Why Women Don't Play Football

I love football. Every Sunday of my youth followed this ritual: Get up, brush teeth, make popcorn, watch football. This was the bonding day for my dad and I, the weekend event of spectatorship in which we celebrated grown men in tights practically killing themselves over a pigskin. My lady friends make fun, but football is really a game of tactical precision, athletic superiority, and a battle of wits. And these guys are animals.

In middle school I began to realize that my dream of playing football was just another big let down - just like that Christmas when I realized that the "snow tracks" Santa left in our living room were really just piles of baking soda. As soon as I got my first period, I knew my NFL career was a no-go. Puberty had changed my body, and my female brethren (pardon the irony) decided that these changes were better for showing off than for showing up.

I realized I wouldn't be able to play football in high school either, unless I was severely overweight and kinda butch, like that one girl who made it on the team every year (until she got pregnant as a senior). But this, to me, was a travesty. Why, I wondered, aren't there very many female football fans? Why won't my girlfriends toss the ball around?

It dawned on me that the days of flag football were but mere memories; I reconciled that those bygone matches marked the end of co-ed play. The only place for a female was now on the sidelines. Bouncing around, shouting out proof of my literacy one letter at a time sounded like a living hell to me. Why, I wondered, would anyone want to clap rather than catch? I suppose being brought up the only child of a single father has an impact on your perspective, for I never was a sidelines kind of girl.

But football was just not in the cards for me. I joined track, blew out the competition, and then blew out my right knee and hip. That killed me. Now not only couldn't I catch, I couldn't run.

All that changed two weeks ago. I joined a co-ed flag football team, and I have to say, was quite surprised at the female turnout. This was what I had been waiting for, and was a great relief to my boyfriend who was probably in anguish over my "Why Can't I Play?" whining. Poor guy always has to deal with my 'I can do it' mentality - be it working on the car or fixing the toilet, I fight him for control over who gets to be "the man" around the house. So you can imagine his relief when we found out the league was female-friendly.

But just because I now have the opportunity to catch, doesn't mean I can. Although I did hand it to myself for my tightening spiral and quickening reflexes, and it wasn't until trying to block the ball that I had any problems. During a play when the opposing team's quarterback launched a missile to one of his receivers, I jumped up to block the spiraling assailant. Then thwack! The nose caught the middle of my left pinky finger, and had to gawk at it for a minute to make sure it was still attached. No one seemed to notice, and eager to find another way to show off, I kept playing. I was proud of my blocked ball and even though my little finger starting throbbing heavier than my out-of shape heart, my eagerness to play overcame me. And honestly, despite the pain, I thought it was just a little bruise.

Wrong. Two days later I finally went to the doctor, who told me 'you have obliterated your tendons and will need to wear this splint for a week.' A week? Obliterated? 'Yes, and it will take three months to get full range of motion back.' Three months? Well, I wore that annoying little splint and just got it taken off yesterday. My finger is withered and greenish-blue - a perfect color to blend in with the turf!

People ask me what I did to my finger, and I still think it's cool to say it's from playing football. Evidently, injuries like this one are common in the NFL, and leave players out for three weeks at a time. In fact the infamous T.O. had to have a plate screwed into his finger after blocking a Redskin's ball this past season (for a victory, by the way).

I am glad to see organizations out there that recognize and validate women's interest in football, especially since there are those among our gender that earn us the label of "football haters" (you know who you are). But you player haters should give the game a try firsthand before making a judgment call. You will see that the game is tough, yet strategically graceful, and although brutal, it's brainy. Most importantly, for you ladies out there, is that you will realize that men and women can enjoy the sport equally, even if (sigh), you realize that women probably won't ever play in the NFL. Trust me (and my little finger) the real game is for animals. And that's precisely why I love it. Cheers to Football.