THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1994, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Tuesday, October 11, 1994 TAG: 9410110386
SECTION: SPORTS PAGE: C01 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY RICH RADFORD, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: VIRGINIA BEACH LENGTH: Long : 255 lines
It didn't seem like it would be that hard. A square, wooden stick. A hard rubber ball. Eighteen high school girls in ponytails as my competition.
When I suggested the assignment - write a story about practicing field hockey with the Cox High team, Virginia's perennial state champion - I envisioned coach Nancy Fowlkes telling me: ``You know, Rich, you should really try out for the men's Olympic field hockey team.''
Men do play field hockey in small pockets of the United States. But around here, as my wife likes to refer to her lunch dates with her friends, it's a girl thing.
So despite my inexperience - the last time I'd swung a field hockey stick was in sixth-grade P.E. - I was confident.
I never thought I'd spend my first practice throwing up.
MY FIRST AND MOST important lesson about field hockey is that these kids are in shape. I'm not talking about let's-jog-around-the-block shape. I'm talking about let's-run-a-marathon shape.
And I'm convinced Marie Antoinette never played field hockey. Or at least not the kind of field hockey Cox plays.
``Let them eat cake'' and field hockey don't mix. I ate chocolate cake two hours before my first practice - and lost the cake 30 minutes into practice.
Before they pick up a stick, the Falcons run sprints - forward, backward and sideways. And on the day I showed up for practice, they followed the sprints by running a timed mile.
The best time was a 5:03 mile. I finished in 7:16 - dead last.
Next, we ran situation drills, three offensive players against two defenders. I was a defender, and I spent a lot of time chasing whoever had the ball.
After one long chase, I felt that sinking feeling deep in the pit of my stomach.
I made it to the sideline, doubled over and retched. I lay on the grass. Then I was up again, throwing up again.
Still bent over, wondering if I was finished, I hallucinated. Suddenly I thought I saw Wayne Campbell and Garth Algar.
``I think he's gonna hurl again.''
``Hey man, if you're gonna spew, spew in this.''
But it wasn't Wayne and Garth; it was Kim Miller, soon to become my No. 1 nemesis, handing me a ``Cox Falcons'' plastic mug.
``Mr. Radford, would you like some water?'' she said.
Fowlkes came over. She didn't mention an Olympic spot.
``It was all the running,'' she said.
For the remainder of practice, nobody wanted to get near me. Probably afraid I'd get sick again, or fall on them.
THE PRACTICE SESSION for penalty corner attacks was an experience I won't soon forget.
I was defending the penalty corner, since I'd been labeled a defender for the duration of my stay.
On the penalty corner, the ball is sent into play from the end line near the goal to one of the offensive players along the perimeter of the scoring circle, 16 yards away. Five defenders line up on the end line and give chase as the ball is put into play.
Fowlkes assigned me to play the ``flyer,'' who runs as fast as possible at the center shooter.
I was thankful the last stop on my way to practice was a sporting goods store, where I bought a mouthpiece. I'd seen what a 36-inch field hockey stick could do.
Four years ago, I was about 15 feet away when Kempsville's Noel Danielson was hit in the face by an accidental stick swung by Cox's Kelly Hood.
The blow drove one of Danielson's teeth through her cheek. She bled for a while on the sidelines, then got back in the action and eventually scored the winning goal.
Field hockey isn't for wimps.
Of course, constantly wearing a mouthpiece makes it harder to breathe. I found myself taking the mouthpiece out at every chance.
There wasn't a whole lot I could do to protect the rest of my body. And I learned quickly why the flyers on most teams finish the season with an assortment of bruises, and are sometimes referred to as ``kamikazes.''
All-state forward Kirsty Hale pulled back and let fly on the first shot and it sneaked between my thighs, almost knee high, without hitting any flesh. Luckily.
Robin Dwyer is Cox's regular flyer. And she's sustained her share of bruises.
