The Mavericks Cheerleaders have recently returned from Future Cheer's International Competition 2010. It was an exciting and nerve-wrecking journey but the team pulled together and showed everyone just how to rock Nationals!Read more for a special CareBear style insight into the weekend!

The Mavericks came home with a 2nd place for Co-ed Cheer (only .7 away from first!), and a 2nd place for Pom dance, a 2nd for Stunt Group and a 3rd place for Prop dance. Everyone came home exhausted, happy and proud. Words cannot express how perfect the weekend was. The team worked so hard and got the results that they deserved.
Thank you and well done Mavericks!!! Below is a special report from Mitchell 'CareBear' Holt to sum up the momentous weekend!

Future Cheer – Nationals competition at Bournemouth.

The day was finally upon us. The dawn had broken and the sun had risen. It promised to be a glorious day, in more ways than one. It was Nationals Saturday. The Mavericks cheerleaders began to congregate outside the grand oak doors of Kings School. It was early in the morning, sleep was being rubbed from tired eyes but there was a feeling of excitement in the air. The girls had been under strict instructions to curl their long hair. That would be the style for the day. Nicole did the team proud with her long, dark curled locks. As Alissa pointed out she bore a distinct resemblance to King Charles I, and very magnificent she looked too. Woo rocked up with her hair still in curlers looking somewhat like a Coronation Street fishwife. It’s funny how the same style instructions can make one person look like a 17th century king of England and another look like Vera Duckworth. As the tension was eased by the exchange of banter and jokes, mostly at Nicole’s expense, the chariot arrived. Our intrepid charioteer Pete disembarked; he had a heart of gold and the arms of a stevedore. Bags were loaded into the bowels of the coach and the team embarked, bound for Bournemouth.
A sign on the coach helpfully informed us that there was room for 2 crew, 39 passengers and 0 standees, once we had finished discussing what the blazes a ‘standee’ is when it’s at home the first DVD of the journey was put on. A personal favourite of mine, ‘Mean Girls.’ A fascinatingly profound film, packed with hidden meaning and political satire. A masterpiece of the modern era. Once this was finished some masochist insisted we watch this utterly bizarre film about a bloke who ties balloons to his house and flies off to a land of talking dogs. Alas, before this slightly less profound film could reach its, no doubt scintillating, climax the coach arrived at its destination.
The team wasn’t competing till the afternoon session, they and their spectators only had tickets for 2pm onwards. But with a devil-may-care wave the lady on the door let us all pile on and plonk ourselves down on two whole rows that we didn’t hold tickets for, 3 hours before we were meant to be in the hall. Oh well, makes for a fairly relaxed approach to the event I suppose. We all watched the midday routines then when 2 pm came round, our allotted times the lackadaisical approach to tickets was cast aside in favour of a more Adolf Hitler approach. We were all frog marched out of the arena with military precision and made to loiter about while the staff faffed around for no immediately obvious reason. Eventually they let us back in one at a time, it wasn’t long though before the time came for the cheer team to depart for warms ups and then the big event would begin. The Mavs would perform the routine, on the national stage that they had working on for so many months!
