Women and Sport

Being a ‘girly’ girl who loves cricket, AFL and Formula One motor racing is certainly a strange existence. Trust me on this. Whilst I don’t think it’s strange at all that I can converse intelligently on a huge spectrum of topics, apparently men do. When it becomes evident to men that you can actually contribute some intelligent input into conversations about a variety of sports whilst wearing a fetching red dress and killer heels, their faces suddenly rearrange themselves into an expressions of rapturous glaze that would make a Krispy Kreme suffer an identity crisis. Naturally, all women are acutely aware that, because they have the emotional range of a salad fork, men have only three facial expressions –

· happy (because there’s sport on TV, cold beer in the fridge and the pizza’s on the way OR they've just been given a Wii/Play Station/XBox with Fight Club on it)
· annoyed/sad/bewildered (because they’ve been asked to watch a chick film-attend a family function or a toddler’s birthday party-take you shopping instead of playing golf-or be forced to watch Grey's Anatomy instead of the State of Origin – insert reasonable request here girls); and
· leering (because they mistakenly believe that they’re about to get sex. This expression appears frequently after the consumption of alcohol).

Recently, I was at a male friend’s birthday party and was discussing the state of the Test series against India with a group of about 7 men – I was the only woman in the group at that time. A barrister friend of mine – a wise and learned man indeed – looked at me earnestly and said something to the effect of, “You know, nothing turns me on quite like a lovely woman who knows her cricket”.

Whenever I discuss cricket with men the conversation is usually genial and pleasant, however things do tend to get ugly as soon as AFL enters the equation. This would be because the minute I mention that I’m a Pie, most men either turn their backs on me and leave the room, threaten me with physical violence or stare aghast at me as though I’m a weeping leper speaking Portuguese. What then follows is usually an interesting conversation, liberally sprinkled with imaginative examples of the vernacular on their part. I simply stand my ground and defend Collingwood in a most ladylike manner, thus annihilating their arguments about all Collingwood supporters being inbred feral pigs with the IQ of a housebrick. One thing is guaranteed though. When I’m talking with men about sport, their blood is racing and I have their full attention.

This got me thinking. Perhaps if more women in the community developed an interest in sport, then perhaps there’d be far fewer men having to call 1800 10 10 80, and we’d all be spared the torture of those hideous ads about nasal delivery technology. It’s just a thought of course, but I think I’m going to run with it and see where it leads.

I might start my research in Dubai……….