Aspiring Decoys Try Mightily to Join the Ducks

Nineteen leotarded women smile wide and breathe heavily.

Each one kicks her legs high in the air--higher! higher!--trying to project that special something, that magical quality sometimes called, for lack of a better word, pep.

At Thursday night’s tension-filled tryouts for the 1995-96 Mighty Ducks Decoys squad, every aspiring cheerleader on hand had a carefree smile fixed on her face.

But, inside, most were suffering a massive attack of stage fright, or ice fright, whichever the case may be.

So nervous was 22-year-old Lauren Bessent that she arrived 12 hours early.

“They didn’t say a.m. or p.m. when they said 6:30,” she explained. “So I was here at 6:30 this morning.”

Seeing no one in the arena parking lot, except for someone she thought might be a cleaning woman, Bessent eventually realized her mistake and went home.

But she returned that afternoon, along with 18 other women hoping to become the next Paula Abdul, that one-in-a-million dancer who parlayed her Laker Girl pompons into pop stardom.

There were as many stories of hopes and dreams among the women as there are burned-out bulbs on Broadway. And there were as many reasons for auditioning as there are knocked-out teeth in a hockey game.

Some were Ducks fans; others didn’t know a Duck from a dodo. Some were mad for the glamour; others just wanted to get the heck out of the house.

“I love show biz,” said Kimberly Yantz, 23. “Any kind of show biz. Even if it’s just reporting the news.”

“I love team spirit,” said Carrie Woodson, who was so anxious about the tryouts that she locked her keys in her car.

“I’m an Orange County resident,” said 24-year-old Corrie Woods, “and [trying out] just seemed like my . . . civic duty .”

Team officials expected a larger turnout in their quest to pick 10 new cheerleaders. But Ducks entertainment director Cheryl Benson wasn’t overly disappointed.

“Out of this crew it should be pretty easy to find 10,” she said, looking the women over as they touched their toes and tugged at their leotards.

One thing that might have made potential decoys coy was a change in the squad’s philosophy.

Dancing will be de-emphasized this season, in lieu of promotions and crowd-motivation.

During their inaugural year, the Decoys were an all-skating squad. Then, team officials decided that mastering complex ice routines was too time-consuming, so last year’s Decoys were converted to “precision” dancers.

Now, a new twist. Henceforth, the Decoys will be “promotional assistants,” firing up the fans at all 45 home games (including 4 preseason contests), while fawning on team mascot Wild Wing, who will undergo his own marketing-inspired metamorphosis.

“Wild Wing,” Benson said, “will be a more aggressive duck this year.”

All this was explained at the outset, along with the fact that being a Decoy pays $45 a game.

“We’re looking for girls this year that have a real promotional image,” Benson said in her best addressing-the-troops tone. “You have to have an excellent ability to interact with the crowd!”

Meanwhile, the women were asked to wear numbers on their hips and interact with phantom fans. With stone-faced judges peering at them over concealed clipboards, the women danced and shouted as if 17,000 sets of entertainment-starved eyes were trained on them during a 70-second timeout.

Candidate No. 1: “C’mon, Mighty Ducks, let’s go!”

Candidate No. 5: “Look at that crazy dancing fan!”

When the first song ended, Benson announced:

“Just to let you know, you’re also getting judged on your smile.”

The women exchanged frantic, almost panicked, expressions.

“I don’t think anybody wasn’t smiling,” Benson added hastily, “so that’s a positive thing.”