I talk to a lot of men. I'm surrounded by them, so its often an activity that i can't really help but do. And, to be honest, talking to men can be a very enjoyable form of interaction. Notwithstanding a few exceptions (i can't stress more on how "few"), what makes it enjoyable is our sharing of a favourite pastime: playing with our balls.
(Ahem) The game of football, that is.
My beloved Newcastle United FC
On the surface its such a silly game: 22 men running around like headless chickens chasing a small leather ball on a large, preferably green grass field (failing that, an empty parking lot will sometimes do). The objective is to kick, head, chest, or in any other conceivable way that doesn't include using hands, put that ball past a rectangular construct called the "goal". A secondary, often overlooked objective, is to prevent your opponents from doing the same (any Liverpool fans reading this: that's called "defending" - hahahahah!).
What makes this game so interesting is really not the mechanics of the game as i've described above. The value of it lies in its ability to invoke human emotions of tremendous intensity; emotions that can make a macho-man blubber with tears at the sight of his favoured team losing, or make a puny weakling punch the lights out of a much larger person in the defense of his team's honour.
Football is not purely a man's sport. The Women's Professional Soccer League in the US is an incredible crowd puller (does the fact that players take off their shirts each time they score have anything to do with this?), and demographic studies indicate that women made up a large number of viewers in the last World Cup.
"Goal"den ecstasy - Bradley Chastain
But i question the intentions of many women who do watch the sport: most women i've asked know who Figo and Michael Owen are, but couldn't tell me what team they play for. Makes me suspect that its not the football they are watching! :)
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