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One journalistic account provides details about the experiences of boys at a Connecticut ballet school. One of the boys, an 11-year old keen on dancing, has been chosen to play the part of the prince in the Nutcracker. His friends don't think much of his interest in ballet.

A Connecticut boy sprints up the stairs to the Ballet School of Stamford dressed in an incongrous karate uniform. His cheeks are flushed red from martial arts practice he has just completed. You might think that a karate expert is an unlikely prospect for classical dance. But he is a dance enthusist. He's late for his dance class. And very hungry. He wolfs down a handful of fries with abandon and slurps some soda through a straw. Then he deftly changes into the characteristi black tights commonly worn for ballet practice. Schools vary as to the required uniform, but many insist on black tights for boys. He also dons a white muscle shirt and dance slippers before rushing to join the other boys at the barre.

This young 11-year old dynamo, Drew Fishback, was chosen to dance the pivotal role of The Prince in the school's annualm annual production of "The Nutcracker." Drew comes to the Connecticut studio several times a week to practice with nine other boys. In a mirrored room above a downtown McDonald's, thse boy dance enthusiasts, who range in age from 7 to 17, begin stretching to classical arrangements of Beatles tunes. As they do their warm ups, slideing their pointed toes across the floor and arch their arms over heads tilted backward, they whisper about Adam Sandler's hit movie The Waterboy and a raunchy South Park episode. The boys compare notes on who eats the scariest food. Between sets of grand plies. One boy swears he once ate an entire eel, quite a delicacy in Europe. The response is an appreciative chorus: "Gross," "No way."

Tony Williams, their instructor, sits on a stool taking in this graceful machismo. He shrugs and silently mouths to the rehearsal audience, "Boys will be boys." Then he asks for attention. It is time for these boys to behave like ballerinos. "We want straight backs and chests," says Williams, pushing out his broad chest for effect. "Think Arnold Schwarzenegger." Seven-year-old Andrew Jamison studies his image in the mirror, drops his outstretched arms from second position, and pauses. "You mean Mr. Freeze?" Andrew quizzes, pumping up his tiny frame like a bodybuilder. "That's right," says Williams, acknowledging the "Batman" connection. "Look like Mr. Freeze."

This boy banter is how Williams, a hulking former Boston Ballet principal dancer, connects with his students. Every Friday, Williams travels from his eastern Massachusetts home to teach this boys-only class, intent on cultivating the talents of American ballet's most endangered species: promising male dancers. "There is a lot of social pressure for boys not to dance. By the time they are 11 or 12 it can become unbearable," says Stephanie Marini, the Stamford Ballet School's artistic director. "This is the age when we start to lose them. And if we do, we don't want it to be because they feel ballet is something only for girls in pink tutus."

The Ballet School of Stamford has about 10 male students. While only a small number, it is more than many dance schools can bost of having. The boys are a mere fraction of its enrollment of girls, who flow in and out of adjacent studios in their pale pink tights and seafoam green leotards. While the ratio of boys to girls is small, it is actually good for a suburban ballet program to have any male students approaching adolescence, Marini says. "And it is rare to have this many boys, outside of a metropolis, who take ballet this seriously. But they are just an incredible bunch who are not afraid to express themselves," says Williams.

Included in the ranks of these dancers are boys who excel in sports. Michael Ludeke, 10, is a competitive swimmer. Drew Fishback has a black belt in karate and is a shortstop on his Little League team. Chase Finlay, 8, plays soccer and figure skates. James Holiday, 17, says rugby is his favorite sport "because it is as intense as football without padding."

Like several of his students, Williams discovered the athleticism of dance by accident. At age 17, he was a competitive high school gymnast, intrigued by the skills of Russian masters who dominated the sport. "I wanted to know why they were so good, what was different about their training," Williams says. "It was ballet. "Not all of these boys are great at sports. Some don't really like them," says Williams. "But that's why it's wonderful they are here. At this age, when kids' lives are so frenetic, they just need to move and stretch and be creative. It makes them stronger in more than one way."

Even though the boys seem carefree in the studio, where they rough-and-tumble in the hallway between classes, the life of a young male dancer comes with its share of burdens. Beyond the rigorous practice schedule, there is the taunting from peers. "I was amazed that when my 4-year-old son started pre-ballet he got taunted by other boys at preschool," says Marini. "It's amazing that children that young would single another boy out. But the bias starts young."

Marini laments that the shortage of male dancers reaches to the professional level, "where really weak male dancers got parts because that's all the director had to choose from."

James, the oldest of the dancers, says he simply loves to dance. "I started when my sister was taking ballet," he says. "But she stopped and I kept coming. I really liked it more than she did."

Drew says he is often teased about his dancing. Andrew nods and says, "They say to me, 'Ha. Ha. Andrew. You take ballet.'" "My friends often ask me when I'm going to quit. They say it's gay or stupid," Drew says. "But they don't bother me for too long, because they know I have a black belt." Adds Andrew, who is making his debut in "The Nutcracker's" party scene, "It's too bad they're so mean. They are not going to be in 'The Nutcracker.'" Drew says firmly that he tells his buddies, "I dance because I like it. And I'll stop when I want to stop." Although Drew worships Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter, he says dance is actually more challenging than baseball or karate. "I just learned how to do a triple pirouette. I mean that was just so much fun." "And hard. Hard to know. Hard to do," chimes in Chase Finlay, who listens to Drew as he rests on a couch after finishing his second hourlong class of the evening.

Chase, a third-grader, takes ballet classes four times a week. He began to dance seriously at age 5 after seeing a performance of "The Nutcracker" and announcing, "I can do that. I want to do that." "He begged for lessons," says his mother, Jeanne. "And he's hooked." "I realize that it is unusual, and I don't push it either way," she adds. "But it is what he loves to do. This is a kid who keeps a six-foot poster of Baryshnikov over his bed." Chase says the appeal of ballet is its intensity. "The minute I saw 'The Nutcracker' I thought it looked fun -- all those springs and jumps." And it has made him strong beyond his years. His biceps are toned like a diminutive weightlifter's, his calves ripple with sinewy muscle. "In soccer, I'm fast. I'm good at running and kicking. Especially kicking," he says. "Ballet helps, because you use your feet all the time."

The suggestion that dance is a feminine endeavor does not wear well on Williams, who comes to the studio in baggy sweats and T-shirt. "I give dance lessons to three members of the Worcester High football team," says Williams. "They come to class in baggy everything. They want nothing to do with the ballet look. That's fine. Because they've made the connection that dance makes them agile, supple, and flexible."

In his Stamford class, Williams speaks in two languages: sports metaphors and the fluid French names of classical ballet moves and positions. "I want them to make the connection between dance and other things they do," he says. The boys spring up and down on their toes, and Williams assures them that the rigors at the barre pay off. He has them drop to the floor for push-ups and says, "You have to be strong if you're going to be lifting girls over your head. Stronger," he adds, "than any football player."