Author's Notes: I seem to have broom sports on the brain lately. Quodpot is mentioned in Quidditch Through the Ages as an American game; the teams and some of the rules seen here are made up by me, loosely based on the little I know about (American) football and baseball.

I'm sure some of these paragraphs or too long for a standard newspaper format, but let's say it's a special feature in the Prophet's Sunday insert. ;-)

TAKE ME OUT TO THE QUOD-PITCH
By Ginny Potter
Quidditch Correspondent

I don't "get" Quodpot.

I'm a Quidditch girl. I, my husband and most of my brothers were on the Gryffindor team in school. I went on to play Chaser with the Holyhead Harpies for five seasons. My three kids have each plastered their room with Quidditch posters and love playing with their cousins. My parents' house is always filled with arguments about whether the Falcons really have the best Beaters or if the Cannons do, in fact, have some infinitesimal chance of making the Championship this year.

So I understand being passionate, or even a little obsessed, with Quidditch. But Quodpot?

In case you've been living under a rock or were recently Obliviated, you may know that the British Society of Quodpot Supporters has, once again, petitioned for an official Quodpot League. And, once again, the Department of Magical Games and Sports laughed in their faces. But this year, there was actually a bit of an uproar. The Department head, Cornelia Shickley, was so dismissive of the request that a spontaneous protest broke out, which ended with the Vice President of the Society arrested for half-Transfiguring Ms. Shickley into a porcupine.

Even more surprising is how much public support this action received. Recent polls show that one in four wizards would like to see a professional Quodpot game, and that one in three are in favor of the Ministry starting a League up, whatever their own feelings.

But the anti-Quodpot forces seem even more vocal. Ms. Shickley herself is a good example: in her speech she declared the American sport to be "incompatible with our national values" because it would only "seek to supplant the native sport of which we are all so proud." Furthermore, its exploding ball and violent play are "recklessly unsafe" and "the height of foreign barbarism," she declared, just before losing the ability to speak.

Her opinions are echoed by countless Quidditch fans across the country. We at the Prophet received no less than twenty-four Howlers after running Duncan Inglebee's pro-Quodpot op-ed last week, as well as six envelopes filled with undiluted bubotuber puss and one box containing a Jarvey.

Look, I chuckle at the Quodpot jokes—exploding Quidditch is the sort of thing an American would come up with, isn't it? But most of these complaints are just stupid. It's not British? Quidditch is played around the world and nobody complains that it's "not French" or "not Australian." It will supplant Quidditch? Way to have confidence in your favorite sport. It's too violent? Um, have you ever watched a Quidditch game? I received more injuries during the 2003 Championship than in three years fighting the Death Eaters.

All I care about is this: is Quotpot entertaining, either to watch or to play? Having never seen a game, I was not really prepared to take a position on the issue.

That changed last week when my family took a working vacation to America.

My husband Harry and I were having lunch with the head of the American Auror Office and her husband when the whole controversy about Quotpot came up. The pair seemed almost scandalized to learn that we had never seen the sport. Some strings were pulled and, as Harry and his counterpart went off for a series of boring meetings, the kids and I took a Portkey to Peasegood Stadium to catch a match between the Pensacola Pelicans and the Kenosha Killdeer.

The kids asked a million questions as we settled into our seats, which I tried (and failed) to answer by reading a pamphlet called "Quotpot FAQs." My oldest son, James, was the most curious: he had heard this game had explosions, which is apparently quite intriguing to a nine-year-old boy. The younger pair, Albus and Lily, enjoyed when the stadium broke out the song "Take Me Out to the Quod-Pitch." All three nagged me into getting them corn dogs and then complained that they really wanted popcorn instead.

The game began with the Pelicans, dressed in white and teal, and the Killdeer, in maroon, lined up face-to-face in the center of the field. As soon as the whistle blew the two teams attacked each other—not like in Quidditch, where they snatch at the Quaffle and hit Bludgers, but ramming, shoving and even punching in a confused tumble. Within twenty seconds one Pelican player had fallen from his broom, and the battle didn't even pause as a Mediwizard ran out to treat him.

"Whoa!" said James.

"Foul!" cried Lily.

"Like, ten fouls!" Albus corrected as a Killdeer player fell.

But no—the referee was apparently fine with all this, and the crowd around us was ecstatic. One burly Pelican player managed to grab the Quaffle—or "Quod," whatever—and barrel his way through the Killdeer players, knocking three off their brooms before dunking the ball in their "Pot." The Pelican fans screamed in excitement as the Killdeer supporters booed and even shot red sparks into the air.

I couldn't help but notice that James' eyes were wide with excitement, while my other children and I just stared in confusion.

But of course, the one thing everyone knows about Quodpot is the explosions. I guess I expected something like a balloon popping—a mistake on my part. Ten minutes into the game the current Quod suddenly burst in a fiery blast so loud that poor Albus almost dove under his seat in surprise. Two Killdeer players were thrown off-course while the Pelican holding the ball fell to the ground, his face and uniform blackened by soot.

"BLIMEY!" said James, a manic grin on his face.

There were only two more explosions over the course of the match, both knocking out a Killdeer player, and by the last one James had jumped out of his seat with the American spectators and whooped in elation. (Albus, Lily and I covered our ears.) Truth be told I had a hard time following what was happening, but James' frantic narration indicated that the Pelicans were leading 13-11 as they entered the tenth and final inning. (Quodpot games have a set time limit, which I suppose can be taken as benefit or a flaw.) But then the Killdeer scored with the next two Quods, and the game was down to the final round—confused as I was, I could still feel the tension in the air. James was sitting on the edge of his seat, biting his nails—

"AND DE LUNA SCORES!"

"YES!" James screamed, leaping out of his seat and cheering with half the stadium. Lily, meanwhile, just blinked up at me and asked which team had won. It was the Pelicans, apparently.

So what did I think? Well, it was exciting, though if I was never quite sure what was going on. Even if I understood it more, I don't think I would like it as much as Quidditch. I agree with my younger children, who summarized the whole experience as "just weird." And while I don't mind the violence, per se, without the skill and finesse of Quidditch I can't say the sport is really my taste.

But would I mind having a Quodpot League here in the United Kingdom? Not at all. I enjoyed the game overall, and the cheering American fans were clearly just as enthralled as I would be at a Quidditch match. If Quodpot has fans in this country, well, to each his own, right? The American Department of Magic gives its citizens an option, so why shouldn't we?

I will say this, though: we passed a gift shop on our way out of the stadium, and I decided to buy each of the kids a souvenir for the occasion. Albus and Lily each picked out a T-shirt. James got the same, and then spent half of his own money to also get a hat, a flag and a badge, all with the Pensacola Pelicans logo. The flag is up on his wall right now, next to his beloved poster from my Holyhead Harpies days. I'm somewhat amused to note that Poster-Me keeps eyeing the thing with wary confusion.

I still doubt that Quodpot will ever replace Quidditch as our country's favorite sport. But as my son's favorite sport? Well...like I said, to each his own.