Still kicking

[Times photo: Dirk Shadd] Tampa Bay Buccaneers cheerleading coordinator Carole Wood watches as Mimi Kilpatrick, foreground at left, dances in a kick line during the final stages of tryouts at the USF Sun Dome last week.

By LANE DeGREGORY
© St. Petersburg Times
published April 4, 2002

For nine seasons she has sashayed and pirouetted on the sidelines for the Tampa Bay Bucs. Can the team's oldest veteran keep her spot on the squad?

Fifty beautiful women are sitting on the shiny wooden floor inside the University of South Florida Sun Dome, stretching their long legs. Their toes are pointed in white socks and sneakers. Their manicured hands are arching above their heads.

"Now, as you know, unfortunately, we can't take all of you," the coach calls through her cordless microphone. "But if you got this far, we feel you have a good shot at being part of our team. So I want to explain a little bit about how we're going to select the squad.

"Then you're going to find out what it means to be a Tampa Bay Buccaneers cheerleader."

Mimi Kilpatrick has heard this spiel 10 times. She's sitting in back, as usual, hugging her chin to her left thigh. Her dark, wavy hair is falling across her shoulders, framing her face. Her almond eyes are closed in concentration.

She's trying to work through that tightness behind her knee. The Icy-Hot ointment doesn't seem to be helping.

Kilpatrick, 36, is a nine-season veteran of the squad and was team captain last season. She was among 50 finalists selected to audition in a four-day training camp last week. At the end, 32 were chosen.

Ever since she was old enough to want anything, Kilpatrick has wanted to be a cheerleader. Her earliest memories are of standing on a football field in Puerto Rico, watching her dad play on his Air Force base, shouting for him to score. She was a one-person squad. She was 4 years old.

"I guess I always had that spirit to be a cheerleader," she says. "Either that, or I just wanted to be the center of attention."

In high school in Tampa, she made the squad at Leto Comprehensive. During her sophomore year at the University of South Florida she tried out for the Bucs and made the big time. That was 1986. She cheered for five years, then took a five-year break while working as a flight attendant. She returned to the squad in 1998.

Since then, she has pranced in black boots in front of 65,000 fans at Raymond James Stadium, signed autographs for hundreds of adoring elementary-school students, represented the NFL on a two-week tour of Japan. She has been photographed for swimsuit calendars, lost her top during a halftime performance, volunteered at Hudson's annual blood drive. She has met Shaun King, Derrick Brooks and Keyshawn Johnson.

Kilpatrick in 1986, her first year as a cheerleader.

Last year, she was team captain. She has been on the squad nine years in all. Longer than anyone.

"The morning after that last game in January, my whole body was sore. I was questioning whether this old girl could cut it," she says. "Of course, I wonder whether I'm youthful enough, whether they're looking for younger blood.

"Then I say, "Hey, so what if my left split isn't quite as low as it used to be? I can still pull one out when I have to.' "

She just turned 36. She can still sashay down the field, keeping step with girls half her age; still high-kick in a chorus line for 20 minutes; still turn heads during a halftime show. She still wears a size 3. Still gets carded when she orders a margarita. So what if it takes her longer to recover from one?

So now, like some of the older Bucs players, this aging veteran is trying to hold on to her spot on the roster. She's trying to beat girls who have higher kicks, firmer butts, gravity-defying bust lines. Girls who don't have to work day jobs. Whose biological clocks haven't started ticking out loud.

So many of us put our dreams on hold for life. Time takes over. We work jobs to pay bills, buy houses, pay more bills. We get married, have children, get caught up in T-ball and college funds and birthday parties. We get too old to play professional sports, to sing in a rock band, to try out for Miss America.

Kilpatrick did things the opposite way: She put her life on hold for a dream. Somewhere along the way, it overshadowed her other ambitions. Now she just wants to hang on.

When pre-audition workshops were held in mid March, more than 350 women attended.

They came from Ohio, Texas and California. They came in sweat pants and soft black jazz shoes, in pink leotards and leopard-print bikinis, carrying bulging backpacks and Hello Kitty makeup kits. One woman came to try out with her mother, who was 50. There were models and teachers and high school seniors; dancers and mothers and an assistant state attorney.

Coach Carole Wood cut 300 women that first week.

Now it's Monday, March 25. On Friday, Wood will make the final cuts. Only 32 will make the squad.

"Okay, now you all get out a pen or pencil and we'll pass out these football tests," the coach says about 7:30 p.m. The quiz asks: How many points are earned for a touchdown? How many men are on the field for one team at a time? What color are the Buccaneers Cheerleaders' boots?

Kilpatrick misses four of the 30 questions: She can't remember which conference the Buccaneers are in or who Greg Spires is. She has never heard of a gridiron.

She thinks there are six quarters in a regulation game.

"Okay," the coach calls after a quick water break. "We're going to turn up the music. Now, let's take a deep breath . . . here we go . . . "

An Aerosmith song screeches through the speakers, Love in an Elevator. The coach starts strutting across the gym, counting in eights, stepping off the dance sequence. Fan kicks and pirouettes and shuffle ball changes.

