the chickball liberation front
As is our wont, Chickball took Independence Day off. Oh, and the week preceding it, too. Come on, though, we're working the All-Star Break (which Manny Ramirez really shouldn't, by the way).
This past weekend, one Chickballer (Suzie) visited another Chickballer (Beth) at her humble abode in Allston, MA. On the Fourth, the four members of the household and their esteemed guest decided to hold a barbeque-picnic, the location of which was moved from "Nickerson Field" to "God dammit, it's sprinkling, we're doing this inside."
While Suzie, Beth, and Chickball friend Megan sat around the air-conditioned living room and drank and watched the Red Sox game, the boys of the house -- Nick and Aaron -- slaved over the hot stove, cooking for the girls.
As Beth said, "I think we just pushed feminism forward about fifty years."
The Red Sox lost, but that was worth it.
*
What I'm not sure about, though, is this: Red Sox, Patriots get lion's share of increase in female fans -- and their buying power (Boston Globe, 7/5/06)
I somewhat resent the implication that the only significant measure of female sports fandom is consumerism. Actually, I really resent it. I also dislike the idea that the article perpetuates about New England sports fandom growing among women simply because of championships -- according to this article, most women are bandwagoneers whose main importance to Red Sox and Patriots Nation is their wallets.
You know what? I've been a New England sports fan since I was in the womb. There is a tiny "1986 American League Champions" t-shirt in my bottom drawer, along with a tiny Boston College sweatshirt (shut up, my family really liked Doug Flutie). There is a mini basketball hoop with Larry Bird's signature on it in my basement. I own twelve Red Sox shirts, five Red Sox hats, two Patriots jerseys, one Bruins t-shirt, and guess what? None of them are pink. My wallet is valuable, but no more valuable than a man's. I don't need added incentive to attend a game; I don't need to have the opportunity to take batting practice, and I don't need a "family-friendly" atmosphere. I'm not a sports fan for the purpose of "keeping up with men," as 29-year-old Leah Willett is. I'm a sports fan because I like sports.
And this isn't a recent development whatsoever. There's more Boston sports memorabilia in my house. A 1967 Jim Lonborg coffee mug. A Bobby Orr biography from the 1970s. A photo of Phil Esposito. And these don't belong to my dad. They belong to my mom, who knows more about hockey than anyone else I know and who could once name every single player on the major league roster of every single baseball team in the 1970s. Had the internet existed thirty years ago, I'm pretty sure my mother would have started Chickball way back then. (First entry: "Why Bobby Orr is Better Than Everyone Reading This Could Ever Hope to Be.")
The female sports fan is definitely different from the male sports demographic. I won't argue that point. We're just as visceral as our male counterparts, and we're just as knowledgeable; but I doubt many of the men reading this enjoy the added benefit of well-built males running around in nicely cut uniforms that televised sporting events provide Chickball and our brethren. (Read: Rich Harden is hot.) There's something to be said for recognizing this; the Mark Mulder-rosin bag "Screaming Girls" commercial the A's did in 2004 is an example. I laughed myself silly at that.
As a Real Woman, I Don't Date Yankees Fans, Sox Fans (like Pam) Do Make Better Lovers, and I'm sure Beth's A Wreck For Tek. But to assume that women are valuable only for their purses and that we need a family-friendly atmosphere to attend games? Show me a "real" Red Sox fan who doesn't enjoy the rough atmosphere of the Fenway bleachers, and I'll show you a poseur who should give that ticket to someone who could really use it.
(Like me.)
Baseball's a business. But don't look down on women and call it "catering to our tastes." Give me a beer, a bleacher seat, and the right to heckle Julian Tavarez in a vulgar manner, and I'm a happy girl.
This past weekend, one Chickballer (Suzie) visited another Chickballer (Beth) at her humble abode in Allston, MA. On the Fourth, the four members of the household and their esteemed guest decided to hold a barbeque-picnic, the location of which was moved from "Nickerson Field" to "God dammit, it's sprinkling, we're doing this inside."