``You just fly with the stick, not the body,'' Dwyer said. ``Mainly you can't really think about it. You just go on instinct. And you do it to help the team.''
The next time, I rushed toward Hale at the top of the circle. As she was preparing to blast a shot, I stuck out my stick and somehow stole the ball.
I felt like John Havlicek at the Boston Garden. I thought I could hear Johnny Most's gravel-toned voice shouting, ``Radford stole the ball! Radford stole the ball!''
The girls rewarded my effort with polite praise. Hale just smiled. She knew I was the blind squirrel who'd found a nut. Miller gave me a high five.
With all those sticks being swung and with balls whistling by, I started to thank the inventor of shinguards.
But I wondered why the attackers didn't wear them in practice, although all players must wear them in games. Was it a macho thing?
``It's more for comfort,'' Hale explained. ``When you're on offense, you just don't get hit at as much.''
IT BECAME increasingly evident that there aren't a lot of big rewards in field hockey. It's common to see 1-0 scores. The chances to celebrate are few.
I asked Hale why Cox field hockey was so popular.
``It's Coach Fowlkes,'' Hale said. ``We love the game for different reasons, but it helps that she's the coach. She's like a Pied Piper. She's a great motivator.''
Cox's practices are peppered with skill drills, and while scrimmaging helps hide the deficiencies - then it's a just-do-it mentality on the field - the drills strip a novice of all dignity.
I found out quickly that I can't pass, I can't dribble, and I can't catch.
And then there are the rules. The stick is rounded on one side and flat on the other. You aren't allowed to hit the ball with the round side, which means when the ball is to your left you have to awkwardly turn the stick backwards to control the ball. There are no lefthanded sticks in field hockey.
Fowlkes runs the players through a series of cones while handling the ball. I knocked cones over like a 15-year-old taking his first driver's ed class.
The ball bounced around some on the grass, but Cox maintains a closely-cut surface, making for a faster game. Not all fields are this nice.
``If you get on a rough field, it really breaks up the continuity of the game,'' Fowlkes said. ``The ball hits clumps of grass and repeatedly takes wild bounces.''
Even on as flat and smooth a field as Cox's, I was having my problems. Still, the players continued to encourage me.
But I was a mess when it was my turn to encourage them. Midway through practice comes the one-on-one drills. One player fires a pass 25 yards to another player, then gives chase. The other player catches the pass, then has to get by the player who started the drill.
I was watching, wondering which player was going to leave me in her wake, when Miller came by.
``Coach her,'' Miller said.
``What?''
``Tell your player what to do.''
I looked out in front of me at Emma Pehovaz, who was trying desperately to stop an oncoming player.
``Come on Emma!'' I hollered.
Miller jumped in.
``Back up! Break down! Watch your left!''
Pehovaz stole the ball, but I hadn't been much help.
As practice ended, I walked off the field with Fowlkes. Her instructions were simple:
``Drink lots of fluids, take a hot shower, stretch. And don't be surprised if you feel like you need a gurney to get out of bed tomorrow.''
``But Coach, how'd I do?''
She paused as a grin crossed her face. Cox would be playing archrival Kempsville the next day; I would be joining them for practice the following day.
``You didn't make the starting lineup,'' the coach said.
WHEN I SHOWED UP two days later, there wasn't as much pep in the girls' steps. They'd beaten Kempsville the day before, but it had taken double overtime and 71 shots on goal to squeeze out a 1-0 victory.
I saw Kim Miller in the hallway. She complained of being tired and sore. I kept my mouth shut.
``I can't believe their goalie made 42 saves,'' she said, a look of disbelief on her face.
I took my aching body to the practice field. It seemed I wasn't going to be alone with my aches and pains.
Brianne Baylor and Amy Polefrone were stretching out. I was ``Mr. Radford'' out for a story the first time through; now I was ``Rich.'' They spoke as if I were just another member of the team.
More conversation filtered in.
``What are you going to wear to the U.Va. game?''
``I hate biology.''
