One of the things that we all love about this site, both as writers and readers, is that it’s a place where we can all feel normal as sports fans. We can talk about batting averages and winning percentages and goals and who will beat who, and no one will look at us funny. We need this place because quite often, female sports fans are seen as freaks, pretenders or unfeminine, when none of the above is true.
Mommy, do you think that the Bulls should pick Derrick Rose or Michael Beasley?
Our experiences are all very different, but they share one common idea – that too many people see female sport fans as freaks of nature. Some morons have even said that we would make bad dates. Read on to find out what it’s like for us sports fans who happen to have breasts.
Lady Andrea, A Really Big Shoooooow
Being a girl who enjoys and knows a lot about sports often has me feeling like a guest-star on the Ed Sullivan Show. “She juggles! She spins plates! She knows Ryan Ludwick’s OPS!” It’s not offensive, per se. Sometimes, as was the case with a guy at my firm last summer, it’s downright cute. He was just so impressed by my baseball knowledge that it delighted him to sort-of “quiz” me. But he never made me feel bad or stupid or like a freak and that is KEY. He actually managed to convey his fascination in such a way that it felt like a big, fuzzy compliment to me. I appreciated that. Guys who are threatened by women who know sports? Can bite me.
Chitown Chick Knows what a single leg is, thank you very much
I was at a bar watching some fight, yelling along with all the other, mostly male patrons. “That’s a weak single leg! It’s getting you nowhere!” I yelled. A man turned around and stared at me as if I had just grown a third eye. I ignored him, and continued watching the fight. When I yelled again, he came over to my table and said “You don’t know what a single leg is.” I was shocked by his straightforward idiocy, resisted my urge to show him what a single leg is, and said,”Yes, I do. Can I keep watching the fight?” He said “How does a girl know that?” I answered that my womanhood didn’t keep me from understanding MMA, and how the hell does he know what a single leg is? He felt so stupid that he bought me a beer. In the end, it worked out, but the annoying thing is that this was not the first, nor will it probably be the last, time that I have had to prove myself as an MMA and amateur wrestling fan.
Miss Minda can teach you a thing or two
I don’t want to get some kind of martyr complex here, because sports are not truly that important, but…it isn’t easy being a woman and a sports fan. My whole life’s experience as a female sports fan can pretty much be summed up in one short conversation I had with some boneheaded guys last summer during an Omaha Royals baseball game. These two teenage guys were loitering near the O-Royals dugout, with handfuls of memorbilia. Conversationally, I asked them whose autographs they were after. One said, “I’m looking for Luke Hochevar, but I’ll bet you don’t even know who that is.” Really, guy? You think I don’t know MY team’s number one freaking draft pick? You think I don’t know who he is, what he throws, what his record is, and what projections are for him? Why, little guy, would you assume something like that? Oh, right. The lack of dangly parts. Well get over it. I am a woman, but I am a sports fan too, and a damn good one. Sure, I like to ogle asses, calves, forearms, and eyeblack, but I also like to ogle OBP, ERA+, VORP, WARP, and anything else in those complicated-looking tables in books the size of dictionaries.
Cinnamon Girl Can Blog On Her Own With The Big-Boys
I spent some time thinking about what to include in this post. I must admit, since few know of my real interest in sports, offensive incidents rarely happen. And even when they do, I’m inclined to roll with it. But then, just this past weekend, I experienced the perfect example. I was at a Memorial Day party with my husband, Weed Against Speed from Melt Your Face Off. I was discussing with his family how we each write for sports blogs. I said something to the effect of, “He’s writing for a hockey blog, and mine is about all sports by ladies.” The response from the quasi-relative who shall remain nameless, was: “So you just copy his stuff, then?” As I said, perfect example.
