Girls with balls
Girls with balls
Someone on my Facebook Page recently made a comment to the effect that women knew nothing about football, and that’s why we (blanket statement there, fella) were rooting for a Brothers’ Bowl. In other words, this gent thought that those of the feminine persuasion weren’t sharp enough to hang with those Einsteins in the old 700 Section of the Vet and that the only interest we had in football had nothing to do with strategy or stats. To him, it was all about the human interest angle of having the two Harbaugh brothers duke it out in the Superbowl.
I have to chuckle whenever I hear anyone challenge my gridiron pedigree. You don’t spend 40 seasons going to football games without having at least some of the finer nuances of the game brush off on you. I do understand that using the words ‘nuance’ and ‘football’ in the same sentence is about as incongruous as seeing Chuck Bednarik in a tutu, but for those of us who love the game it is clear that there’s more to football than meets the injury list. While it’s gotten a lot of bad press recently because of a legitimate concern with serious head injuries, this shouldn’t obscure the fact that the game is an authentic American art form.
Which brings me to the team owned by the late Art Modell (I know, I stretched for that one.) The Baltimore Ravens helmed by local boy Joe Flacco, coached by local heroes John Harbaugh and Wilbert Montgomery and boasting a Temple alum named Pierce made my weekend by beating Tom Brady and his motley crew. The fact that I was born in Baltimore has nothing to do with it. The fact that I hate Boston has even less to do with it. The fact that two brothers would be nose to nose in the championship wasn’t even the point.
I liked seeing the better team win, and I liked seeing the better QB (or at least the one who didn’t make an art out of throwing interceptions) advance to the finals.
I may be a ‘girl.’ But I ain’t stupid.