``I made a 27 on that U.S. History test.
``27 out of what?''
``27 out of 100.''
The talk eventually turned my way.
``Man, I thought you were going to die the other day,'' goalie Kim Iman said. ``You should have seen yourself just laying there. If you hadn't gotten back up to throw up again, I would have been sure you were dead.''
The players stood in a small circle as Fowlkes went over the Kempsville game. She spoke of letting frustration get the best of her players, of loss of concentration, of the need to maintain focus.
Fowlkes, whose teams have won five straight state titles, says she has the most talent she's ever had at Cox. Fowlkes hammered home her point - she expects more out of the best players she's ever coached. There was a moment of silence to contemplate that.
``Today we'll just take an untimed run,'' she said.
Like bolts, the players took off around the perimeter of Cox's athletic facility.
``She didn't want to see you throw up again,'' said one of the players, laughing.
``Man, am I glad you're working out with us today,'' said another. ``She's taking it easy on you.''
Without all the running to wear me down, I'd play better. My legs were fresh. Besides, I'd been smart with my diet. It had been a banana for breakfast, a small bowl of black beans and rice for lunch.
Fowlkes grinned when informed of this. ``I'm encouraged, Rich, to see you respected our training regimen,'' she said.
I asked Fowlkes what she thought made a great field hockey player.
``No. 1, a great work ethic,'' she said. ``Quickness, speed and endurance are good things to have, too.''
I STOLE PASSES. I played support defense as if I knew what was going on. I communicated.
I was paired with Sonali Chaturvedi much of the day. When I made a mistake, she would make up for it, and I would apologize.
Our conversation went something like this:
``I'm sorry.''
``It's OK.''
``I'm sorry.''
``You're doing fine.''
``I'm sorry.''
``That's all right.''
If it wasn't Chaturvedi, it was Pehovaz, or Sally Tempest, or Meredith Denson or Ashley Sperry.
They all made me look better than I was. Of course, the offensive players were spending a lot of time making me look worse.
Particularly Kim Miller. Any time I had to cover her, it was a lost cause. She's a 5-foot-nothing speedball who left me talking to myself.
I finally took the ball from Miller along the end line, and in my moment of total exhaustion I turned my big rear end on her and wouldn't let her get around me. Like a pack mule on a dusty mountain trail, I stood there.
There was restrained laughter.
``I can't do that, can I?''
``No, that's obstruction,'' Iman said. ``You definitely can't do that.''
The obstruction rule is why good teams are in great shape. It makes the game a continuous sport. Even in soccer, a player can stop and shield the defender from the ball. But not in field hockey.
There's only one acceptable gear for offensive players and that's forward.
Practice continued. I stole the ball again and headed upfield.
Fowlkes had instructed the defense to take the ball to the sidelines when they got it. But not me.
``Go wide!'' my teammates shouted. ``Go wide!''
I continued up the field until I heard a voice I hadn't heard before. It was tiny at first, then it grew.
``Go wide, Rich!''
It was Meredith Denson. Fowlkes would later tell me jokingly that it was the first time Meredith had spoken.
I figured if it was important enough to move Meredith to words, then next time, I would go wide.
I stole the ball again. And I went wide. And nobody could stop me. And the whistle blew. And practice, as well as my stay with the team, was over.
It all ended too soon.
Or maybe it ended just in time. ILLUSTRATION: Staff color photos by MOTOYA NAKAMURA
Catherine McCallum of Cox High's field hockey team takes the
offensive against Rich Radford, a sports writer for The
Virginian-Pilot and The Ledger-Star.
Cox field hockey players are serious about staying in shape. The
falcons run sprints - forward, backward and sideways - until they're
in let's-run-a-marathon condition. For some, like out-of-shape
reporters, the drills can be daunting.
Staff photo by MOTOYA NAKAMURA
In the end, Rich Radford, at center, was one of Cox's field hockey
gang, if not bound for the Olympics.
by CNB