The announcement came over the P.A. system in the fourth quarter. It was met by quiet applause, a stark reminder of the shadow the girls lived in.
“Let’s show some love for the cheerleaders!”
The announcement was more of a subtle nod. You knew they were there. You saw them at each home game at G.S. Kinlaw Stadium, every Friday night in the fall. They danced up and down their stage — the charcoal and white track that separated the fans from the field. They wore a uniform — blue and white skirts and tank tops, each girl’s hair carefully tied in a white ribbon. They waved their shiny blue poms as they chanted.
The stars of Friday night football at St. Pauls High School were on the field — the young men of the Bulldogs football team, outfitted head to toe in sleek black uniforms. They were who the students and locals had come to see. Everyone knew their names. They were printed alongside the players’ photos on the banners that hung from the back side of the bleachers.
The culture of high school football in rural North Carolina started with the players. They were the entertainment. Some were a glimpse into a future beyond Robeson County, talented athletes who would one day become bigger than what their home region could hold.
But to unlock the heartbeat of the St. Pauls Bulldogs and Friday night football, you had to go deeper. Through the metal detector and past the police cars, which kept the crime away and the game solely focused on what you were there to see. Past the ticket booth, where you’d pay $8 to see the best show in town. Here, as the sun set and the mosquitoes came out, you could find it.
We began in G.S. Kinlaw’s de-facto concourse. It had all the amenities of a stadium — bathrooms, concessions, gathering space — but sat on grass under the clear, dark sky. The pulse was faint on the north side of the bleachers. Some children tossed around a football as the team parents set up their folding chairs to watch the game.
So you continued searching.
Behind the bleachers, out the other side. Here were the concessions. You could get a bottle of water for $2 — the best bargain at any stadium in the United States. There were southern classics, too. Pork skins, $8. Funnel cakes. A little warmer.
You continued searching.
At the far end of the food stands stood a foldable black sign. On it were three pictures of the St. Pauls cheer team, the girls with gold medals draped around their necks. “Support Your Local Cheerleader TODAY!” the top of the sign read in large sans-serif text, next to the Bulldogs logo.
You were closer now. You’d look up and find yourself at a gray folding table with a large cooler placed on top, face to face with the women who wanted so desperately for the cheer girls of St. Pauls to be seen by the world — the Cheer Mamas.
You could find them here at each home game. They sold Italian ice. Every dollar they made would go to the team.
Every dollar counted. They paid for their own uniforms. They dreamed big, too. If they met their fundraising goal of $20,000, the team would get everything they needed, said one of the moms, Jaki Ross-Johnson, 46. That included their ultimate goal: a trip to a national cheer competition in Orlando in February.
The squad didn’t go to nationals every year, despite earning their spot on a brighter stage. They were one of the most decorated cheer teams in North Carolina. Last season, they won two state titles. A week after this game, they would head to the UCA Triangle Regional competition, where they would again finish in first place.
Sometimes, missing out on nationals was out of their control. Last year, the team was informed by email that a national competition they had intended to compete in was canceled. But most years, St. Pauls lacked the resources to send them. The school did their best to allocate funds to the team, but the Cheer Mamas had taken fundraising into their own hands.
“We need it,” said Ross-Johnson, “And this is the best way that we know how to help them get it.”
There was still a deeper level to uncover. To find it, you had to go to the literal heart of G.S. Kinlaw Stadium on game nights. You were escorted there by one of the cheer moms to a restricted area — the tight dirt walkway between the bleachers and the fence surrounding the track. Fans weren’t allowed to stand here during the game.
You walked along this passage while the game played on to your right. To your left and all above you, the home crowd roared as the Bulldogs continued to run up the score on the Midway Raiders.
We arrived at the epicenter — the fourth chamber of the heart. Dead center of the bleachers, looking straight across at a woman — Tashira Patterson, 32 — in a black Bulldogs t-shirt and her cheer team, which she’d coached since 2016.
Through the noise, she spoke. You could barely hear her as the bleachers rattled and your ears rang. Pounding, nonstop. But you were here, at the only football game in North Carolina where you’d not only be allowed, but encouraged to interview a coach in the middle of play.
The cheerleaders paid no mind to their coach’s conversation with the reporter by the fence. They continued chanting. They continued doing their job of keeping the fans engaged.
“We have to raise money for basically everything,” said Patterson, beneath the cheers. “When I got here, they had half of a uniform set. No poms. No mats. We had one cheer cabinet with basically everything inside. It’s been a process to build it up over the last couple of years.”
The cheer team was important, not only because it drove the atmosphere of the football games, but because it taught the girls work ethic. Being an underdog only seemed to fuel their determination and resilience. They trained six days a week, taking off Sundays. They all did well in school.
“It teaches them responsibility and make them stay focused,” said Kayla Locklear, 36, another mom of the team. “They work very hard.”
They wanted to win. They wanted to succeed. They were going to earn it.
“They’re amazing kids,” said Patterson. “I want them to be kids for as long as they can, but I want to give them an experience of traveling and being recognized nationwide.”
Cheerleading, like football, was an avenue out of Robeson County. The girls could go on to cheer at college, Patterson said. She’d seen three go down that route during her tenure. One was trying out for an NFL cheerleading team.
“It can take you far,” she said.
The cheerleaders were an integral part of Friday night football in St. Pauls. They were the crowd control, the motivators, the hype. Or, as Locklear called them: “The backbone to the football team.”
But even with each gold medal and each first place finish, they played second fiddle to the players on the gridiron. The football was what the fans had come to see. One day, Locklear hopes to show the St. Pauls cheer team to the world.
“I see their blood, sweat and tears every day,” she said. “I want the world to see it on a bigger level, and I want them to be on TV. They need that experience. They need to know what champions look like.”
“We’re a small town, but we’re a big champion.”
Maybe one day they will.
As the Bulldogs players were cheered off the field, capping off a dominant 59–22 win to close out the regular season, the cheerleaders quietly exited through the concession area near the south side of the field, disappearing into the night.
But don’t forget the cheer girls of St. Pauls. They will be back. Maybe one day, you’ll see the girls at nationals, under brighter lights, still fueled by the same competitive spirit that had gotten them this far.