E-Mail This Article to a Friend Real girls play tackle (continued)

League of extraordinary women

The Mass Mutiny is currently one of 36 licensed teams in the Northern Division of the NWFA, a five-year-old organization based in Detroit. Another professional league, the Independent Women’s Football League (IWFL), has fewer teams (31), more regular-season games (10), and is generally considered by NWFA players to be less competitive. The Bay State Warriors, an IWFL team, have a home field in Medford; their record this season is 2-6.

But Caruso says there’s no enmity between the Mutiny and the Warriors. "That would be like a rottweiler picking on a poodle," she jokes. "They’ll support our games, and we’ll support their games. There’s no rivalry. Of course, you have a few people who didn’t make our team who will talk all kinds of crap, but we’re all working hard no matter what level."

The Mass Mutiny’s moniker grew out of a past insurrection. About five years ago, after the New England Storm lost a title bout in the now-defunct Women’s Professional Football League, a core group of Storm members, unhappy with their ownership’s direction, splintered off into their own team. The schism begot the Mass Mutiny; the new team asked Russell, then the Storm’s medical director, to defect with them. At the time, the NWFA was in its embryonic stages; the Mutiny became one of the 10 teams in its inaugural 2001 season. Although they didn’t make the playoffs that year, the Mutiny went to the championships the following season, winning two post-season shutouts and going head-to-head, in front of a record-setting crowd of 5600, against the Detroit Danger in the NWFA’s SupHer Bowl. (They lost.)

Since then, the Mutiny’s ownership has been a revolving door. In 2003, Bill Turner oversaw the team, temporarily relocating them to Brockton High’s Marciano Stadium for a disastrous period — retrospectively nicknamed the "Black Year" — that saw captains quitting and a 5-3 record. Last year, under the ownership of coach Mike Fay, the team started off with negative $10 in its bank account; an unpaid player/manager collective ran its day-to-day operations. They raised funds by selling Mutiny merchandise to themselves. "You put their name on it and these guys will buy it," laughs five-year-veteran snapper Jill Rossell, who managed the team’s books last year. During the 2004 season, the Mutiny also didn’t have a practice field — they trained in a parking lot. "With no money, that’s all we could do," recalls Rossell. "Just grab a patch of cement and play."

Sheri Russell’s mission, when she took over the team last fall, was to change all that, first by empowering her players. She lobbied Puma to donate warm-up suits; the team sprang for the embroidered logos. Now the Mutiny has a line of team paraphernalia. Sweatshirts. T-shirts that proclaim FOOTBALL DOESN’T BUILD CHARACTER, IT ELIMINATES WEAK ONES. Baseball caps in three different styles. Gold-and-black pompoms for the home-team fans. Rubber seat cushions imprinted with KICKIN’ BUTTS. Those calendars. And there have been other advances, too. They have a post-game watering hole at Doyle’s Café, and a live-audio streaming webcast of the season’s play-by-play action. They’re even seeking cheerleaders and planning halftime entertainment.

On the sports side of things, the Mutiny’s coaching staff has doubled from three to six. Instead of a parking lot, the team spent the winter in the Dana Barros Sports Complex, in Mansfield. "There is just a stability that is very calming for those of us that have been around for a long time," says Rossell. "We’ve got someone that we can trust. That’s huge, it’s just huge. [Sheri Russell is] great. You know, she’s as much one of us as she is our leader." Rossell looks over at the Mutiny’s owner, gussied up in a pink-and-gray-pinstriped pants suit with her dark hair slicked into a ponytail, and pays her boss what’s perhaps the ultimate compliment among female football players. "She’s as tough as any girl in this room, too."

Family practice

The Mass Mutiny’s early-season road game against the Connecticut Crush is arguably the most important match of the team’s 2005 regular season. Most coaches will insist that every game is the most significant, every play crucial, every snap the difference between seasonal success and failure. But facing the Crush really is, in a way that only capital letters can emphasize, the Most Important Game.

At this point, the Mutiny have gone 2-0, having shut out the Philadelphia Phoenix, a formidable opponent they will see only once, and the Erie Illusion, a terrible team that couldn’t even convince more than 16 players to make the trip to Boston. A first-outing win over the Crush, a team they’ll face twice during the season, will give the Mutiny confidence the second time around, along with momentum to challenge their toughest enemy: the DC Divas, an undefeated franchise that actually cuts players (other teams don’t have enough replacements to do that) and has as its assistant general manager retired Washington Redskin and future Hall of Famer Brian Mitchell. Russell describes them as "the biggest women I’ve ever seen on the planet." (Caruso isn’t as impressed with the Divas: "With that kind of name, I can’t give them any kind of props. All I can think about is Patti LaBelle with a helmet.")

But first, they have to duke it out with the Crush, so the Thursday practice before the game is crucial. Around 7 p.m., players start showing up, their black equipment bags slung over their shoulders. As they unpack their gear, defensive tackle Chris Messuri spots linebacker Kim Hickey. "You were quoted in the Roxbury Bulletin," she says, referring to a short article written about the Mutiny.

"For what?" asks Hickey, whose baseball hat reads BEAVERTOWN/SEMIS WELCOME.

"For saying you’re a douche bag," someone responds.

"For that bowling league that you’re on. Duh," Messuri says.

"For what?" Hickey asks again.

"Something about rookies," says defensive tackle Kelly Barker. "I didn’t see my name, so I stopped reading."

"Don’t lie," Hickey replies. "You just couldn’t read the big words."