Shortly before kickoff, players huddle on the sidelines for their fire-up routine, a flamboyant shout-and-scream ritual meant to amplify motivation. They jump up and down as if riding pogo sticks and raise fists while yelping battle cries. Crazed and demonstrating signs of fierce aggression, players playact unconstrained fervor. “Let’s go” and “No prisoners,” “It’s Our Time,” and guttural grunts befitting hunting dogs about to be unkenneled to kill rabbits. Getting the players amped-up is the goal. It is a shameless display of combatant preparation. Hearts beat faster. Blood gushes to muscles and vital organs. Breathing quickens, and pulse rates gallop. Pumped-up motivation. Battle cries. When the going gets tough, the tough get going. Leave it all out there on the field. Et cetera. Invented hysteria. The pre-game custom reminds one of the preface to cockfight, nothing refined like the rousing elegance of the Saint Crispin's Day speech (“We few, we happy few, we band of brothers”) from Shakespeare’s Henry V. No, what we witness before an American football game is hormone-driven and savage, an all-in drink the Kool-Aid sacrament, silly hormone-hoisting stuff to precede acts of violence.
As long as humans have been indulging in battle, screaming and carrying-on have been part of preparation. Confederate soldiers employed the rebel yell (a half scream, half bark) to intimidate the enemy and to boost morale. Scottish war chants, Gaelic battle cries (“Faugh A Ballagh”), and the Texas Revolution (“Remember the Alamo”) among hundreds more battle screams meant to stiffen resolve and to “get ready to rumble.” Similar posturings before battles have been a tradition among cultures for thousands of years. Shouts of “Deus hoc vult!” (“God wills it!”) came from the crusaders in their spiritual quest to capture the Holy Lands from Muslim rule. If it’s not necessary, it’s ridiculous. Probably both.
A call to arms before the clash melds American football and war, our side versus theirs. Football is unavoidably violent, combatants crashing into one another, knocking each other down, and struggling over territory. As humbling as it is, it seems battling over territory is a human trait. Football, a contest mimicking larger war, past and present, is fought with shoulder pads and helmets rather than with swords and battle axes . Let’s face it. People enjoy a good fight.
But isn’t it savage to relish primal screams and contorted faces? Do we still need to display such behavior before a game? Can’t teambuilding do with a gentler pregame ritual? Okay, probably not because much of what we are is what were, the tribal response to threat. But as a default ritual before each game, well, it does not much recommend the human family, does it?
Hyping people seems to be a human need. A fierce and rousing demonstration of haka offers another kind slant on preparation to fight, or simply as a demonstration paying homage to an event or to a person. Typically haka is performed as a war dance but also serves as an homage to community and as an honor on special occasions, stemming from the Māori culture.
Though the haka performers appear fierce and frightening when—feet spread wide, face leaning forward—they growl and extend their tongues down to their chins, they are executing a choreographed ritual. Give them credit for making us smile as they prepare for a crowning event while working themselves into a state of excitement, which somehow seems more sophisticated than the American way of pumping up our warriors.
Because football has become a religion of sorts in America, small wonder we see so much violence on our mean streets.
We are what we do. And our rituals define us.