It’s not enough that Roger Goodell wants to move NFL games overseas in order to increase football’s international appeal; now he’s after an even more foreign crowd: women.

There are two competing schools of thought on women football fans. On one hand, some of KSK’s most highly esteemed commenters (hi, Brooklyn Becky!) are female fans who are knowledgeable and passionate about the sport. On the other hand… woman! I’m trying to watch the game!

Yes, I’ll come out and say it: I’m not entirely comfortable with women enjoying football. They’re competing interests I’m exceptionally passionate about, and I like to keep them separate. A woman who likes football is like your wife befriending your girlfriend. It’s just two worlds that should never collide.

I’m poorly designed for this new age of female football fandom, but in my defense, I’m shaped by my own experiences. Understand this: I never stop admiring women… except for the few hours each week I watch football. So when these two fulltimes (I can’t call them “pastimes”) collide, it confuses my simple, Neanderthilic mind.

Example 1
There’s a regular at the sports bar I frequent, a really cute girl who wears a McNabb jersey every week. She has a delightful habit of turning around on her bar stool every few minutes and flashing a friendly — yet somewhat flirtatious — smile. It is a terrific part of my Sunday.

But that fucks my entire football process up. Ah crap, why’d I dress like such a slob today? Oh right, ’cause I’m watching football. Right. Football… Man I’m hungry. Time for some wings — crap! I don’t want wing sauce on my face when McNabb looks at me! That’ll totally mess up my game!

Please, somebody, tell me I’m not alone in this regard.

Example 2
Another regular at the aforementioned bar: a female Seahawks fan who I’ve kind of struck a rapport with. She’s cute and friendly. I like her. And it is the most unnatural thing in the world to high-five her after a touchdown.

Example 3
I once briefly dated a Steelers fan. Yes, it’s true. This was before a Seahawks fan had any reason for a beef with the five-time Super Bowl champions, back in Big Ben’s 15-1 rookie season, back when saying I’m a writer was Caveman-code for I’m unemployed.

She’s quite the little starlet, with a failed NBC series and a major movie already behind her, and IMDB claims that she’s got more films lined up. This is her:


Why she had a passing interest in me is anyone’s guess, but it probably had something to do with my boiling-point sex appeal. Anyway, here’s an actual conversation we had:

Her: I feel so bad for him.
Me: Who? Roethlisberger?
Her: Yeah.
Me: Why?
Her: It’s just got to be so hard. There’s so much pressure on him every week. He has it really tough.
Me: You don’t think millions of dollars and his choice of groupies maybe makes him feel a little better?
Her: [long pause] No.
Me: …

As you can imagine, ours was a love that was not meant to be.

Perhaps that last example isn’t the best representative of today’s female fan. The new NFL woman knows her shit, and — as the argument goes — isn’t it better that potential objects of sexual desire can share in the raw, base enjoyment of the NFL?

To which I say: not particularly. It’s already hard enough finding a woman who’s hot and smart but still shallow enough to make fun of ugly people with me; I don’t need the extra degrees of difficulty that come with screening out Steelers and Rams and Cowboys fans. Could you love a woman who cheered for T.O.? Only on the outside, friends. Only on the outside.

In a combination of chauvinism and the defense of my feminine ideal, there’s a limit to how much I want a woman to know about the NFL. Is it attractive for a lady to know that Peyton Manning is the fetus-headed scarlet prince of chokery? Absolutely. But is it attractive if she brags about kicking ass in her fantasy league because she picked up Marques Colston off the waiver wire?

Let’s put it this way: I can talk to women in Manhattan about fashion because I know who Tom Ford is and I can sometimes recognize a pair of Manolo Blahniks. That shows an appreciation for a (stereotypical) woman’s interests. But at the instant I rave about how excited I am for the spring line from, I don’t know, Donna Karan or something, then I cross the line into faaaa-laaaaaaaminnnng.

But it’s a new millenium. There’s a new dickhead of a commissioner, and he’s not going anywhere for a while. The only choice is to adapt, to embrace (both literally and metaphorically) women football fans, to accept them into our sports bars and exchange high-fives with them like they also have the right to vote and serve in our military.

I guess I can do it. Anything to make experiences like this a thing of the past: