XL Cover Story: Everybody Plays

Inside the Erwin Center, the Austin Wranglers prove that the Longhorns aren't the only pigskin spectacle in town

  » A Primer: The field and the rules are different, but it's still football
  » Graphic: Football's indoor game

Scenes from the spectacle

From left, Rich McCleskey, Aaron Humphrey and Ramon Richardson sign autographs for fans at the Erwin Center following their March 13 game against the Dallas Desperados.

The Lady Wranglers take the field almost as often as the players.

Tacoma Fontaine signs autographs for Adi Levinson, 10, left, and Rush Evans, 11.

Michael MacGregor, his son Noam, 2, and wife Nao get a close look at the action.

One Wranglers mascot is Blaze, who shoots T-shirts into the crowd.

Brandon Fowler, 3, finds a caramel apple more appealing than the game.

Ashton McKellop, 6, and his brother Donovan Killian, 14, take part in a contest.

The Austin Wranglers enter the arena amid pyrotechnics and puffs of smoke.

From left, Nicolas Medina, 9, Alex Song, 10, and Joe Hermoso, 10, say 'howdy' to Dallas Desperado Jason Shelley.

Austin Wranglers Arena Football When: Against Tampa Bay Storm at noon April 17 and the Orlando Predators at 7:30 p.m. May 7 Where: Erwin Center, 1701 Red River St. Tickets: Individual-game seats: $15-$75. 2006 season tickets start at $50 for adults and $25 for kids. Information: 491-6600; AustinWranglers.com

It's my first arena football game, and for some reason, I flash to the bright-light glamour of the World Wide Wrestling Federation.

Both phenomena flood the Erwin Center's massive drum with puffed-up drama. Both elicit deafening cheers when sweaty bodies slam into each other.

At this Austin Wranglers game, pigskins whizz past my ears. Children scamper up and down the aisles in excitement, especially during timeouts, when Wranglers staff members lob T-shirts and other prizes into the stands. At other times, fans join the players on the field, participating in contest after preposterous contest.

When play begins, you can hear the crunch of shoulder-pad plastic as athletes are tackled and thrown onto the arena's padded four-foot-high boundaries (close enough to touch from my seat).

All this activity is more intimidating -- and momentarily disorienting -- than it may sound. Inflated "thunder sticks" clap like clanging tin cans all around the arena, setting both the players and fans on edge.

Then, out of nowhere, a football flies past me -- I can feel the sudden change in air pressure -- and hits a soccer mom square in the face. The crowd hushes, and all eyes are upon the woman with hands cradling her face.

Just when the crowd expects a broken, bloody nose, she reveals undamaged features, then triumphantly holds up the ball.

The multitudes erupt. This woman has probably never participated in a single football practice and certainly did not volunteer to play in this game. She's wearing no helmet or padding, and likely attended only to oversee her squirming, jubilant children.

But when you're at an Austin Wranglers arena football game, everybody plays.

A Rowdy bunch

In a crowd of 13,125, amid scattered peanut shells and empty beer cups, live some of the most intense football fans in Austin: the Rowdy Wranglers.

Their faces are smeared in red and blue -- Wranglers team colors -- and they sit in a reserved section for zealots who will stop at little to support their team.

Aside from decorating themselves like warriors, these rambunctious radicals throw the loudest party in the crowd. Here, those annoying thunder-sticks lay deflated on the ground, popped from exhaustion after the first quarter.

Ron Faulstitch and his fellow fanatics enjoy Rowdy life because, "We can let loose during the game, relax and just be ourselves."

What a way to relax! Using their seats mostly as nacho tables, the Rowdies choose an unfortunate player on the opposing team at the start of each game to heckle until the clock stops, teasing him with taunting jeers.

"Hey Britney!" they croon to New Orleans VooDoo player Calvin Spears, "when are you going to have a baby?" (Just don't ask what they yell to the referees.)

