I started playing lacrosse in kindergarten, a standard start time for a Long Island lacrosse player. I played PAL in first grade, PAL and travel come fourth and then started ramping it up in with PAL, travel, school and private lessons in seventh grade. My parents spent copious amounts of money and time making sure I could play at a competitive level. Even though I didn’t commit to a college, being able to hang in high school was reward enough. Starting on a nationally touted high school lacrosse team was even more fun.
In my hometown on Long Island, lacrosse was our football. My teammates and I – along with most of the rest of our town – would spend Friday nights at the boys’ lacrosse game, in navy and orange coats (our town's colors) with five dollars in one pocket for a soft pretzel come halftime.
I grew up with the game and the game grew up with me. I know the rules that have changed and stayed the same, I’ve seen my friends published on the cover of US Lacrosse Magazine and my own byline inside it. This is all a roundabout way of saying, I know the game, which is how I know the hierarchy of a girl's high school lacrosse team. At least mine, anyway.
So, I thought I'd share.
The Standout: The team’s best midfielder, who’s needed in end-to-end play. She wears the most eye black and will run the full 100-yards in transition if need be. She committed D1 in freshman or sophomore year and immediately put it in her Instagram bio.
The Ripper: The attacker who can rip a piece of twine just by looking at it. Her scoring statistics are impossible to understand, unless you’re in AP Calculus, and put her at the top of the recruiting list for most D1 schools. She’s the coach’s pet and a big reason why your team has a winning record.
The Bull: The team’s best crease defender who everyone trusts most to guard the opposing team’s Standout or Ripper. Probably situated at 5’9” or taller, the Bull isn’t afraid to elbow a girl’s spleen to slow a fast break. She’ll just back check you when you try and take your eight-meter anyway.
The Keeper: Also known as, the goalie. If your town produces top talent, the Keeper’s got your back. She’s someone you trust to come up big on an eight-meter and knows how to dougie. Even in her heavy gear, she can get down.
The Stylist: The Stylist walks out of the locker room last on gameday; she’s busy French braiding and fishtailing everyone’s hair. She works hardest on the Standout and the Bull’s. Don’t be fooled by the braids, the Stylist has game. She may be a starter, but she’s definitely an attacker.
The DJ: The Stylist makes you look good; the DJ makes you feel good. They’re both equally important. The DJ is who the team trusts most to play music during warmups. Whether it’s against the weakest team in the conference or the state championships, the DJ’s music bops, as do her stick skills. She’s who really makes game time, game time.
The Cheerleader: The player who doesn’t get much playing time but isn’t mad about it; she knows she isn’t the most talented on the roster. Because of this, she happily cheers for her team from the sideline. She’s just happy to be here.
The Debby Downer: This player is frustrated with the amount of play time she’s getting, causing her to be bummed on game day. Her parents are likely upset too, which means they won’t be throwing the team any pasta parties.
Don't mistake such a hierarchy for a type of belittling culture. Despite the quote-unquote hierarchy, my high school lacrosse coaches would often say, "Do your job." When everyone did their job, and did it well, the team was at its best (even the Debby Downer, once she'd hear her name called to go in the game). Everyone on and off the field had a purpose, and when done right, it not only made the team more competitive, it allowed for personal growth as a player and person.
To this day, I do just that: I do the job, then work to do better.
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