleaders do their fi
nal cheer of the season.
“We are proud of you, hey we are
proud of you.”
The orange and black sea spills out
onto the floor to slap hands with the
players, pat them on the back and
congratulate them on a job well done.
Tonya and Bobbie embrace as tears
escape from their eyes.
A woman begins tearing down the
signs on the walls.
Carrie holds Brian’s hand.
“We don’t know how to lose,” she
says. “It’s weird.”
Greg emerges from the dressing
room carrying his uniform and duffle
bag.
“It’s like all the dreams I’ve had all
year long right down the tubes,” he
says.
He turns to find Bobbie standing
behind him. He takes her hand and she
whispers, “I love you.”