The music began. 2 ½ minutes later, tumbles had been tumbled, toes touched and liberties liberated. Kirsten has manufactured a breathtaking routine, packing more pizzazz into the space of 2 ½ minutes than any other cheer coach could have dreamed of. When the music finished the arena full of spectators had been treated to a magnificent performance of cheery athleticism and the applause flowed. It’s worth pointing out at this stage the mysterious self deprecating nature of the Mavs cheer team. At the end of their routines other teams are bouncing about with glee at a job well done. They gallivant off the stage punching the air and hugging one another. When the Mavericks finish a routine they generally cry. Distress and despair flood forth and they lament a catalogue of disasters, few of which ever actually happened. This instance was no different. The subdued team made their way back to their seats. Kirsten sat down next to me, paused for a moment, and then with a deep sigh said, “I just don’t want to come last. As long as we beat somebody I will be happy.” Personally I though the team had done pretty well, but so had all the other teams they were competing against. For the first time since I have been watching these competitions there was no obvious loser. None of the teams who performed were obviously poor, the competition was very stiff. However, it was done now. Nothing else could be done about it, everybody had done what they could for the cause, and all had done their best. Now at least they could relax for the day and watch the other teams. As usual AEC and Unity wowed the crowd with their usual high standard routines. The Mavs began to unwind and enjoy the show now the pressure was off. All too soon though the pressure was back on as the time came for the results. The different categories were announced as were the last place, first place and all the places betwixt the two. Some teams were politely applauded others were rapturously cheered and I do believe the cheer community has finally dispensed of that infernal “We are proud of you” chant. Shan’t miss that.
“And now for the results of senior co-ed level 3” – the time was upon us. All 7 teams in this category, including the Mavericks were gathered at the foot of the stage in silence. All dreading being announced as 7th place. I sat up in row VV, resting my feet on the backs of row XX in front of me. I’ve still no idea what became of row WW, but any way.... My head was in my hands, I was holding my breath, willing with every ounce mental power I have to hear any name other than the Mavericks. I remember Kirsten’s words a couple of hours earlier “I just don’t want to come last....” Head still in my hands and is that my own pulse I can hear? No it isn’t they are actually playing a loud dramatic pulse sound effect. As if the tension wasn’t high enough!
“The team in 7th place is.........the Super Starry Special Stars from Electric Pink Star Town” Or some other ridiculously name team. All the air whooshed out of my body. The relief was enormous. Anything now was a bonus. At least we have beaten somebody. 6th and 5th place were called. The word Mavericks wasn’t uttered, 4th place, applause and polite cheering, still not Mavericks. Down to the final three, the three teams were invited up onto the stage. Two teams were obviously deeply excited to be there, the Mavericks looked around, sheepishly embarrassed. In keeping with their constitutional self deprecation they are now under the impression that they are in the wrong category. Nobody dared believe that they actually belonged up there. The 3rd place was read out, still no Mavericks. Oh no, this is going to be embarrassing. They are going to read out 2 more names that also aren’t Mavericks and we are going to leave the stage with nothing. That’s even less than what those in 7th place got.
“In second place......THE MAVERICKS CHEERLEADERS!!!!”