While Suzie, Beth, and Chickball friend Megan sat around the air-conditioned living room and drank and watched the Red Sox game, the boys of the house -- Nick and Aaron -- slaved over the hot stove, cooking for the girls.
As Beth said, "I think we just pushed feminism forward about fifty years."
The Red Sox lost, but that was worth it.
*
What I'm not sure about, though, is this: Red Sox, Patriots get lion's share of increase in female fans -- and their buying power (Boston Globe, 7/5/06)
I somewhat resent the implication that the only significant measure of female sports fandom is consumerism. Actually, I really resent it. I also dislike the idea that the article perpetuates about New England sports fandom growing among women simply because of championships -- according to this article, most women are bandwagoneers whose main importance to Red Sox and Patriots Nation is their wallets.
You know what? I've been a New England sports fan since I was in the womb. There is a tiny "1986 American League Champions" t-shirt in my bottom drawer, along with a tiny Boston College sweatshirt (shut up, my family really liked Doug Flutie). There is a mini basketball hoop with Larry Bird's signature on it in my basement. I own twelve Red Sox shirts, five Red Sox hats, two Patriots jerseys, one Bruins t-shirt, and guess what? None of them are pink. My wallet is valuable, but no more valuable than a man's. I don't need added incentive to attend a game; I don't need to have the opportunity to take batting practice, and I don't need a "family-friendly" atmosphere. I'm not a sports fan for the purpose of "keeping up with men," as 29-year-old Leah Willett is. I'm a sports fan because I like sports.
And this isn't a recent development whatsoever. There's more Boston sports memorabilia in my house. A 1967 Jim Lonborg coffee mug. A Bobby Orr biography from the 1970s. A photo of Phil Esposito. And these don't belong to my dad. They belong to my mom, who knows more about hockey than anyone else I know and who could once name every single player on the major league roster of every single baseball team in the 1970s. Had the internet existed thirty years ago, I'm pretty sure my mother would have started Chickball way back then. (First entry: "Why Bobby Orr is Better Than Everyone Reading This Could Ever Hope to Be.")
The female sports fan is definitely different from the male sports demographic. I won't argue that point. We're just as visceral as our male counterparts, and we're just as knowledgeable; but I doubt many of the men reading this enjoy the added benefit of well-built males running around in nicely cut uniforms that televised sporting events provide Chickball and our brethren. (Read: Rich Harden is hot.) There's something to be said for recognizing this; the Mark Mulder-rosin bag "Screaming Girls" commercial the A's did in 2004 is an example. I laughed myself silly at that.
As a Real Woman, I Don't Date Yankees Fans, Sox Fans (like Pam) Do Make Better Lovers, and I'm sure Beth's A Wreck For Tek. But to assume that women are valuable only for their purses and that we need a family-friendly atmosphere to attend games? Show me a "real" Red Sox fan who doesn't enjoy the rough atmosphere of the Fenway bleachers, and I'll show you a poseur who should give that ticket to someone who could really use it.
(Like me.)
Baseball's a business. But don't look down on women and call it "catering to our tastes." Give me a beer, a bleacher seat, and the right to heckle Julian Tavarez in a vulgar manner, and I'm a happy girl.
posted by Suzie at 7:10 PM
3 Comments:
a-freakin'-men, sista
Buster Olney is saying that if Manny doesn't play in the all-star game, he should never be on the ballot again. So said the producer of (my show) Sports Pulse: "What a fucking idiot."
We also agreed that there are pretty much no words to adequately describe the horrendousness of Jason Johnson.
And by the way, the worst part of that Globe article was the woman talking about pink Red Sox merchandise. *gag*
OMG THERE AER PINK SOX SHIRTS??? I'M BUYING A GA-ZILLION!
Seriously, though, fangirls need to die, and sadly (at least in Boston), it's girls our age that are some of the worst perpetrators. But luckily for womankind, Chickball exists to make up for that.
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