Loud, Crazy, Passionate Sports Fan Has Breasts and Men Can’t Understand Why
Recently I devoured the new Netflix rom-com, Set it Up like every other Netflix subscriber who grew up rooting for Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan to fall in love and wondering what the hell happened to the genre we were quite frankly, raised on. I fell in love with the main character, Harper, almost immediately and when she broke out into a tear-filled monologue about the geriatric Olympics I may or may not have already been crying.
Ok, let’s get this out of the way now, I’m a crier. I cry when I’m angry and when I’m sad and when I’m inspired, whatever, it’s something I’ve grown to love about myself. And yes, this does relate to sports and I am getting there.
When I suddenly straight up wanted to mouth kiss Harper, it came during a scene set at one of my most favorite places on earth, Yankee Stadium. She is trying to explain to her “friend” that being a female sports fan doesn’t actually fall in the relationship pro column, but the con column. This brilliant line was written by fierce Katie Silberman and spot on delivered by dynamo actress, Zoey Deutch,
The line raced out and my face started to glow, a creepily wide agape smile growing and punctuated by me thrusting myself to my knees on the couch, pumping my arm in to the air and screaming “Hell YES!!!” then immediately rewinding it and watching 3 more times and texting my female sports wife that she needed to stop what she was doing and watch Set It Up NOW.
You see, at that moment Harper was me and my fellow sports-loving friends with vaginas. Opinionated, passionate and a little over it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to explain my love of the Yankees.
the one guest I had at a Hell’s Kitchen bar I was slinging drinks at; I squealed at a run, then he proceeded to ask me if I was a Yankees fan and insisted I name more than 2 players, because clearly, I had NO idea why I was squealing or what a run even meant for that matter.
I was having a solo lunch date and engrossed with the NFL preview in my Sports Illustrated waiting for my super hippie tempeh sandwich; a male waiter stopped to refill my water and asked me “Why are you reading that?” I thought initially being a New Yorker he was puzzled why I was reading the Chiefs breakdown with such concern and trepidatious smile, assuming I was a Giants or Jets die-hard. But nope, it became more clear with his follow up question, “Are you in a new relationship with a guy who loves football?”
I should have been shocked, but walking this earth with breasts and an unhealthy obsession with the Chiefs finally making it past their-without a doubt playoff curse-I wasn’t the least bit surprised. I could dig in or play along and I was having a glorious day and the Chiefs preview that year was actually optimistic, so I went the actress route and gave my best dumb blonde act and batted my eyelashes until another table flagged him down.
I’m stoked to be writing for The Turf A.) We Cover Everything and B.) I feel part of a gloriously passionate tribe who could care less what I look like or what team I rep but celebrate all sports views and the people who share them.
I come by it honestly.
I am a product of two stubborn and animated sports fans. My mother met The Mick, fell in love, cherished her autographed photo and gave me no choice in the matter to be a Yankees Fan. My Dad tossed the ball with me and shot hoops in the driveway in the evenings, surely disappointed that I had no raw basketball talent like he had.
I was the youngest of 5 and the only girl, born into the loudest and most competitive mess of a family in ride or die Chiefs country. Sundays at Arrowhead are a religion, period. My 4 brothers made me tough, taught me how to throw a punch and heckled me enough to never really be hurt by the heckling of others. They also taught me girls could do whatever the hell they wanted and in my family talking sports and engaging in heated kickball or softball games at family reunions was the norm, as was yelling over and at each other during various sporting events.
So here I am.
I’m ready to share some of my many sports nuggets and opinions with you every week. Are you excited for the insanity? Here I am, the chick who read Fab Five and Seven Seconds Or Less and cried. I scream so violently and animatedly during games, my husband has pretty much relinquished me like a princess in a storybook to my tower, only allowed to watch important games at home for fear of me running my mouth to some bro who’ll challenge why the hell I’m so worked up and ask if I even know why the ref threw the flag; which could put him in quite the predicament.
I’ve got opinions about everything, many of which I can’t wait to share with you here at The Turf. Here’s a little taste of what could be coming: The NBA is the greatest league in pro sports (that’s an article for another day), Sports movies are the greatest and most well-rounded genre in film (go ahead, come at me, I have bullet points), Is Derek Jeter a top 5 Yankee of All-Time (you could argue it, I know I will).
I’m not weird, you’re weird.
As you can see I’m not passionate at all, does sarcasm read well? I truly believe those of us who rush home for tip-off or sit at the bar with no TV’s obsessively refreshing our twitter and bleacher report apps aren’t the weirdos. We love the game, the player, the struggle, the pain, the sweat, the tears, the memories conjured by stepping in to our ballparks or arenas (it wasn’t called The Cathedral for nothing), the devotion to a team who consistently gives you hope just to break your heart again, we love how sports are fused in to our bones.
I can’t wait to share my thoughts with you, my fellow lovers of this tremendous gift called sports. And to my fellow X chromosome rocking fans: keep reppin’ your teams, arguing till you’re heard, infiltrating the male sportscaster club, draining the buckets, lacing your hockey skates, buying yourself boys jerseys because they aren’t pink and bedazzled, reading your old issues of Slam and geeking out over your fantasy football teams. Some sports fans have breasts, can we finally get over it or at the very least make proper sports apparel to accommodate them.
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