He Said She Said F


written by: Kevin McFadden


ormer Miami Herald Pulitzer Prize humorist Dave Barry once wrote, “Guys care about sports teams. I’m not talking about simply rooting; I’m talking about a relationship that guys develop, a


commitment to a sport team that guys take way more seriously than, for example, wedding vows.” While his assessment of the misappropriation of allegiance that seems to come with every Y chromosome may be a bit hyperbolic, Mr. Barry makes a valid point about the futile desperation of the male sports fanatic. And as you correctly point out, She Said, there is no sport in this country that brings out the sloped-forehead mouth- breather in men more than football. In Europe, of course, they turn out in drunken droves to watch soccer, which coincidentally, they refer to as... football!


I am the first to admit that it is nothing short of embarrassing to


watch a grown man stay loyal to an unmitigated disgrace of a football team for decade after decade, despite the fact that said team constantly fails to put a quality product on the field. If a guy kept eating at the same restaurant for 30 years, even though the food was consistently awful, we would call him a moron. Yet a guy who lives and dies every Sunday for a perennial loser is called a “loyal fan.” But this is He Said/ She Said, not She Said/He Obsequiously Agreed! You asked why men are so obsessed with football, so I will do my best to answer. Perhaps it is imprinted on our DNA as hunter/gatherers to gravitate


toward violent acts of testosterone-driven physical accomplishment. The ancient Romans watched and cheered as gladiators tore each other to pieces inside the Coliseum. A few thousand years later, we have evolved at least enough to be content with our alpha males merely giving each other concussions and shattered clavicles like civilized people, rather than impaling each other on tridents. Thank God for progress! Perhaps we ululate like Howler Monkeys in front of the television


every Sunday for the same reason that women keep shows like The Real Housewives of Punta Gorda vomiting out new incarnations: because everyone loves a train wreck. It is somewhat a part of human nature to want to see someone else in a meltdown. A female may very well watch the Kardashians simply to feel that by comparison, her own life is fairly well-balanced. Similarly, some guys watch football to assuage their own sense of schadenfreude, so that when some overpaid clown drops a 7-yard pass that hits him in between the numbers on 3rd down and short, he can scream, “You’ve gotta be kidding me... I make that catch every time!!!” But the optimist in me doesn’t believe any of that. I watched a game


last weekend in which the Indianapolis Colts pulled off a stunning upset of the Green Bay Packers. So what, you say? The Colts beloved head coach, Chuck Pagano, had been diagnosed with leukemia just days before, and was in the hospital receiving treatment. With Pagano’s name on every jersey, the Indianapolis players stormed back to erase a 21-3 halftime deficit. After the game, with tears in his eyes, Colts owner, Jim Irsay, said in a quavering voice that he was taking the game ball down the street to his dear friend and coach who was fighting for his life. I have to believe that that one win, that one game ball, that one extraordinary moment, can do as much to help a sick man in his battle with cancer as all the combined efforts of modern medical science. So, that’s my answer, She Said. In the end, its ostensible absurdity aside, perhaps the sport of football


is the perfect metaphor for the


entire male gender: kind of ridiculous, kind of crude and brutish...but also kind of amazing! Of course, that is generalizing, but as Dave Barry put it, “My feeling is that if God did not want us to make gender-based generalizations, She wouldn’t have given us genders.” Long Live Sport!!


written by: Meghan Toppino R


ah Sis Boom Blah. It’s that dreadful time of year again when millions of testosterone laden men takeover every bar in town to watch overpaid blubbery blobs of muscle


throw a swine bladder around. Ah yes, football season is upon us and my ears hurt already. What is it about this game that induces even the most educated men to regress back to their caveman roots? The grunting, howling, sweaty chest bumps and fist pumps… the whole process makes me sick. They gather in loud obnoxious packs and show their so called “team spirit” by chugging flat draft beer, scarfing chicken wings and screaming at the top of their lungs at the freaking television. Enough all ready! First of all, the players can’t hear you, but guess what? Everyone else around you can! Now I can somewhat understand the excitement; I


played sports growing up and get the idea of team spirit and sportsmanship. Hell, I think I might even have been a cheerleader back in the day. Even with that said, it’s the level of obsession that I simply don’t get. It’s the overdone allegiance to one’s “team” that just gets under my skin. Why is it that during these select months, no matter where I go, football is the only topic of normal conversation and small talk alike?! It’s almost as if the general male population is temporarily possessed as their lives revolve around this stupid activity. As unfortunate as it is to see, some select “ladies” are guilty


of the football obsession as well. It always irks me to watch these hens cluck and cackle along with the guys as if they really care about the last play. You know the type, and if you’re one of them, I’d bet my bank account that you also say things like, “All of my friends are guys,” and “I really don’t get along with women that much.” Unless you are checking out the players “assets”, I cannot comprehend the overexcitement. As if it couldn’t get any worse, men now take their obsession


one step further by creating their own super secret special imaginary teams and competing against each other. Enter Fantasy Football. I always assumed men fantasized about the sexy librarian with a large chest and loose buttons… but all the while it’s really about other men in tights throwing balls around? Huh, what do I know? So He Said, what’s the deal? I totally understand being passionate


about something you love, but good God, does it have to be so overdone? After all, isn’t it “just a game?”


Pulse Magazine SWFL | 53


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