There are two types of people in this world: those who spend their autumn evenings sipping pumpkin spice lattes under cozy blankets, and those of us who sit on metal bleachers in eighty-degree weather, sweating in places we didn’t know could sweat, screaming ourselves hoarse while our children chase glory under the Saturday night lights.
Hi, my name is Angela. I’m a Fall Sports Mom.
And let me tell you—this life is equal parts exhausting, exhilarating, and absolutely the best thing I’ve ever signed up for. Because I get the rare privilege of cheering for not one, but two kids on the field: Jase, who’s out there tackling boys on football field in shoulder pads, and Sadie, who’s shaking pom-poms and flipping her ponytail like it’s an Olympic sport.
If you’ve never tried to watch both a linebacker and a cheerleader at the same time, I’ll warn you: it’s basically whiplash with a side of stress.
Life on the Bleachers
Being a sports mom is not just about watching the game. It’s about living it. By the end of the season my car will smell faintly of tween sweat and Gatorade. And my voice? Typically set to ‘supportive mom,’ though I won’t deny the occasional outburst when the ref forgets his glasses.
I show up every Saturday night like it’s a Broadway show, except the ticket cost is a heck of a lot cheaper, the stage is grass, and the cast happens to be my children. And honestly, no Tony Award–winning performance has ever compared to watching your kid nail a tackle or smile mid-cheer routine when they catch your eye in the stands.
Jase: My Football Player
Let’s start with Jase. My boy. My quiet, steady, protective son who somehow transforms under those stadium lights into a warrior. Jase is the type of kid who doesn’t ask for much. He doesn’t boast, doesn’t brag, doesn’t even remind me that he needs clean socks until five minutes before we leave for the game. But when he’s out there on the football field? He’s fierce.
He’s got that mix of brains and brawn that makes him dangerous in the best way—reading plays, protecting teammates, playing his heart out. Every time he lines up, I want to grab the people around me and say, “That one. That’s mine.”
Football moms get a special kind of nervous. It’s this constant mix of adrenaline and prayer, like “Lord, let him play well, but also let every bone in his body stay intact.” And when he makes a big play? Forget it. I’m on my feet, shrieking like I just won the lottery.
Sadie: My Cheerleader
And then there’s Sadie. My dramatic, girly, brave little sparkler. If Jase is the steady heartbeat of the field, Sadie is the sparkle and the spirit. She was born to cheer—bossy enough to call the counts, brave enough to climb to the top of the pyramid, and dramatic enough to sell every motion like she’s auditioning for Netflix.
I’m not exaggerating when I say her cheer voice could be heard three towns over. The girl has lungs. And the confidence? She could out-cheer an entire marching band if she had to.
Watching her cheer is like watching a Broadway-level performance disguised as a Junior Football League game. She’s got the smile, the sass, and of course, the hair bow that could double as a small aircraft.
And yes, I am that mom. I clap along to every cheer like I’m part of the squad. I mouth the words when she chants. I even know the hand motions to “Give Me a V…”.
The Chaos of Double Duty
Here’s where things get tricky: watching both of them at once.
The football is snapped, and I’m laser-focused on Jase, heart pounding. Then suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, Sadie’s squad launches into a new cheer. Now I’m swiveling my head back and forth like I’m at a tennis match. Half my heart is on the field, the other half on the sidelines, and the whole time I’m praying I don’t miss something big.
It’s a juggling act—pride, panic, joy, and exhaustion all rolled into one.
And yes, sometimes I end up cheering for the wrong one: “Go Jase!!” when he’s not even in the play, or clapping wildly only to realize Sadie’s squad is cheering because the other team scored. Oops.
Why I Love It (Even When I Don’t)
Do I love sitting in so hot I’m melting weather? Not particularly. But would I trade this life? Not in a million years.
Because here’s the thing: one day the bleachers will be empty. One day there won’t be football pants in my laundry pile or glitter in my carpet. One day, I won’t have to split my gaze between the boy with the football and the girl with the pom-poms.
But today? Today I get to watch them shine. And there is no better view in the world than from those bleachers.
Final Whistle
Being a fall sports mom means your calendar is packed, your throat is sore, and your heart is so full it could burst. It means you learn the art of layering (because here in the Midwest it’s 90 degrees one day and 60 the next), you perfect the “bleacher lean,” and you figure out how to clap, scream, and cry all at the same time.
But more than anything, it means you get a front-row seat to your kids’ moments of glory. And whether it’s a perfect tackle or a perfectly timed chant, those moments are priceless.
So here I sit, proud as can be, living my best life under the lights of area High School football fields. I may not be the one on the field, but make no mistake—I’m part of the team.
Because when you’re a sports mom? Life isn’t just played on the field. It’s lived on the bleachers.
Fry, Party of Five 