Skirt, No; Welt, Yes: Practicing with club field hockey

I was in luck. Even though I was late for the club field hockey team's practice, it had not yet started. The delay was due to the fact that there were no balls around. Everyone was frantically searching.

Sophomore Meghan McCormick, the team's practice captain — the team has no official coach — started dialing her field hockey ball contacts, trying to figure out what to do. No one knew where the equipment had gone. Apparently, the team member responsible for taking them with her after last weekend's game had not shown up for practice.

But the girl in charge of balls was not alone. Attendance is low at spring practices, mostly because field hockey is normally considered a fall sport. Despite this notion the club team does schedule a few games for the spring, but the majority of games are played in the fall. But spring aside, McCormick would like to see more interest. She's got some ideas that might help.

"I think if we had a coach and more money and we were an actual team with an actual field that we didn't have to line ourselves — I'd definitely think we'd have more interest from people," McCormick said. "We need an authority figure."

As it stands, the team gets $400 from the University, but that's about it. Clearly, they need more balls.

But the girls did not seem dismayed by the delay. They had persevered through such obstacles before, many said. To kill time, they discussed how long each would be willing to stick around before taking off. Fifteen minutes, max.

Luckily, someone came up with the great idea to use a lacrosse ball, at least until anyone showed up with a more appropriate piece of equipment. Despite being smaller, softer and bouncier than an official field hockey ball, they told me, the lacrosse ball would work sufficiently in the meantime.

Finally, we divvied up teams. A suggestion was made to go shirts and skins — we were all the way over in Windsor Field — but the suggestion was flatly rejected. It would be dark shirts versus lights.

I had never played field hockey before, but I had once worn a kilt to high school as part of a project on Scotland. I assumed I would be a natural. Once again, my suggestion was flatly rejected.

"Just wait and see," freshman Stephanie Margulies warned.

She was right.

We started with some basic passing drills, getting used to how the ball reacted and getting a feel for the stick. While this was going on, I was getting a crash course in the basic rules: two hands on the stick while passing; if you have one hand on the stick it must be your left; do not turn your back to an opponent. The last one presumably limits gossiping.

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The first thing I noticed was how small the stick feels when a ball is careening towards you. Granted, it was a "bouncier" lacrosse ball rolling along chewed-up turf. Apparently, I was not alone in finding the quality of the turf difficult.

While I was gaining coordination, some members went to don shin guards. Five minutes later the opposition was lined up in their 3-2 zone, and we had the ball.

Luckily, the game lasted longer than their zone.

I was content to start off with a methodical, Princeton-style offensive approach. The girls, who have seen the varsity basketball team, had no time for that.

Instantly, the club practice had taken on a fevered pitch. These players had been weathered against the tough competition of the legendary Maryland club team, and other less legendary teams as well. Despite allowing my pocket to be picked by no fewer than three members of the opposition, my teammates more than made up for my lack of skill. Our initial attack netted a goal.

Gradually, though, I began gaining confidence in my presence on the field. Finding ourselves on defense, I went to challenge an advance. Suddenly, McCormick pulled up and fired the ball way up field. Unfortunately, my leg got in the way. Two minutes of concern, six apologies and one welt later, we were rolling again.

Moments later, another player was hit by a slap shot. Again, after the requisite two minutes of reflection and the profuse apologies, the practice continued — this time with a no slap hit rule. Only the tamer push pass would be allowed. Sissies.

In the end, I'm not sure whether my team won or lost, but it didn't much matter. I have a feeling this won't be the last time I spend an afternoon with the club field hockey team. The guy-girl ratio can't be beat, but more importantly, I've been looking for an excuse to break out that kilt again.