In the rear of the room, Kilpatrick mimics each move. She stands slightly apart from the other women, eyes forward, smile sparkling. She's friendly to all the other veterans. But she seldom socializes, even during breaks.

"Okay, that's one you'll all want to really work on at home," the coach says at the end of the evening. "That Aerosmith dance is supposed to be very graceful and elegant."

Bucs cheerleading coordinator Carole Wood, back to camera, talks to the 50 finalists as they stretch during last week’s tryouts. Wood is entering her fifth year as cheerleading coach.

That night, Kilpatrick can't sleep. She puts on a John Coltrane CD and tries to cover her fears. She hasn't been able to eat all week, not even a Caesar salad. She would love a glass of wine, just to calm her nerves. But she can't let anything slow her down, sap her pep.

So much is riding on these tryouts.

For more than a decade now, she has built her world around her hobby. She has practiced pregame shows and halftime routines for six hours a week, worked out four hours more, spent all day Saturdays and Sundays on the football field.

During the week, she works full time at her real job: coming up with advertising campaigns for Checkers restaurants. Often, she spends her lunch hours doing charity appearances for cheerleading. She has become an expert at getting undressed while she drives, at slipping off her stockings at one stoplight and pulling on her NFL-issue tights at another, at sliding into that poufy-sleeved blouse while she shifts gears in her silver BMW convertible.

"My whole life is a calendar, from pedicures to facials and massages, to team meetings and early morning radio interviews. Then there are all the appearances! You can hire cheerleaders for almost anything, you know," she says. "We do birthdays, conventions, private parties. I feel so blessed that I've been able to do this for so many years."

Sometimes, she gets compensated for her time. Often, she doesn't.

Buccaneers cheerleaders don't get paid. They are guaranteed two free tickets to each home game. But they have to be there anyway. So the perk really is for friends or family members.

Kilpatrick gives her tickets to her younger brother or cousin or mom. Her dad has season passes. "Oh, my parents are so proud of me. That's one of the best things about doing this. I love that they like telling people I'm a cheerleader."

She didn't tell them she was trying out this week. She didn't want them worrying about her, making her worry more. She wouldn't want them to be disappointed.

When Kilpatrick gets to training camp Wednesday, Rick James' music is rattling the rafters. She reaches into her black satchel and pulls out the essay she typed up last night. It's single-spaced, one page plus one paragraph.

"If I had to write an autobiography," it starts, "I would call it: Pom-Pom and Circumstance. The book would reflect my personal memories of the most exciting period of my life."

Kimberly Giacinto, 24, left, and Mimi Kilpatrick hold hands as they walk to the back of the line after performing during the tryouts. Giacinto will be a second-year cheerleader this season.

The Buccaneers' official Web site says cheerleaders are professional, physically fit, multitalented community leaders who strive to represent the NFL organization with dignity and grace while serving as positive role models. "This includes providing outstanding entertainment for each home game with glamorous, "girl next door' appeal and cutting-edge dance routines," the Web site says.

Plus hot pants and low-cut pirate blouses.

Tonight Wood will ask to see the finalists dance, endure long sessions of chorus-line kicks and, sometimes, perform other acrobatic feats.

And she will study their photographs. Tonight, each candidate will pose for three shots. Polaroids will be clipped to their applications and essays.

Kilpatrick worries whether she brushed enough blush below her high cheekbones. Wonders whether she should have worn a top that showed more cleavage.

Years ago, when she first wore the uniform, she would stuff thick green socks into her push-up bra before each home game. Men ogling her from 40 rows up never knew. When she went ahead and got the surgery, no one but her mom seemed to notice.

About 8 p.m., Kilpatrick strolls to the front of the gym, leans in toward the photographer, plants her left hand saucily on her hip.

On her way back to her spot, she stops beside her coach. Wood has brought her 4-month-old daughter to tryouts. Kilpatrick reaches for the infant. "May I?" she pleads. "Just for one second?"

Reluctantly, the coach hands over her baby. Kilpatrick cradles the child against her glittery shoulder, inhaling her fine hair, patting her tiny back.

"Oh, I never get to hold little ones like this. Oh, she's sooo sweet!" Kilpatrick coos. "I sure hope I can have one of my own, one day."

Then the aging cheerleader hands back the baby and sprints through the gym. Time to catch up with the other contestants.

She always thought she would have so much more by now. A career in television, maybe hosting a VH1 show; a house of her own; of course, a husband. And a family. For so long, she thought she could have it all.

But climbing your way up the broadcast ladder means you can't take three evenings off every week to learn dance routines. And she hasn't had time, really, to look for a house, and she's hardly ever home anyway. So she rents an apartment near the Courtney Campbell Causeway, not too far from the stadium. And as for a husband, well, with her hectic schedule it's hard even to squeeze in dating.