Mistress Christina can throw down when necessary
Gives me things to talk about to boys I don’t know very well (I have found it to be an excellent flirting technique. It also excludes most other female competition from the convo). Most of my best male friends became such via sports bonding. I’m quite frequently the only girl who can contribute (or is even interested) in an in depth sports conversation. The most annoying thing is that I really like going to sporting events but it’s hard to find girl friends who are willing to go with me. Stupid law students. And then guys sometimes think its weird going to a sporting event alone with a girl. It’s not a date, homeboy, I just need someone to come with me so I’m not sitting by myself and there is someone to talk to at half time! I would say that is the most frustrating thing. I also wanted to go to some Carolina Hurricanes games this year and had the same problem. I couldn’t get any girls to agree to come with me, and I think the guy friends that I asked if they wanted to go, felt like I was asking them out. I really haven’t had any problems with people giving me a hard time about being a girl sports fan. I have a pretty good memory for numbers and stats so I can throw down when necessary. After I pwnd a few people on things like points per game, average playing time, shot percentages, along with the players heights, ages and weights, they tend to give me the respect I am due!
La. M Alana is in it for more than the hot guys – though she doesn’t mind them, either!
I rarely talk about basketball – the one sport I really love – with acquaintances, particularly male ones. People are invariably shocked when they learn that I love basketball; this probably has less to do with the fact that I’m female, and more to do with the fact that I’m minuscule, deadpan, and use unnecessarily large words when I’m insulting someone (which is often). It’s somehow too difficult to understand that someone small, book-smart, beskirted, and female could like sports, particularly basketball. Most people manage to come to the same conclusion: a girl that doesn’t play basketball must like it for one reason and one reason only – the hot tall black guys. Now, don’t get me wrong. I like the hot black guys, and the hot guys in general, as much as the next mostly heterosexual female. But when a stranger assumes that I am that brainless, then, well. It’s a good way to ensure that our friendship goes no further. This was made clear to me a couple of years ago, when I was having a conversation with a group of friends about the league – trades, specifically, and tradebait. Now, I may not know the game of basketball itself as well as some, but I know my teams. I know the players, what they’re good at, what they’re bad at, what their averages are, how they play, how they defend. Yes, I told them, AI would probably get traded to Denver, because Denver desperately needed a change and Philly was going nowhere. And then he and Melo could have dueling hairstylists. One young man on the edges of this conversation, an acquaintance that I thankfully haven’t talked to since, simply couldn’t reconcile me and my appearance – small, female, etc. – with what I was saying. “So,” he said, “Do you, like, just have a thing for black guys, or something?”
Dame Ain’t Taking Yo’ Sh….
It’s the FIFA U20s in Toronto and a few Gambian players have just come out of their dressing room to head out onto the pitch for warm-up. They’re mulling around in the tunnel near the medical room which I’m standing outside of. I remember it was a double header that day – another match had just finished up and the crew were just standing around waiting for the next game to start. I was checking the match schedule – I don’t remember what I was doing, to be honest – when I heard a “EYYY… EYYY” coming from where the boys were standing. I look up – a Gambian player. “OOOH… Hi!” – Another Gambian dude. Brilliant, I’m being cat-called by a bunch of teenaged boys at my job. That sort of thing happened not only once but twice that month. My supervisor was there on both occasions and didn’t seems to give a rat’s. I also had one very clever security man look at my ID once and say, “Oh, medical services. So, if I pass out are you going to give me mouth to mouth?” Try fist to mouth.
Miss Minda sums up our feelings best with: It’s hard to avoid getting angry when confronted with idiots who think having breasts precludes me from also having sports knowledge. It’s probably not worth getting mad over, but it’s certainly annoying, and will probably not go away anytime soon. There will always be buffoons who think women like us are a threat to their masculinity. But there are also tons of cool guys out there who welcome us to their tailgate parties, and who know they can bitch to us about that how that one hot-hitting infielder or lights-out reliever never gets the chance he deserves in the Bigs, and we will get it. I’m not planning on letting the few idiots ruin my fun.