Prompt Images
Front office guys, let’s huddle up for a hot second. We need to talk.
I know you’re dying to figure out how to turn a little lady like me into a true blue pink sports fan. I know that when you see me, you see untapped potential revenue and a small (but perky) set of peaches. I get it. It’s business.
But you? You don’t get it. You have no goddamn idea. So let me help you.
I don’t want to buy this babyfart pink Mets hat.
The way to my wallet/heart is not through gentle pastels that make me feel inferior. Quick question. Can anyone name a major professional sports team that features pink in its official logo? No? Hmm. Maybe that’s because, aside from the pandering bullshit month spent supporting The Fightin’ Susan G. Komens, the color pink simply does not occur naturally on the field of play.
So why are these front office tools trying so hard to box my box into this box?
I actually enjoy nine innings of baseball and my dope-ass Mets snapback in all its aggressive orange and blue glory. I don’t mind dirty, steamy hot dogs wrapped in weird foil paper, sold by loud gypsies pacing the stadium. I fucking like sports just the way they are.
And you can all take those fucking pink jerseys off your websites, too. I’d rather wear a shawl made of Rex Ryan’s post-lapband-surgery extra-kangaroo-pouch skin than a pink Ben Roethlisberger jersey.
Because the one thing grittier than Roethlisberger’s performance on the field is his performance off it. This dude dodges credible sexual assault allegations better than a pass rush. No wonder he wears lucky #7.
And if I ever see a pink Greg Hardy jersey, I swear to Christ Almighty, I will bring all my feminist friends to your enormous Bergen County mansion and perform The Vagina Monologues until we all collapse of exhaustion.
Oh, NFL guys, I’m not done with you. Because the Tampa Bay Buccaneers got real, real ignorant.
Last year the Bucs drafted the (“allegedly”) very rapey, crab-stealing teenage dirtbag, Jameis Winston. You know, the one who stood on a table at Florida State and shouted, “Fuck her right in the pussy.” And maybe that doesn’t strike you as offensive because you don’t have to protect your pussy from the Jameis Winstons out there, but he did put his goddamn shoes on the table. And that should be just fucking rude enough for you to care. At the very least, you can recognize that this dude needs a talking to.
But instead, the Buccaneers gave their female fans a talking to (while giving Mr. Twelve Strikes a guaranteed $25 million contract). They rolled out “RED: The Buccaneers’ Women’s Movement,” which intended to teach us silly, bubble-headed women about football, including definitions of super tough terms like PLAY CLOCK and ZONE DEFENSE. Because Google doesn’t work for shifty witches on their period.
And if you’re sitting there saying, Oh come on, they had good intentions, I admire your patience. But maybe you’ll change your tune with this condescending backslide into gender roles of the fucking Eisenhower administration. RED also promised to deliver “gameday style tips from local area experts, and even a RED Lifestyle Lounge session to educate attendees on the art of incorporating their passion for the Bucs into their other lifestyle interests such as tailgating and home entertaining.”
Style and home entertaining tips? Well, golly, mister! Now I can cater to my husband’s every Dorito-fingered need, just like a real fan! (💅🏼👯👗+🏈=🍳🏡💋)
One of the worst ideas since Crocs
All of these stupid. fucking. initiatives. They’re just so contrived and disingenuous. They ignore the fact that maybe more women would be sports fans if they didn’t feel so fucking patronized all the goddamn time. If they felt like maybe teams, owners, and marketing departments didn’t paint such a vapid, listless, and moth-eaten caricature of who a female fan might be.
What a failure of imagination. And yet, mine roars onward, showing a conference room filled with filthy rich white guys with bad hair, playing out their failed marriages on a corporate budget.
Uh-oh. We screwed up again. We better do something special… for WOMEN.
It feels like the real-life incarnation of the “incompetent husband trope” from a bad multi-cam sitcom. Let me guess – he forgot their anniversary… AGAIN! Cue the uproarious laugh track and the apologetic box of chocolates.
But this shit isn’t funny. It’s just stupid. It’s just a bunch of misguided, out of touch idiots doing things the wrong way. Trying to profit from something they’ve never had to understand.
Women. Am I right?
Look, sports guys. I don’t need you to do anything special. Stop pandering; I’m an adult. You can’t just dress my interests in a princess costume and act like you’ve done me a favor.
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