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Full-tackle Fandom
“Yo, dude, I’m not tripping, right? Those are women?” The man points to the field where gals in gold helmets run scrimmage drills. They are the Savannah Sabers, an all-women, full-tackle football team prepping for the hard-hitting season that begins on April 14.
To say football is big in the South is like saying religion is important to the Pope. I had to shell out $3 for a University of Georgia hoodie at a yard sale just to stop the dirty looks my unaffiliated sportswear was getting me on game days. This pulled me in from the margins, but to get even closer to the center, I had to suit up as a Saber.
I thought I knew enough to get by: catch ball, run with ball, do a cute dance in the end zone. Apparently, there’s more to it.
“I think it’s too tight,” I say to Kristisha “Kris” Young, a two-year Saber veteran, as she fits me with a helmet. The mother of three strapping boys grabs the face guard and gives it a rough shake.
“Nah, you don’t want it to move. It’s good.” Good, except that I can’t feel my ears. Good, except that my field of vision has been cut in half. Good except that I can’t wipe my nose. I run like a bobble-headed giraffe with broken knees, and my head aches like I’ve been on a week-long bender.
The girls are all very welcoming, even to a lanky blonde in running shorts (my bad). Keisha Glover, a self-described “girly girl” who moonlights as an Mixed Martial Arts fighter, introduces herself by shaking my hand so hard I think she’s trying to pluck it off and give it to someone who would use it for something more worthwhile than writing. When practice begins, I move a safe distance from Keisha.
For the tackle drill, I choose a woman named “Angel” as my partner, for obvious reasons. She runs at me low, grabs a handful of the back of my shirt and lets me go. Then it’s my turn. I run at her low, wrap my arms around her and grab a handful of her butt.
“Uh, sorry about that.”
She shrugs, “It’s just part of the game.”
Apparently so is getting hit, a fact these otherwise nice women seem very comfortable with.
“I can’t wait to start hitting people,” says Jessica Chandler, a first-time player who drives in from Statesboro to practice. “There’s just something about lightin’ somebody up that’ll make you feel good about your day.”
I’m not so sure. I get distracted on the defensive line while talking to Amber Davis, a cop who tells me how she delivered a baby in a pick-up truck the night before. Jessica runs past me with the ball and gets pushed from behind. As she goes down, her cleat slams into my thigh. I stifle a tear. The girls help Jessica up, slapping her on the back good-naturedly and asking if she’s okay. I see this as my moment to pretend to take an important call—for the remainder of practice.
Being on the inside of the helmet—even if only for moment—gives me a different perspective on Southern football. It’s not really about a winning record or a billion-dollar stadium. It’s about working toward a common goal, encouraging others along the way, and taking a hit that would drop a small elephant (even if it’s from an errant cleat).
I showed up. I played. I got the T-shirt. No, really, instead of a jersey, coach Paul Snider gave me a Sabers’ T-shirt. I think that might be a hint I should embrace the game like the majority of Southerners: from the stands.
Cheer on the Sabers »
Garden City Stadium, 150 Wheathill Road, Garden City, www.savannahsabers.com.
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Email Andi Pigneri at savannahwomensfootball@yahoo.com.
Follow the rest of Andrea's adventures in the Hostess City in the March/April issue of Savannah magazine.
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