So while her friends are taking their kindergarteners to swimming classes or bathing sticky babies in the kitchen sink, Kilpatrick rehearses sideline ditties and tries to convince her coach, and herself, that this is where she still belongs.

"The stress is so much worse this year," she says. "These new girls don't realize how much they have to lose. To think about everything I haven't done because of this, and to think I might not even have this any more, that's just really scary."

On Thursday, the last night of tryouts, Kilpatrick pulls into the parking lot about 9:35. The judges are waiting.

"Hey, Mimi, hurry up!" a woman calls from the lobby. The coach is ahead of schedule.

"I'm not ready," Kilpatrick says, dropping her bag. "I'm just so nervous. I've been dizzy all day."

She couldn't sleep, again, last night. She has been staying at her parents' house so she doesn't have to be alone. She still hasn't told them about tryouts.

There has been so much else going on.

Just 12 hours ago, after rubbing sports cream into her aching thighs, she printed her resume on her parents' computer. She had an interview with the general manager of WFTS-Ch. 28 this morning. She told him about her idea: to host a newsy fashion show about Tampa Bay.

"It went really, really well," she says, retying her sneakers outside the gym. "He did mention that my inexperience would be a factor. But he wants me to talk to the producer and send another copy of my resume, plus a videotape. He seemed to like that I'm an NFL cheerleader. He told several people in the newsroom that I'm on the squad."

Professional cheerleaders have been working hard, she says, to make over their image. They have been ladling soup, collecting toys, banding shorebirds. They're not allowed to wear belly rings or show tattoos, drink in uniform or date players. They aren't allowed to pose nude.

"Hey, Mimi!" a voice bellows from inside the gym, "They want you!"

She starts toward the double glass doors, adjusts the clear butterfly clip holding her long bangs. As she passes the Super Pretzel stand, she pauses. She crosses her arms, leans over the snack bar.

"Dear Lord, please give me the strength to do my best, and the wisdom to accept the outcome," she prays. "Please stay with me in there."

Then she pushes through the doors and heads across the empty gym. Her coach and two other judges are sitting behind a long table. She stands in the center of the room, waiting for the Madonna mix to start.

In three minutes, it will be over.

Just inside the entrance to the gym, someone has stood a roll of blue carpet. It's supposed to block view from the lobby. But if you look in from just the right angle, you can see the center of the room.

You can see the coach's poker face. A man on one side. A woman on the other.

You can see Kilpatrick's back and her clean white Keds.

Madonna starts pumping. In perfect time, Kilpatrick stag jumps and sashays, spins turns and fan-kicks. The entire time, she holds on to her smile.

Another two songs and the rehearsed part is done. She freezes, panting. Then coach Wood waves her over. There's going to be one final test ...

The coach is 31 -- five years younger than Kilpatrick. She cheered for the Atlanta Falcons but abandoned the glamor side of this business long ago. She locks eyes with Kilpatrick now and says coolly: "Left split."

The one Kilpatrick had been dreading.

She looks straight at her coach and nods. She bounces on the balls of her feet. Once. Twice. Three times. She takes a deep breath. Then she goes down.

"Left split," she says to herself.

It feels low enough.

By noon tomorrow, she'll know.

She didn't want to find out at work. So she took Friday off. She picked up her baby nephew and spent the morning with him.

She was on her way to drop her resume at the television station when her cell phone rang.

Her friend Carla was calling. She wanted to know if Kilpatrick had seen the roster.

She hadn't

"Well," Carla hesitates. Static crackles in Kilpatrick's ear. "Oh, I'm so sorry," Carla says. "I'm so, so sorry. You deserved it. We all know you did. But I didn't see your name on the list."

"Okay," Kilpatrick says calmly. "No problem. Thanks so much for letting me know."

The official Tampa Bay Buccaneers cheerleaders Web site says the new squad is the best ever. The most tenured women . . . are Carla Thomas and Kristin Turner, a pair of fifth-year veterans. The oldest member is 33.

Later that night, Kilpatrick still hasn't cried. "It's really weird," she says. "I'm almost calm. I mean, this is almost calming. I don't know if it's relief. Or maybe I'm just numb. I don't know."

Even through her cell phone, she sounds like she's smiling.

"I really hope this becomes an opportunity for me to focus on my real dreams now," she says brightly, with perfect cheerleader pep. "Now, maybe I can get my act together and get into television."

She ticks off other plans, things she hasn't been able -- or allowed -- to do. She's going to start her own Web page. Pose for a different swimsuit calendar. The opportunities are endless. Finally, she'll get off the sidelines.

"And I'm going to write that autobiography," she says. "I already have the title, you know."

At a glance

To see more of the Tampa Bay Buccaneers Cheerleaders, log onto www.buccaneers.com and click on "Cheerleaders." There, you can see the team portrait, individual photos and biographies, an appearance calendar and swimsuit shots. There is even a link called "Cheerleader Diaries."

© St. Petersburg Times. All rights reserved.