Punt, Pass, Moo

In Catherine Gilbert Murdock’s 'Dairy Queen,' a farm gal tackles a guys’ game

By Rick Margolis -- School Library Journal, 6/1/2006

Your first novel is a humorous look at D. J. Schwenk, a shy, socially awkward 15-year-old who tries out for her high school’s football team. Are you a big football fan?

Before I started working on the story, I knew virtually nothing about football. I mean, I knew what a quarterback was, but I didn’t know anything else about the game.

How is that possible? You grew up in New England and you live near Philadelphia—two football-crazed regions.

My high school didn’t have football. My college [Bryn Mawr] didn’t have football. My dad, when I was a kid, didn’t follow football. I didn’t really know anything about the game except that it was dangerous and complicated. I never knew what was going on when I was watching a football game. Now, I just love the strategy of it. It’s this combination of very cerebral plotting and brute strength and incredible speed. So I really like the game a lot more now. But as someone who had never really followed sports much, I have very mixed feelings about the role of sports in schools today.

What’s your take on it?

I think sports are far too emphasized. I see kids driven into sports as a way to earn their way through college—and kids from fairly good families. I call it the professionalization of high school sports. You turn pro in the sense that you basically earn $150,000 in your four years of college, and I really don’t like that. But on the other hand, to D. J.’s family I see how important [football] is. It’s their ticket off the farm.

In some ways, you’re an unlikely person to write this story. How did you come up with the idea?

I had a dream about a girl really playing football—being in there very physically, competing with all the other players. And she’s in love with a player on the other team. I thought, what an amazing premise. First of all, to have a girl playing football; second to have this romantic interest; and third, to have the conflict of being in love with somebody who is your opponent. I woke up and I thought that would be a great story—if I knew anything about football.

Your sister, Elizabeth Gilbert, is a writer. Is there any sibling rivalry?

I don’t view it as rivalry. That said, having this book get published has been an enormous affirmation. I was always the housewife, and she was the writer. Just being able to go out into the world and say “Look, I’ve accomplished this” is wonderful. That’s one of the reasons I tried a novel and not screenwriting—which I had tried for years—because it’s so hard to get a screenplay produced, especially if you’re a 39-year-old woman living in Philadelphia.

I love that cows are such a big part of the story. Can you talk about that?

D. J. is challenged by the boy [the one she’s attracted to]. He says, “You do everything you’re supposed to. You obey everyone. You never question anything.” And all of a sudden, she sees that he’s right. And she sees everyone around her doing the same thing and never doing what they want—only doing what they’re supposed to do—and never even figuring out what they want. So she thinks, “We’re all cows, and we’re acting just like cows.” Then she has this epiphany: if I go out for the football team, then I’m going to be doing exactly what I want.

She and her family are terrible at communicating, which leads to major problems. Do you have firsthand experience with that?

I think so. Our family is certainly better at talking about things now than when I was a kid.

Does the story have a message for young readers?

The most important message is that you have to learn how to communicate. One of my favorite lines from the book is “apologizing is like punching a bruise.” What D. J. learns is, even though it’s painful to talk, it’s so much better in the long run than if you don’t talk. If you don’t, things just fester and get worse and worse and worse. But by talking, you can really heal—and she eventually heals her entire family.