Even team president Doug MacGregor, his face painted in fanatic war colors beneath a red and blue afro-style wig, joins the Rowdies. He can sit anywhere in the arena he wants, including a first-class private suite. But he chooses to stand in the loudest section along with Faulstitch and the rest of the live-wired posse. "Because that's what I am," MacGregor says.

Those Rowdies who aren't wearing shirts have painted the team letters on their chests. Right now, however, their aggregate body spells "Wraglers," since 'N' is in line buying his daughter a stick of cotton candy and himself a beer.

Cheer up

Not everyone arrives at Wranglers games on time. Austin's gorgeous springtime weather sometimes discourages patrons, even season-ticket holders, from coming at all. But when fans arrive punctually, they witness a blistering pre-game show, this one starring the Lady Wranglers.

After mingling with the crowd before each game, the cheerleaders exhibit their -- as they used to say in vaudeville -- "talent" in a dance concert decorated with pom-poms and pyrotechnics. (More of that aforementioned talent can be seen in this year's Lady Wranglers calendar.)

Aside from their time on the field, the Lady Wranglers also export their cheers to the wider community. Most recently, they danced as backups for "American Idol" reject William Hung at a fund-raiser for Austin Sunshine Camps.

Though their rigorous performances might suggest otherwise, the Lady Wranglers are not full-time cheerleaders. Many hold down serious jobs. Lady Wrangler Laura is an engineer and Meg is a financial analyst. Lady Wrangler Terri works as a biology lab assistant. (Perhaps for privacy reasons, first names are all they provide.)

Their exclusive time in the spotlight is short. A thunderous cannon fires, then the Austin Wranglers stampede the field through an enormous inflated helmet. The focus for the next four quarters might belong to the men in jerseys, but the job for the ladies in tight chaps and short shorts is not over yet. In fact, they spend almost as much time on the field as do the players, cheering in the end zone just yards away from the body-clashing action.

'Blaze' of glory

It's hard to argue with Lance Weston's claim to be the Wranglers' No. 1 fan. Weston takes an all-consuming interest in the team. He decorates a wall at home with Wranglers memorabilia, knows the team's owners well enough to sit in their seats (in the "ring of fire" -- front row, behind the players bench). He judges at the cheerleading tryouts, and knows each of the players as friends, or at least good acquaintances.

When I first saw him, he was dressed as Wranglers mascot "Blaze," a blue, red and silver horse. Later, dressed more normally and chewing on a hot dog, he talks about his love for the still-young arena squad.

"If you give yourself to the team," Weston says, "you'll get so much more in return. Since when can you do that with the NFL?"

If there were any doubt about whether Weston gives himself to the team, it was put to rest on April Fool's Day when he and a handful of the Rowdy Wranglers dressed in drag to imitate the Lady Wranglers for a mock halftime show before the entire crowd. If that's not team devotion, you can sign me up to be tackled by 313-pound defensive lineman Gaylon Hyder.

Of course, being a Rowdy Wrangler, mascot or a cheerleader isn't the only way to show support. There's also the Wranglers Club, a clutch of fans who share a generous passion for their team. Before each game, they are admitted to a banquet room where they dine with the players.

I was afforded the opportunity to share a sandwich with running back and former University of Texas Longhorn Greg Brown minutes before he suited up. Brown had once vowed to never play for the AFL. But after attending a couple games and a few practices on the field he was persuaded; he signed in December.

Fans have experienced similar conversions, overcoming the prejudice that arena football is reserved for the has-beens or never-will-bes of the sport. Club member Steve Litacker recalled that last year he bought season tickets to host clients at games.

"After I took them once," Steve recalls, "I fell in love with it and have only taken my family since."

Score galore

The Wranglers play on the brightly lighted field of green turf surrounded by a padded barrier known as the "dasher board," so close to the crowd that people in the first 20 rows can hear exactly how it feels to be tackled into it.

Those sitting in the first five rows can virtually detect the bumpy texture on the football in play. Given such close quarters, game balls thrown, kicked, or even tossed from the field are commonplace -- the count often reaches double digits -- and fumbles are more prevalent than in the NFL. The plays are executed at a rapid pace and the number of touchdowns usually leaves the scoreboard with more than 100 points.

