Rags to Riches
ON the first day of soccer practice, one of the returning starters came out with her own ball; she didn't believe that 25 new balls would have fallen onto the field from heaven.
On the second day of practice, Coach Patricia Whitney announced we would receive rain gear to go with our new uniforms, and if it rained, she said, we could loosen up on the red carpeted floor of our new team locker room.
On the third day of practice, we noticed the grass was getting too high on the soccer field. Whitney mentioned this at lunch, and an hour later the grounds crew was out manicuring the field.
We were astonished. Ours is a team that had never played with new soccer balls; that had donned "original" uniforms in dorm rooms; and that had scrounged for playing fields for two years. Our team had been a club, but now we've become a varsity. We worked hard for the right to wear the green, and the memory of those first two seasons lives on.
Cinda Fernald '79 did much of the initial work to create the club, both on and off the field. Before that first season, some of us had never kicked a soccer ball, but Coach Lou Panella '78 developed us into backs and forwards. What we lacked in skill, we supplied in spirit. Panella and assistant coach Peter Marlett '80 made us run sprints to atone for every imaginable sin — living in New York, partying the night before, joining a sorority.
That first season, practices were scheduled inversely to the weather. When it was sunny, we played in Leverone; when it rained, the football team booted us outside. We wore white shorts and green tops, advertising the Co-op's vast green T-shirt selection. Although the first time we took the field we were still learning teammates' names, we finished the season with a record of 2-3-1, better than anyone had expected.
The next year found us a bit more sophisticated. Marlett, now head coach and assisted by Andy Graham '80, started practices early, and more than 50 girls tried out for the squad. We played anywhere we could — Leverone, the Medical School field, corners of the field hockey field, even an old corn field.
We got classy and had team shirts made up with numbers printed on the backs. We didn't learn until later that regulations required numbers on front, too. We sold plants to raise money, while one father donated socks and balls, and Amicae, a campus women's group, gave us a trainer's kit. Loose and informal, we faced teams that appeared to have been outfitted at Bloomingdale's. But we had diversity, we had style, and we had fun.
No vans in our budget, we cruised in cars. On sunny days, the top went down and the tunes went on in the Marlett-mobile. Even if we rounded up enough cars, or if we wedged in tightly, we still faced uncertainty. What are the odds that if four cars travel to another school, one will get lost, stopped for speeding, run out of gas, or get a flat tire? On and off the field we faced opposition, but our victories were that much sweeter. Finishing our second season at 7-5, two players were named first-string all-Ivy, four received honorable mentions, and, to the chagrin of the men's coach, we appeared on the cover of Soccer America, a first for Dartmouth.
Yet we still lived in the shadow of Dartmouth's varsity sports, feeling like the runt in the litter. When we traveled with the field hockey squad, their coach picked up their dinner tab, but we reached into our own pockets to pay for the food, gas, jerseys, and entry fees. When we went to Brown for the Ivy League tournament, other teams stayed in hotels; we camped in the basement of a gym.
If we dreamed of becoming a varsity squad, it was to make things equal on the playing field and smoother off the field. Most teams we faced were supported by their schools with paid coaches and trainers, new balls, uniforms, sweats, locker room privileges, traveling schedules, and subsidized meals. With these problems taken care of, the opposition would be where it belonged — on the field. Besides, those green varsity letter sweaters looked awfully warm.
Working off-campus this past spring, I was ecstatic to read of our varsity status, but I'm still not sure why it happened. It could have been the great turnout and show of interest in the team. It might have been our season record. It probably was Title IX and an athletic council that has recognized the popularity and reality of women's sports.
The surprises of the first varsity season have continued. We don't have much use for the urinals in our locker room, but we like our practice field, team meals, home and away uniforms, laundry service, having an industrious manager and a concerned trainer, coverage in the press and on TV, and official referees at games. (Though I didn't like the yellow warning card one official gave me in the first game.)
The novelties go beyond the taping, dressing, and fattening up. I sat in this past summer as the coach selected equipment and uniforms. "The sky's the limit," she was told. The DCAC had made a real commitment to making the women's soccer program first class. The men's team welcomed us on the field our first day out this year, and they even lent us their home jerseys for our season opener when ours hadn't arrived. I hope it's more than politeness because we are in close quarters on the fields and in the training room we share with them. I think it's a real appreciation.
We, too, appreciate the new concern and benefits, but an age has passed. We were a team that sat down together to make decisions, that was self-sufficient, that had fun surviving. Gone are the total democracy, total independence, and total informality. I don't have any regrets, but I wonder: Who moved the wheels? Why? Will it last? Are we spoiled? I also can't help wondering if anything more is expected in exchange for the flashy new uniforms and the lush green playing field. Did we sign a contract? Did we lose our innocence?
There still are vestiges of the old days. The trainer gave us a talk about mixed training facilities, warning us to be patient. People still say varsity and mean the men's team. It makes the freshmen angry, which I find amusing. Then I realize only four players have returned from the first year. And I remember that first day when I went out to play soccer for kicks, never realizing I would be hooked; never dreaming that some day Dartmouth, too, would go for the goal ... the field, the whole deal.