Absolute euphoria.

More tears were shed, but this time tears of happiness. The Mavs took over the stage, bouncing, cheering, clapping and hugging in ecstasy. A minute later this scene of utter joy was continuing. The trophy was being passed around the team. Everybody wanted to touch it. In the background one could faintly here somebody saying “in first place some obscure team than nobody really cares about” The Mavericks were still going, clapping and jumping for joy. The team that came first accepted their trophy, spent an acceptable period of time waving to the audience before accepting the invitation to leave the stage. The Mavericks were still bouncing around the stage in glee. The coach had been hoisted upon to the shoulders of her reliable trusty team. She waved to the crowd, heart bursting with pride at the achievement of her team. The day concluded and the audience began to leave the arena. The Mavs were still on the stage, soaking up the moment. Or rather, soaking up the now-rather-long-period-of-time. A job well done, a glorious end to the day, and the Mavericks cheerleaders retreated to their carriage and Pete drove them to their lodgings for the evening ready for the following day’s campaign.
As the coach finally put her head down to sleep at midnight, having been preparing meticulously for the next day, she still had a blissful smile on her face.
“I’ve never been so proud of my Mavericks.”

Day two dawned, by which point we had all been up for about 2 hours and had all had breakfast. Weary from a busy day on Saturday and too few hours sleep, the team set about preparing for Sunday’s dances and stunt routines. After a breakfast of cornflakes, fruit, yoghurt, eggs, bacon, sausages, hash browns, beans, black puddings, muesli, frosties, tea, coffee and orange juice (and that was just Katie Mangles) (honestly I’ve never seen such a small person put so much away) (My giddy aunt!) the team set off, driven by trusty Pete to the arena. Upon arrival we all marched approximately 400 miles through passageways and corridors to a different hall to the previous day. Upon arrival an exceedingly helpful lady, full of joy and love for life, kindly explained to us that we can’t actually take our bags into the hall and need to take them to another room. In this other room there were roughly 4,000 other competitors leaving bags and belongings, taking valuables, putting on costumes and sculpting hair styles. Us spectators made our way into the hall past the previously mentioned draconian witch woman whose eyes were scanning us for signs of baggage. We claimed our seats but it wasn’t long before the first Mavericks routine of the day was announced. The Pom Dance team took to the stage. The music kicked in. The stage became a blur of exquisitely choreographed switch leaping, pirouetting and lycra clad high kicking. Not to mention the enchanted poms made from the woven hair strands of unicorn’s mane. Poms that when thrown, would return to the hand. When left on the floor would piddoing back into their owners palms. After this display of wizardry and wonderment, the Mavericks left the stage and in traditional Mavericks style, cried. It had all gone wrong, it was one great catastrophe. Oh well, a quick chance to watch the other teams perform before dashing off for the next routine.
It wasn’t long before the dance team had to dash off again for the next routine of the day. They took to the stage once again to perform their prop dance. After a brief period of preparation, the stage was festooned with props and what-have-you, the team poised, with cameras in their hands, and the music began. Once again the audience were treated to a blur of spinning, twirling and leaping. This time though there was an extra dimension of flash photography, red carpets, glossy magazines and handbags. The dance ended and the applause was rapturous.
Those from the dance team, but not in the stunt group could take a well earned rest and enjoy the other prop dances, while their stunt group colleagues had to go straight to warm up for their next routine. In all honesty highlights were fairly thin on the ground. One team spent the majority of their routine trying to skip with a length of rope. It was a little odd but they did break out their novelty, secret weapon prop, when one of the dancer’s boobs fell out. That livened up the routine up a little.
All too quickly the time flew by and the Stunt group were called to the stage for the final chukka. Once more unto the breach they went. Still breathing heavily from the dance performance and bone weary from a weekend of effort, they strutted out to perform on last time.
Once again the music kicked in. Once again the team leapt to action and with a final Herculean effort from the fearsome five began. Layouts were laid out, rewinds were rewound and full ups went upward................fully. Utterly exhausted now, too tired to cry this time the girls dragged themselves back to their seats. Everything that could be done for the team’s chances had now been done. All that remained was to catch their breath, relax and eat crisps. And cakes and haribo sweets and sausage rolls and Pringles and sandwiches (for goodness sake Katie!) (Seriously!).
After a brief respite, results time came.
First up was Pom dance. Teams were announced and we had got to 8th place with no mention of the Mavericks. So, with breathtaking consistency the Mavericks have failed to come last again. Good news. More team's names are read out. Electric Fudge, Starry Starry Sparkly Stars, Infernal Inferno Infanticide, (Who comes up with these names?) (Seriously) the list went on but the Mavericks weren’t called out. Murmurs begin to whizz around the Mavericks squad again.
“Are you sure we are in this category?”
“We can’t be, we would never beat starry starry sparkly stars, they are really good.”
Down to the final three again. The three finalists take to the stage. Including the bemused Mavericks. “Surely we aren’t kicking ass again? Twice in one weekend?”
Some other obscure cheery nonsense name gets read out. They clap and cheer and jump and leave the stage not a moment too soon. Then, confirmation, there is no mistake. The Mavericks have yet again kicked ass in a fiercely competitive division. Including some Worlds winners and other international standard teams. A thumping good performance from the Mavs earns then another second place trophy in front of the whole cheer community from across the nation. The awards continued and the Mavericks added to their haul with a 3rd and another 2nd place. As the team happily filed out of the building brandishing their trophies, off to meet faithful Pete for the long journey home, Coach Kirsten went to collect the judge’s sheets. The sheets provided a fascinating insight into achievements of the weekend.
“Ripping good dance routine. Performed with a cavalier, devil-may-care, abandon.”
“Breath taking stunt routine, real edge of the seat stuff”
“The choreography was without a doubt the best piece of dance art witnessed by humanity. There has never been a better put together dance routine in the history of mankind. And the coach was absolutely beautiful.”
And of course the old favourite, “Needs more”
The team arrived home, covered in glory, oozing with victory. Tired, exhausted but proud. Deservedly proud, justifiably proud, and none more so than their half asleep coach.
“I’ve never been so proud of my Mavericks.”