“AND DRIVE, TWO, THREE! AND DRIVE, TWO, THREE!” cries out Mandy Sue, in the center of an intertangled, five-person formation. With their backs locked at 90 degrees and their arms intertwined, they’re in what’s called a “scrum.” They push their collective strength into a large contraption of foam and metal called the “scrum sled,” until it moves 10–15 feet down the turf.
Five other gals have been standing atop the sled to create its weight, watching the formation from above. Lisa Cooper, one of the assistant coaches, steps off the sled to give Mandy Sue some advice. The ten teammates gather around and spark a group conversation on areas for improvement and best techniques, trading tips and tricks. They’re waiting for the Quake, the men’s rugby team, to end their practice.
Together, they are the Seattle Mudhens. You could say they’re the Quake’s womxn equivalent, but you’d be doing them a disservice. They’re so much more than that.
On a chilly Wednesday evening, the team had their last practice before a big game: a double-header against the Portland Pigs. Players who wanted extra preparation, like Mandy Sue, arrived a half-hour early. Lisa was there to make sure they got what they needed.
“She’s playing the position I held for a long time, so I try to pass on what I learned, from what I’ve done, when I can,” said Lisa, “especially since she’s in a leadership role as the front of the scrum, a uniquely technical role.”
Occasionally, a group of sweaty, burly Quake players will pass through, on their way to a water break. The two teams are independent of each other, but given they share the same field and sport, there’s a mutual respect. Notably, when a player transitions and wants to play on a team that affirms their gender, the Quake and Mudhens actually work together to make that process happen.
There are at least two or three transmasc players, however, who’ve chosen to stay with the Mudhens, and they’ve been accepted for exactly who they are. Given how the NCAA currently restricts Trans women to only male teams, and that they haven’t even reached pro leagues in the NBA, NFL, etc., the amount of freedom that the Mudhens offer their Trans peers is revolutionary by comparison.
When the men wrapped up, Lisa and the coaches gathered the players for a brief social icebreaker, just before sending them to run a few laps around the field. As her team jogged, head coach Janel Hammer noticed that a Quake player was wearing his tackle suit backwards.
“They’re supposed to protect your legs…” she said in frustration, though she didn’t intrude on their exercise. The Mudhens take safety seriously. The sport itself has built-in standards that, once they become muscle memory, allow players to repeatedly tackle each other without headgear: Always use your arms, rather than your whole body. Keep your eyes on your target, and never connect above the chest.
“When you get tackled, tuck your chin,” said assistant coach Mary as a reminder, after word’s gone around that someone got whiplash at the last practice. “There’s a right way and a wrong way to get tackled.”
Just as the sun set, the real work began. The Mudhens put on yellow and orange skins, then began to gracefully bash into each other. They now had the entire field to themselves, on which they enacted an endless gauntlet of plays in rush after rush of toppling, cascading bodies.
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