I’m what you would call an avid sports fan. For better or for worse, usually worse, I root for the NY Jets and overall, I consider myself a football fanatic. When I say a fanatic, I mean I know football inside and out. I don’t watch it because my husband watches it or because I want to see young men in tight uniforms. I watch it because I love the thrill of athletic competition and I’ve made it my business to know the game.
But as a woman and a sports fan, I find the token women “sportscasters” who are popping up all over the sidelines particularly annoying because if they didn’t have an earpiece or a cue card to read off of, wouldn’t know if they were standing on a gridiron or a waffle iron.
I also have trouble with the ‘cutesy’ women fans who have no other inclination than to jump on the band wagon for whatever team wins the most; and in my neck of the woods, that’s the Giants and Yankees.
A young girl I work with has a NY Giants candy dish on her desk. As I stood nearby one day I heard a Dallas Cowboy fan convey his hatred for his team’s NFC east rival. The young girl giggled and commented that she rooted for both the Giants and the Cowboys. Now anybody that knows football knows it’s not humanly possible to root for both the Giants and Cowboys. It’s like saying you don’t care who wins the seventh game of the World Series between the Yankees and the Red Sox (if they could play each other) because you like both teams. It’s just not done.
I’ve often wondered if my husband would rather I kept my mouth shut and didn’t argue with him over whether or not Eli Manning is an elite quarterback or if he would prefer it if I just sat back and drooled over the young men in their tight uniforms. Truthfully I wish he’d button his mouth and ogle the cheerleaders.
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