When I was little, maybe 9 or 10, my dad took me to a company party. Most of the kids at the party were boys, and most of them were a year or two older than me. When they decided to play football, I was pumped. Hell yeah! I loved football! I was the biggest Browns fan in the universe! I had a signed Eric Metcalf poster on my bedroom wall! I thought I was born to play football! (Before I was born, so did my mom. She swore she was having a linebacker.) So, I ran up to the boys and told them I wanted to play. Their ringleader smirked at me and said , “Girls can’t play football.”
I was so embarrassed. But, as I walked off the field, my humiliation turned to rage. I played football in my neighborhood all the time! I threw a perfect spiral! Who was this kid? I definitely knew more about football than he did! Did he know that Bernie Kosar set an NFL record by completing 308 consecutive passes without throwing an interception? Did he know that Ozzie Newsome did not miss a single game in his 13-year NFL career? Could he even begin to understand the pain in my dad’s eyes whenever someone mentioned The Drive? I’m going to guess no, no, and NO! This was bullshit!
And then, as I watched the boys play, the little jerk caught a pass. And I couldn’t help myself. I ran onto the field and blindsided his ass. He ran to my dad to tell on me for tackling. My dad just laughed.
Girls can’t play football. Nonsense. Girls CAN play football. And they can write about it, too.