Less than five minutes into their game against the Dallas Desperados, and the Wranglers are already losing by seven. At the end of the first half, the score is an unpromising 24-14, with Dallas in the lead. Given the missed field goals, touchdowns and numerous fumbles, it seems as though the Austin team can't catch a break. Still, in a game where the fate is often determined in the last seconds of play, there's always hope.

Prizes and puckering up

Their heroes may be fighting a losing battle this time, but that doesn't stop the fans from contributing to the on-field fun. Hosted by a goofy string-bean known as Lunchbox, these participatory contests are about as normal as their master of ceremonies.

Selected audience members toss tortillas to win their seat section a free taco from Taco Shack; tents are emptied of camp supplies in a relay race to win a gift certificate to Academy Sports & Outdoors. My personal favorite: bold participants who dress as a sandwich, a hot dog and a pickle race across the field as part of Manny Hattan's Deli sponsorship.

The silliness also invades the tiered seats. Plastic footballs and Frisbees are winged into the eager hands of the younger fans. More T-shirts are shot out of a bazookalike device to reach the upper levels.

The "Kiss Cam" displays live footage of couples on the giant screens for all of the Erwin Center to see. At the Dallas game, two of the women from MTV's "Real World" kiss -- with many instant replays to follow -- and a young Central Texas couple get engaged: Chad Riggen pops the question to Carrie Patrick with ring in hand. "I wanted to catch her by surprise," Riggen says of his fiancee.

Team president MacGregor believes that activities such as these make Wranglers games -- similar to minor league hockey and baseball -- family friendly: "Part of all the fun is building the culture around the team."

The time runs out, and a winner and loser have been chosen; it is Austin's first loss to Dallas. Coach Skip Foster blames the 52-28 defeat entirely on himself, not the players.

'Skipper' at the helm

Foster has a reputation of being a "players' coach," one who acts in the best interest of the team. Recently injured quarterback Bobby Pesavento speaks kindly of the "Skipper," too. "He is open to our ideas," he says. "Most coaches won't let you express your opinion to them. Coach Foster will."

Regardless of who beat up on whom, both teams line up to give each other the traditional "good game" handshake. They often form one large circle together and take a knee to pray.

After the game, long lines form from the stands to the field. The fact that their beloved Wranglers were sadly defeated doesn't matter a bit matter to these hordes. They want autographs from the chivalrous sports stars who tried anyway; win or no win.

Miguel Carranza, a fan who drove all the way from San Antonio with daughter Veronica to fulfill his "spring football fix," loves the fast pace of basketball, but he prefers the Wranglers.

"You don't have the access to the Spurs like you do with the Wranglers," he says. Which autograph does he want the most? "I'm here to get all of them." Is he sad about the loss? "Disappointed? Sure," he says with a slight grin. "But we're coming back."

Five-year-old Devon Sapata shares the same attitude. "I had fun when they threw the ball all the time ... and also when the cheerleaders danced."

Defensive lineman Angel Rubio, has just scored his first touchdown of the season, doesn't let the sodden results of the game affect him negatively. "It was a letdown, but there are more important things than football," Rubio says as his two kids, Gabriel and Isabella, cling to him as if he were a monstrous teddy bear.

It's not whether you win or lose ...

In my second game, Dallas won by 24 points. In my first, Georgia won in the last second by a field goal. While players showed emotion at the end of both games, there was no audible sigh from the crowd.

They didn't care. It wasn't really about winning. It wasn't about the standings in the league (the Wranglers had earned more Ls than Ws at press time). It wasn't even about a game well played.

It was about a good time. Going someplace safe with the kids. Being close to the action, but not too invested. Watching people make fools of themselves, but also witnessing the everyday kindnesses of players and parents, making kids' dreams come true.

Everybody might not play on the field, but sometimes it feels that every soul in the crowd wants to sprint down the turf and tackle into the dasher boards or leap into the end zone. You are so close to the action, it's like you have joined the team.

Now that's entertainment.